I'm The King of Business & Technology in the Modern World

November 27, 2024 — 8:00 AM

Sentinel HQ, Executive Level

The moment the elevator doors slid open, Matthew knew the temperature had changed.

It wasn't the actual temperature—the climate control settings in Sentinel's executive wing were tuned to precise, unchanging comfort levels.

It was the atmosphere.

The careful looks. The sudden, sharper edge to greetings. The way some junior executives straightened papers that didn't need straightening when he passed.

And the subtle way every glance flickered toward Angel when she walked in two steps behind him.

Not hostile.

Not unfriendly.

But watchful.

Different.

Matthew adjusted the strap of his bag and kept his expression easy, casual, as if he hadn't noticed a thing. But Angel, ever perceptive, caught it too. Her fingers brushed against his lightly as they passed through the glass doors.

Confirmation.

They both knew.

Their world inside Sentinel was shifting—just slightly, just enough to feel it.

And they'd have to navigate it.

Together.

—

8:30 AM — Executive Coordination Room

The meeting was routine. Technically.

A quarterly strategic alignment between all division heads. Pipeline updates. Budget forecasts. Site risk assessments.

Matthew took his usual seat at the head of the table.

Angel took her usual seat three chairs down, across the room.

But today, it wasn't "usual" anymore.

Today, she was no longer just the most trusted head of Central Pulse Operations.

She was Mrs. Borja.

And the optics—fair or not—had changed.

Matthew saw it in the way the CFO hedged slightly during resource allocation updates.

He heard it in the thin politeness layered under the head of External Affairs' questions.

And when Angel delivered her site progression report—clear, sharp, unassailable—he caught the slight hesitation before two senior managers nodded in agreement.

It wasn't distrust.

Not yet.

It was calculation.

People recalibrating where the lines were drawn.

Who held the influence now.

Who sat closest to the real center of gravity.

Matthew listened, measured, adjusted.

He'd prepared for this.

He hadn't spent a decade building Sentinel by being blind to politics.

And he sure as hell wasn't going to let it catch them off guard.

—

10:00 AM — Angel's Office, East Wing

He closed the door behind him softly.

Angel was perched at the corner of her desk, arms folded, brow furrowed.

"You felt it too," she said without preamble.

He nodded. "Of course."

She sighed, rubbing her temples. "They're going to think I'm a proxy now. That I'm sitting in these rooms because I'm your wife."

Matthew stepped closer, resting a hand lightly against the desk beside her. "You're here because you're the best at what you do. Anyone who doubts that is free to read the site audits."

Angel gave a tight, humorless smile. "Perception matters."

"I know," he said quietly.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Matthew added, "I've been drafting something."

Angel raised an eyebrow. "Drafting?"

He pulled a folded sheet from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

She unfolded it slowly.

Her eyes scanned the heading:

Sentinel Corporation — Conflict of Interest Disclosure and Protocol Adjustment Proposal

She blinked. "You're serious."

"Better to address it before it festers," he said calmly. "We submit a formal disclosure to the board. Full transparency. Voluntary separation of certain decision pathways."

Angel read further—lines about recusal from budget allocation votes affecting her own divisions, about independent oversight audits on projects she led.

Protective walls.

Safeguards.

Not because they doubted themselves.

But because they refused to give anyone else an excuse to.

Angel folded the paper back carefully.

"You're really serious," she said again, quieter now.

Matthew shrugged. "I built this company to last. That means protecting it. Even from whispers."

She looked up at him, something warm flickering behind her guarded gaze. "And me?"

Matthew leaned forward, pressing his forehead briefly to hers.

"You," he said, "are the best decision I ever made."

Angel closed her eyes for a moment.

Steadying.

Strengthening.

Then she pulled back, her mouth curving into a real smile. "Fine. Let's do it."

"Together," he said.

"Always."

—

12:30 PM — HQ Boardroom

The room was colder now—not physically, but in tone.

The board members sat in their heavy chairs, polished pens and leather folders neatly arranged in front of them.

At the head of the table, Matthew stood.

Beside him, not behind him, stood Angel.

He spoke simply.

Formally.

No emotion.

No defensiveness.

Just clarity.

They disclosed their marriage.

Outlined the proposed safeguards.

Volunteered for independent audits.

Committed to full transparency.

The board listened.

Took notes.

Exchanged glances.

There were questions, as there should be.

Matthew answered all of them calmly.

Angel spoke when appropriate, clear and steady, reinforcing that her operational authority predated her marriage—and that it would continue to be earned, not assumed.

It wasn't a hostile meeting.

But it wasn't warm, either.

It was business.

And they handled it like professionals.

By the time they stepped out into the hallway again, the proposal had been accepted unanimously—with a request for quarterly reviews.

It wasn't over.

It would never fully be over.

But they had crossed the first bridge.

Hand in hand.

Without flinching.

—

3:00 PM — Rockwell, Their Apartment

Angel dropped her bag by the door and kicked off her heels, rubbing the back of her neck.

Matthew came in a few steps behind, locking the door and setting down his briefcase.

They didn't say anything for a minute.

Just stood there.

Breathing.

Letting the day fall away.

Then Matthew reached for her, and Angel folded into his arms without hesitation.

"I hate politics," she muttered against his chest.

"I know," he said, stroking her hair lightly.

"I hate having to prove myself twice just because we got married."

"I know."

They stood there for a long moment, the city humming unseen around them.

Then Angel pulled back just enough to look up at him.

"But I'd still marry you again," she said.

Matthew smiled, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. "Same."

Angel kissed him then, slow and certain, the kind of kiss that didn't erase the day—but made it survivable.

Made it worth it.

Made it theirs.

—

8:00 PM — Rockwell Balcony

Later, they sat side by side on the balcony again, watching the lights of BGC flicker and shift.

Angel had her legs tucked under her, a mug of tea in her hands.

Matthew leaned back against the railing, arms folded loosely.

No grand speeches.

No heavy reflections.

Just two people, tired but still standing.

Still choosing each other.

Still building.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Permanently.

Because that's how you built something that lasted.

One clear decision.

One steady choice.

One earned moment at a time.

And tonight, even after the day's battles and unspoken tensions—

Matthew and Angel knew:

This was only the beginning.

And they were ready.

Together.