The following morning, Alexander was up early. After a quick shower, he headed to the dining room where his breakfast was already waiting—perfectly laid out, just the way he liked it. It was Mrs. Moore's doing, as always. She'd been his personal cook since childhood, one of the finest chefs in the Allan estate. Alexander trusted very few people, but Mrs. Moore was family.
"Good morning, sir," she greeted, placing a steaming cup of coffee beside his plate. "Your breakfast is ready. Also, the old master called last night. He said you should start spending more time with Miss Blossom… since the two of you will eventually marry."
Alexander groaned, running a hand through his damp hair. "Why is my father rushing this? I don't get it, Aunty. He's never pushed this hard before."
Mrs. Moore offered a gentle, knowing smile. "If you'll let me speak freely, young master… I think I understand where they're coming from. You're in your early thirties now—no wife, no children. They're not asking you to marry just for tradition. They want you to have someone by your side. Someone to share your burdens with, to love you unconditionally. At their age, accomplishments don't matter as much as the joy of family—grandchildren especially."
He sighed, poking at his eggs with his fork. "I get your point, Aunty, but still… it's not like them to be so relentless."
Mrs. Moore chuckled softly. "Eat before it gets cold. We'll talk more tonight. You've got a big meeting today, don't you?"
Reluctantly, he nodded and finished his meal before heading out. But his mood was already soured—not just from the forced marriage talk, but from the disappointing sales reports waiting on his desk.
By the time Alexander stepped into the office, the atmosphere shifted. Everyone noticed the stormy expression on their CEO's face. It was clear: he was not to be crossed today.
In the boardroom, whispers spread like wildfire. The marketing team, especially Director Anderson and his manager, Mr. Smith, looked visibly tense. They knew today's meeting could decide their fate.
Back in his office, Alexander noticed the familiar cup of coffee on his desk. The temperature was perfect, just the way he liked it. For a brief second, he let the comfort of that small gesture calm him—but only slightly.
Then Emma walked in.
She wore a sharply tailored business suit, her stride confident and commanding. For a moment, Alexander blinked, startled by her presence. She carried herself like she owned the room.
"Good morning, sir," she said, her voice steady and professional. "Did you get home safely last night?"
"Yes," he snapped. "Where are the documents I gave you to copy for today's meeting?"
"They've already been distributed to everyone in the conference room," she replied. "And sir, I think I have—"
But he didn't wait for her to finish. He was already heading out. "Let's go. I don't like to keep people waiting."
In the boardroom, the tension was palpable. No one dared speak. The directors sat on edge, bracing themselves.
Alexander entered like a storm. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. You may take your seats."
He didn't bother with pleasantries.
"Let's get to it. Last week's launch of our beauty line started strong, but within five working days, the numbers have dropped drastically. Marketing team, I told you to investigate. I expect answers. Now."
Mr. Smith cleared his throat nervously. "Mr. President, we believe the issue is due to poor marketing—"
"Whose poor marketing?" Alexander cut in coldly. "You're the head of the department. We want specifics."
Mr. Smith fumbled. "The product is expensive, and we haven't had much consumer feedback… people don't really know about it yet."
Alexander leaned forward. "Are you saying we need to be cheaper? This isn't about volume—it's about profit. We launched with a five percent margin. Now it's zero. Are we seriously failing at launching a beauty line?"
He turned to Director Anderson. "What's your solution?"
"Well, Mr. President, I believe we should invest in billboards and TV commercials. It might draw more attention."
"Fine. From your salary budget then," Alexander snapped.
Just then, a voice interrupted.
"Excuse me, Mr. Director. I think I can help."
All eyes turned to Emma. She stood calmly beside the projector, but tension crackled in the air. Everyone braced for impact.
"Ms. Stone," Alexander said tightly. "Kindly keep your mouth shut so we can have some peace."
But Emma didn't back down. Not today.
She stepped forward. "With all due respect, Mr. Allan, I've been silent long enough. Even during my interview, you cut me off. Now you're going to listen. If you don't want to be here, no one's forcing you. You can leave. But I have a solution, and I'm saying it whether you like it or not."
Gasps rippled around the room. Alexander's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
"The problem isn't the price or the product—it's the execution. You used outdated marketing: billboards, posters, maybe a few photos. That's not how beauty brands grow anymore."
She clicked the projector. "Your social media platforms have over 45 million followers. But the posts about the new product barely cracked 200k likes. That's not engagement—it's poor strategy."
Alexander narrowed his eyes. "We posted the pictures."
"And no one cared," she shot back. "Because a picture doesn't show quality. You need video content—real people using your products, giving real-time feedback. Tutorials. Challenges. Influencer campaigns. Let customers see results, not promises. Let them talk about it for you."
She paused, then added, "And don't keep that data hidden in boardrooms. Put it out there. Make it loud. Make it real."
Silence followed.
Alexander stared at her, unreadable.
Then, at last, he muttered, "Fine. I'll give you a chance. But if this doesn't work—you'll answer for it."
He walked out, leaving a trail of stunned silence behind him.
Everyone turned to Emma—this time not in fear, but admiration.
And for the first time, Emma knew: she wasn't just a shadow in this company. She had made herself seen.