Chapter 5 Contract Exposed, The Internet Goes Wild
# Chapter 5: Contract Exposed, The Internet Goes Wild
Three blissful months had passed since the piano incident. Gilbert and I had settled into a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural—boardroom powerhouse by day, surprisingly attentive husband by night. The contract that had begun our relationship had become something of a private joke between us, with Gilbert occasionally citing obscure clauses as excuses to surprise me with gifts or steal kisses during business meetings.
"Clause 137," he'd whisper, pulling me into an empty conference room. "The husband reserves the right to kiss his wife when she's being particularly brilliant."
I'd roll my eyes but never resist. "You're making these up now."
"I would never." The mock offense in his voice always made me laugh.
Life was good—too good, apparently, for the universe to let it continue undisturbed.
The call came at 6:17 AM on a Tuesday. Gilbert's phone rang, dragging us both from sleep. I watched his expression transform from drowsy irritation to sharp focus as he listened to whoever was on the other end.
"How bad?" he asked, already climbing out of bed and reaching for his clothes. "I see. No statements until I arrive. Twenty minutes."
He hung up and turned to me, his face grim. "There's been a leak."
"What kind of leak?" I sat up, instantly alert.
"Our marriage contract. Someone sent it to the press."
My stomach dropped. "The whole thing?"
"Appears so." Gilbert was already buttoning his shirt with quick, efficient movements. "Including some of the more... personal clauses."
I closed my eyes, imagining the headlines. "Who would do this?"
"I have my suspicions." His voice had that dangerous edge I'd come to recognize—someone was going to regret crossing Gilbert Blackwood. "Get dressed. We need to handle this together."
---
By the time we reached Blackwood Industries headquarters, the story had exploded. #BlackwoodContract was trending nationwide, with snippets of our marriage agreement plastered across every social media platform. Most focused on the business aspects, painting Gilbert as a predatory tycoon who had essentially purchased me to gain control of my family's struggling company.
"This is a disaster," I muttered, scrolling through my phone in the elevator. "They're calling me your 'corporate concubine.'"
Gilbert's jaw tightened. "PR is preparing a statement."
"A statement won't fix this, Gilbert. They have the actual contract."
The elevator doors opened to reveal a floor in chaos. Gilbert's assistant rushed toward us, tablet in hand, already reciting the morning's developments. Behind her, the PR team huddled around a conference table, faces grim.
"Mr. Blackwood, the board is demanding an emergency meeting. They're concerned about the company's reputation and the impact on the stock price, which has already dropped six points since the market opened."
Gilbert nodded. "Schedule it for noon. And find out who leaked my private documents."
"We believe it originated from Crane Technologies," she replied. "Their media contacts received the files first."
Victor Crane. Of course. After Gilbert had rejected his takeover plan, it was only a matter of time before he struck back.
"He's trying to force a board coup," I realized. "Make them think you're unstable, that you mixed personal obsession with business decisions."
Gilbert's expression was unreadable, but I could sense the cold fury radiating from him. "Let's get to work."
The next few hours were a blur of crisis management. The PR team crafted carefully worded responses while Gilbert met privately with key board members. I pored over the leaked contract, trying to determine exactly how much damage control we needed.
They had everything—the business terms, the transfer of shares, and yes, many of Gilbert's special clauses. The internet was having a field day with those, alternating between mockery and disturbed speculation about our relationship.
"Your husband is either a controlling psychopath or the world's weirdest romantic," my sister texted, along with screenshots of people analyzing Clause 45's chocolate requirements.
As noon approached, Gilbert's tension was palpable. The board meeting could determine not just our public image, but his continued leadership of the company he'd built. He'd been unusually quiet, locked in his office making calls and reviewing documents.
"What's the strategy?" I asked when he finally emerged, looking exhausted but determined.
He straightened his tie. "Truth. Partial truth, anyway."
"Gilbert, they're going to eat you alive in there."
"Probably." His smile was tight. "That's why I need you with me."
"Me? The board hates me. They think I'm the gold-digger who distracted their brilliant CEO."
"Let them." He took my hand, his grip firm. "Trust me."
---
The boardroom fell silent as we entered. Twelve stern faces turned toward us, ranging from curious to openly hostile. I recognized most of them from company events—old men who'd built their fortunes in a different era and resented Gilbert's modern approach almost as much as they resented my presence in his life.
"Gentlemen," Gilbert began, his voice steady. "I understand your concerns."
"Concerns?" Harold Winters, the eldest board member, snorted. "This goes beyond concerns, Blackwood. The company is a laughingstock. Our stock is plummeting. All because you couldn't keep your personal fetishes out of a business contract!"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. I felt my cheeks burn but kept my expression neutral.
"I won't apologize for the contract," Gilbert stated flatly. "It was a private agreement between consenting adults that has been illegally obtained and maliciously distributed by our competitors."
"The content is irrelevant," another board member cut in. "The issue is your judgment. You've compromised this company for a... a schoolboy crush."
Gilbert remained unnervingly calm. "My personal life has never affected my business decisions."
"No? Then explain why you suddenly abandoned the Parkinson acquisition plan after fifteen months of preparation! We were set to dismantle that company and absorb its assets at pennies on the dollar. Instead, you married the founder's daughter and transferred fifty-one percent of your personal shares to her name!"
The accusation hung in the air. Several board members looked genuinely surprised—apparently, that particular detail hadn't been widely known.
I stepped forward. "If I may address the board?"
Harold Winters looked at me like I was something stuck to his shoe. "This is a closed meeting, Mrs. Blackwood. You're here as a courtesy only."
"Actually," I replied, "as the majority shareholder of Blackwood Industries, I have every right to speak."
The room erupted in shocked outrage. Gilbert's hand touched my lower back—a silent show of support.
"This is preposterous!" Winters slammed his fist on the table. "Blackwood, you gave control of your company to this... this opportunist?"
"I transferred my personal shares to my wife, yes." Gilbert's voice cut through the chaos. "A decision that, I might add, has resulted in a fifteen percent increase in quarterly profits since she joined our strategy team."
"Irrelevant! The board can still vote to remove you as CEO."
"You can try," I interjected, pulling out my phone. "But before you do, I think the public might be interested in the rest of the story."
I pulled up my social media accounts—personal and the official Blackwood Industries profiles, to which Gilbert had given me full access weeks ago.
"What are you doing?" Winters demanded.
"Controlling the narrative." I looked at Gilbert, who gave me a slight nod. "You've all seen the headlines about our 'humiliating' contract. But the public has only seen what Victor Crane wanted them to see."
With deliberate calm, I posted the screenshots I'd prepared—carefully selected clauses from our contract that told a very different story:
Clause 98: The husband acknowledges that the wife's intellectual and business contributions are to be valued equally to his own, and commits to supporting her professional development in whatever direction she chooses.
Clause 99: The husband shall, on a daily basis, express genuine appreciation for his wife's qualities, until the heat death of the universe renders such expressions moot.
And finally, the mysterious Clause 100: Should the second party develop genuine affection for the first party, the first party hereby commits to honoring all clauses herein for the remainder of his natural life, regardless of contractual term limits, with the understanding that love transforms obligations into privileges.
"What are you doing?" Winters looked horrified. "You can't post internal documents!"
"They're already public," I reminded him. "I'm just providing context."
I turned my phone to show them the explosion of notifications already flooding in. The hashtag #RelationshipGoals was quickly overtaking #BlackwoodContract. Comments ranged from "This is the most romantic thing I've ever seen" to "Can someone write ME a contract like this??"
Gilbert cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, while I understand your concerns about my personal life affecting business, I think you'll find that the public response is shifting rapidly. By market close, our stock will not only recover but likely increase."
As if on cue, his assistant knocked and entered the boardroom. "Mr. Blackwood, I thought you should know—our stock has rebounded. We're up three points from opening and climbing."
The board members exchanged uncomfortable glances.
"If there's nothing else," Gilbert continued smoothly, "my wife and I have a press conference to prepare for."
We were almost to the door when Gilbert paused and turned back. "Oh, and Harold? The next time you question my wife's presence in this company, remember that she can fire you with a text message."
---
The press conference was Gilbert's idea—a calculated risk to transform a potential disaster into a public relations coup. We stood together outside Blackwood headquarters, facing a sea of reporters and cameras.
"Mr. Blackwood! Is it true your marriage was just a business arrangement?"
Gilbert adjusted the microphone. "Our marriage began with a contract, yes. The best decisions often do."
"Mrs. Blackwood! Did you know about the unusual clauses when you signed?"
I stepped forward. "I discovered them gradually, much like I discovered the real Gilbert Blackwood beneath his corporate persona."
"Is it true you control the company now? That he gave you majority shares?"
Gilbert's hand found mine. "My wife is my equal partner in all things. The share transfer simply made official what was already true."
The questions continued, but we'd prepared for this. With each response, the narrative shifted—from scandal to love story, from cold business arrangement to unconventional romance.
The turning point came when a reporter from a major network called out: "Mr. Blackwood! Your company just posted a new clause to your official account. It says, 'The first party hereby grants the second party the right to kiss the CEO at any time, in any location, regardless of ongoing business.' Care to comment?"
I turned to Gilbert in surprise—I hadn't seen this post. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned toward the microphones.
"That clause," he said, his voice carrying across the crowd, "is effective immediately."
Taking his cue, I grabbed his tie and pulled him down for a kiss. The cameras went wild, flashbulbs popping like fireworks as Gilbert wrapped his arms around me, lifting me slightly off the ground.
When we broke apart, the crowd was cheering. Gilbert looked slightly dazed—public displays of affection weren't exactly his style—but pleased.
"I believe that concludes today's press conference," he announced, his arm still around my waist.
---
Back in his office, Gilbert loosened his tie with a sigh of relief. "That went better than expected."
"The internet loves us," I confirmed, scrolling through the reactions. "We're 'couple goals' apparently. Someone's already made a TikTok dance to go with Clause 45."
Gilbert looked genuinely perplexed. "A dance about chocolate obligations?"
"Welcome to the modern world, husband." I laughed, setting my phone aside. "Though I'm curious about that last-minute clause you posted. That wasn't in our original contract."
"Addendum," Gilbert corrected, pulling me into his arms. "I'm allowed to add clauses as circumstances require."
"Is that so?" I raised an eyebrow. "Then perhaps I should add some of my own."
His eyes darkened. "Such as?"
"Hmm... how about: 'The husband must acknowledge that his wife saved his company's reputation and deserves appropriate gratitude'?"
Gilbert's hands tightened on my waist. "I believe I can comply with that clause."
"And another: 'The husband must reveal who helped him with all those romantic clauses, because there's no way he thought of them himself.'"
At this, Gilbert actually looked sheepish. "My grandmother, if you must know. She said I needed all the help I could get."
I burst out laughing. "Your grandmother? The terrifying matriarch who barely spoke two words to me at our wedding?"
"She likes you," Gilbert insisted. "She just doesn't show it. Family trait."
"So I've noticed." I wrapped my arms around his neck. "One last question—what happens now? The whole world knows about our contract marriage. The board knows you gave me controlling interest in your company. Victor Crane's plan to discredit you backfired spectacularly. What's our next move?"
Gilbert's smile was slow and satisfied. "Now, Mrs. Blackwood, we do what we do best."
"Which is?"
"Exceed expectations." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "And perhaps add a few more clauses to our agreement."
As his lips found mine again, I realized that what had started as a business arrangement had become the most unexpectedly wonderful contract I'd ever signed. And I had no intention of ever breaching its terms.
