The weeks after the scandal passed like a blur. Every morning brought new headlines about the success of our antibiotics. The anger that once filled my inbox had turned into praise. Pharmacies wanted more stock. Hospitals called to thank us. The company felt alive again.
I wanted to mark the moment properly, to show my people that their hard work had not been in vain. So I planned a celebration our biggest yet. The company's main hall would be filled with light, laughter, and pride.
When I told Rose about it that evening, she nodded.
"That sounds good," she said softly. "Everyone deserves it."
Her tone was calm, maybe too calm, but I didn't press. I was too caught up in my excitement.
For two weeks, the office buzzed. Decorations, catering, guest lists. I worked late every night. This party has to be perfect, I kept telling myself. It will show her we're fine again.
The night finally came. I arrived home early to change. The suit I chose was charcoal grey with a crisp white shirt. I was adjusting my tie when Rose walked out of the room.
She wore a silver slit dress that shimmered with every step. For a moment I forgot to breathe.
"You look…" I paused, smiling. "You look incredible."
She smiled back, a gentle, careful smile. "You don't look bad yourself. Very handsome."
"Handsome, huh?" I teased. "You might make me believe it."
"You should," she said, picking up her purse. "Let's not be late."
I offered her my arm. "Never thought I'd be the one slowing you down."
She laughed lightly, and for that brief second, it felt like the air between us was warm again.
The company hall glowed when we arrived. Golden lights spilled across the high ceiling, and music drifted softly through the room. Waiters in black and white carried trays of champagne, and the scent of fresh lilies mixed with the hum of voices.
People turned as we entered. Hands reached out, smiles all around. "Congratulations, Mr. Derevrell!" "You did it, sir!"
I thanked them, shaking hands, greeting old partners and new investors. Every now and then, I glanced at Rose. She stood close by, smiling politely, her eyes calm, observant.
She deserves this peace, I thought. We both do.
An hour in, I spotted her Elizabeth Harold standing near the far table. The crowd parted a little when she moved, her confidence as natural as her smile. She wasn't part of the staff, but she had become a familiar face here, the woman whose quick mind had saved us all.
I walked up to her. "Elizabeth Harold," I said warmly. "I'm glad you came."
She laughed softly. "You say that like you doubted I would."
"Never," I replied. "You've earned this more than anyone."
Her eyes softened. "You give me too much credit, Maxwell."
Lizzy, I wanted to say, but not here, not in front of everyone. Out loud, I only smiled. "Credit is due where it's deserved."
When the band paused for a break, I stepped onto the small stage. The microphone felt cool in my hand as the music faded.
"Good evening, everyone," I began. "I can't describe how proud I am to see all of you here tonight. Just weeks ago, this company stood on the edge of collapse. We faced doubt, anger, and fear. Yet here we are, stronger than ever."
Applause rippled through the room.
"But success," I continued, "is never one man's work. It's the work of many hearts and one brave mind that refused to give up."
I turned slightly, my eyes finding her in the crowd. "Tonight, I want to acknowledge someone special Miss Elizabeth Harold."
Heads turned toward her; she looked almost shy as I spoke.
"When the antibiotics scandal broke, most of the world believed the worst of us. She didn't. While others ran from the storm, she ran into it. Elizabeth Harold reminded us that integrity still has power, that courage can restore faith."
Applause filled the hall again, louder this time. She smiled politely, nodding in thanks.
I felt proud, truly proud. She saved us, I thought. She deserves every word.
When the clapping faded, I looked toward Rose. She stood beside the marketing manager, her hands together, her face calm. Too calm.
Maybe she's just tired, I told myself. She'll smile later.
The rest of the night passed in flashes clinking glasses, laughter, the slow rhythm of the band. I moved from one conversation to another, shaking hands, thanking people, posing for pictures.
Lizzy joined me at one point. We talked about her upcoming projects, the endless travel, the strange way the world had turned in our favor. She laughed easily. Her laughter had a sound that made people relax.
Rose passed nearby once. Our eyes met briefly, then she looked away.
She's fine, I thought. Everything's fine.
By midnight the hall had quieted. People began to leave, still smiling, still congratulating me. When the last toast ended and the lights dimmed slightly, I felt a pleasant heaviness in my head. The wine had gone straight to my thoughts.
Elizabeth touched my arm lightly. "You should be proud, Maxwell. You made it."
"We made it," I corrected. "You were the heart of this."
She shook her head, smiling. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Liz" I stopped myself, smiled instead. "Goodnight, Elizabeth."
When she left, I felt a strange emptiness, though the hall still glowed with success.
Outside, the night air was cool. Rose waited by the car, her silver dress catching the streetlight. She looked beautiful, but there was distance in her eyes.
"You were amazing up there," I said as we got in.
"Thank you," she answered quietly.
"You didn't say much during the night," I added, starting the engine.
She smiled faintly. "You seemed to have everyone's attention already."
Was that a hint of something? Or am I imagining it?
I wanted to tell her how proud I was, how much I wanted this night to make her happy, but the words tangled inside me. The drive home was quiet, filled only by the hum of the tires on the road.
At home, the silence followed us in. Rose went to the dresser, removing her earrings one by one. I loosened my tie and leaned against the doorway, watching her in the mirror.
"You were the most beautiful woman in that room," I said softly.
She met my eyes in the mirror. "You say that because you've had too much to drink."
"Maybe," I admitted, smiling. "But it's still true."
I moved closer, slipping my arms around her waist. She stood still, her hands resting lightly on mine. For a moment, I felt her warmth, the familiar rhythm of her breathing.
Then she turned slowly and looked up at me. Her eyes were gentle but tired.
"I'm tired," she said quietly.
The words hung between us, soft but final.
I wanted to speak, to tell her it was just a long night, that everything was fine, but the heaviness in her voice made me stop.
I nodded slowly. "Alright."
She touched my arm, almost like an apology, then turned off the light and slipped into bed. I sat on the edge for a while, listening to the quiet room.
We're fine, I told myself. She's just tired.
But deep down, I knew it was more than that.