Chapter 31 Step down II
Raphael's POV
"Who?" I asked again, my voice harder this time, cutting through the tension in the room. "Who's taking my position?"
Richard and Marcus exchanged another uncomfortable glance. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, filling every corner of the conference room.
I could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning, the distant sound of phones ringing in other offices, the muffled conversations of people going about their normal workday while mine fell apart.
"Damien," Richard finally said, the name dropping into the silence like a stone into still water.
The name hit me like a punch to the gut. Of course. Of course it was Damien. Claudine's golden son. The man who had walked into the meeting this morning like he already owned the place—because apparently, he soon would. The same man who had stood over me with that smug smile, reminding me that my time in this seat wouldn't last long.
He'd known. This whole time, he'd already known.
So his threats from months ago are finally coming to pass.
I let out a bitter laugh that surprised even me, the sound harsh and unfamiliar in my own ears. "Damien? You're giving my company to Damien?"
"It's not about giving anyone anything," Marcus said quietly, speaking for the first time since they'd dropped this bomb on me. There was genuine discomfort in his voice, but that didn't make his words any easier to hear. "The board voted—"
"The board that includes his mother?" I cut him off, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay calm. "The board that Claudine has been manipulating for months? That board?"
Richard's expression hardened, his jaw tightening. "That's unfair. This decision was made based on what's best for the company's future. Damien has experience, he has vision, and he has the confidence of the investors."
"He has his mother's influence," I said flatly, each word precise and deliberate. "That's what he has. He has Claudine whispering in everyone's ears, painting me as incompetent, as weak, as someone who can't handle the company he built from nothing."
I stood up, needing to move, needing to do something other than sit there and take this like some kind of victim. My legs felt unsteady beneath me, my whole body trembling with a mixture of rage and helplessness, but I forced myself to stay upright. This was still my company. At least for now. At least for another week.
"When?" I asked, my voice quieter now but no less intense.
"The announcement will be made next week," Richard said, and I noticed he couldn't quite meet my eyes anymore. "We wanted to give you time to prepare, to think about how you want to handle the transition."
“And does the option of getting married still stand?” I asked.
“Yes! It does.”
"How generous of you," I said, the sarcasm dripping from my words like poison. "A whole week to process being pushed out of my own company. Should I send thank-you cards?"
Marcus shifted uncomfortably again, and I could see the conflict written across his face. Part of me wondered if he'd even voted for this, or if he'd been outvoted by Claudine's faction.
"Look, we know this isn't easy—"
"You don't know anything," I interrupted, my control slipping. "You have no idea what this company means to me. What I've sacrificed for it. The relationships I've lost, the sleep I've given up, the years I've poured into building something meaningful.
And now you're just handing it over to someone who's done nothing but ride his mother's coattails."
"We do know," Richard said, and there was something almost defensive in his tone now. "And that's why we're offering you the MD position. You'll still be involved, you'll still have a say in major decisions—"
"But not the final say," I finished for him, the reality of it settling over me like a heavy blanket. "Not anymore. I'll be consulted, sure. My opinion will be 'valued.' But when it comes down to it, Damien will make the call. Damien will have the power."
Neither of them argued with that. Their silence was enough.
I grabbed my laptop and my phone, suddenly desperate to get out of that room, away from their pitying looks and careful corporate language. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air too thick to breathe.
"Is there anything else you need to tell me? Any other ways you plan to destroy what I've built?"
"We're not destroying anything," Richard said, standing up as well. "We're trying to save it. The company has been struggling, the investors are getting nervous—"
"Save it from what? From me?" I asked, stopping halfway to the door and turning to face them. "Is that what this is really about? You think I'm the problem?"
When neither of them answered immediately, when they just stood there looking uncomfortable and avoiding my gaze, I had my response.
That was exactly what they thought. Claudine had done her job well, planting seeds of doubt, highlighting every mistake, every missed opportunity, every decision that didn't pan out perfectly.
I walked out, letting the door close behind me with more force than necessary. The sound echoed down the hallway, and I saw a few heads turn in nearby offices, curious about the commotion. I didn't care. Let them look. Let them wonder.
Soon enough, they'd all know anyway.
The hallway was mostly empty, which was a small mercy. I didn't think I could face anyone right now, didn't think I could paste on a fake smile and pretend that everything was fine when my world was crumbling around me like a sandcastle at high tide.
My office felt different when I finally reached it. Smaller somehow. Less mine. I looked around at the furniture I'd chosen, the awards on the shelves, the certificates on the walls—evidence of everything I'd accomplished.
Would Damien keep any of it? Or would he sweep it all away, erasing every trace of me like I'd never existed?
I sat down at my desk and stared at the framed photo on the corner—the one from the day we'd signed our first major contract. I'd been so proud that day, so certain that I was building something that would last, something that mattered.
My smile in that photo was genuine, full of hope and ambition and the kind of naive confidence that comes from not knowing how hard things are going to get.