Previously on From Tomboy to Temptation:
A storm trapped Ryker and Mia in the office — and the tension finally snapped into something raw, almost confessional. But just as sparks ignited, Ryker's uncle called. Now the shadows are moving, and the true test begins.
---
The next morning, the air inside Ryker Corporation was deceptively calm. Polished marble floors reflected the morning light; the usual hum of professionalism returned. But beneath it, something was different — tighter. Like the world was holding its breath.
Mia felt it the moment she stepped inside. Eyes lingered on her longer than usual, whispers stopped when she passed, and her inbox was flooded with meeting invites she hadn't expected. Something was brewing.
And when she saw Ryker's uncle waiting near the elevators — crisp suit, polite smile, gaze sharp as glass — she knew exactly who was behind it.
"Good morning, Ms. Mia," he said smoothly, stepping closer. "The board requested your presence at the ten o'clock review. I trust you received the notice?"
Mia blinked. "The board?"
"Indeed." His smile never reached his eyes. "Your recent reports caught attention. Such… initiative deserves recognition."
It was too smooth, too sudden. A trap disguised as a compliment.
"Yes, sir," she said, masking her unease. "I'll be there."
As she turned away, she caught sight of Ryker stepping out of the executive elevator. For a brief second, their eyes met — and the warning in his gaze froze her mid-step.
Something wasn't right.
---
In his office, Ryker stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear.
"Cancel the ten o'clock," he said sharply. "That meeting wasn't authorized."
A pause. His expression darkened. "He's calling it a performance review? Without my signature?"
He exhaled hard, jaw tightening.
His uncle was testing her — again — and this time, the game wasn't subtle.
When he finally ended the call, his friend appeared in the doorway, coffee in hand and concern written all over his face.
"Trouble?"
Ryker's tone was low. "He's setting her up. Probably intends to make her slip publicly."
His friend whistled softly. "Brutal. He's playing chess while you're trying not to break the board."
Ryker turned, eyes dark. "I'm done pretending he controls the game."
His friend's grin was sharp. "Good. Then checkmate him."
---
By ten o'clock, the boardroom was full. Executives lined the long mahogany table, tablets glowing, voices murmuring. Mia entered quietly, her pulse steady but her palms cold. Ryker's uncle sat at the head — Ryker's usual seat — with that same polite, deadly calm.
"Mia," he greeted, gesturing for her to sit. "We're reviewing departmental efficiency. I thought your recent initiatives warranted discussion."
Her instincts screamed trap.
Still, she sat, meeting his gaze squarely. "Of course, sir."
He began his questions — subtle at first, then sharper. Every success she mentioned, he twisted into a potential liability. Every solution, he questioned with feigned innocence.
"So you prioritized speed over hierarchy?"
"I prioritized results, sir."
"And results that… bypassed direct approval channels?"
"I followed protocol where applicable," she replied evenly.
The uncle leaned back, smiling faintly. "Where applicable. Interesting phrase."
Around the table, executives shifted uncomfortably. Mia felt the sting of their judgment, the tension of the performance. But she refused to flinch.
---
Then the door opened.
Ryker stepped in.
The entire room straightened instinctively — the way people do when authority enters. His expression was unreadable, his tailored suit immaculate, his presence commanding.
"Am I interrupting?" he asked, tone deceptively calm.
His uncle's smile tightened. "Not at all. We were discussing your assistant's… unorthodox methods."
Ryker's eyes found Mia's, steady and grounding. "Then I suggest you direct your questions to me. Every initiative she's executed was under my supervision."
A ripple of surprise moved through the room. His uncle's composure faltered — only for a second.
"Interesting," he said. "So you admit responsibility?"
"Of course," Ryker said smoothly. "Responsibility is part of leadership."
The uncle studied him, then smiled thinly. "Leadership… or favoritism?"
A cold silence spread across the table.
Mia froze. The implication was clear — the uncle wasn't just trying to undermine her professionally. He was implying something personal.
---
Ryker's jaw clenched. "Careful," he said quietly, but his tone carried steel.
"Oh, come now," the uncle drawled. "The office has noticed. Late nights. Closed doors. Whispers. We can't afford scandals, nephew."
Mia's throat tightened. Every pair of eyes turned toward her — curious, judgmental, gleaming with speculation.
Ryker's control snapped just enough for his voice to drop an octave. "That's enough."
His uncle leaned back, smug. "Then tell us, Ryker — are your decisions driven by merit… or by personal interest?"
For a long moment, Ryker didn't answer. The tension was suffocating.
Then he spoke, calm but lethal.
"My decisions are driven by loyalty," he said. "To this company. To its future. And to those who've earned my trust — something you seem to have forgotten how to value."
The uncle's expression darkened.
"This meeting is over," Ryker added, stepping closer. "You'll find any concerns about my management can be addressed through the board — not through ambushes."
He turned to Mia. "Come with me."
She rose silently, heart pounding. Every step toward the door felt like walking out of a lion's den — with the lion still watching.
---
When the door closed behind them, Mia exhaled shakily.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Ryker didn't answer immediately. He walked down the corridor, fists clenched, barely leashed fury in his stride.
"Don't thank me," he said finally. "He used you to get to me. That won't happen again."
Mia quickened her pace beside him. "He's not going to stop."
"I know." His tone softened slightly. "But neither will I."
They reached the end of the hall, where tall windows looked out over the city. The rain had cleared, leaving the skyline sharp and gold.
Mia turned toward him, voice trembling. "He's trying to destroy you, isn't he?"
Ryker's expression softened just enough to be human. "He's trying to remind me who's in control."
"And are you?" she asked quietly.
He looked at her — really looked at her. "Not when you're around."
---
The words stole her breath.
He realized what he'd said too late, eyes flickering away. "Forget that. You shouldn't have been there today."
"I wanted to prove myself," she said.
"You already did." His gaze returned to her, warmer now. "You stood your ground. You didn't flinch. That's more strength than most people in that room had."
She smiled faintly, a mix of pride and exhaustion. "I learned from the best."
His lips curved, slow and reluctant. "Flattery?"
"Observation," she replied.
The moment stretched. Too long. Too close. The air felt heavy again — that same pull, that same electricity they'd fought in the storm.
"Mia," he murmured, voice rough.
"Yes?"
"If I give in to this — to you — he wins. You understand that?"
She nodded, but her eyes didn't leave his. "Maybe. But what if… we both win something else?"
The tension between them tightened like a live wire. For a heartbeat, it felt like he'd close the distance — that his restraint would finally break.
Then his phone buzzed again.
---
He stepped back, jaw tense. "It's him."
"Your uncle?"
He nodded once, answering the call with icy calm.
"Yes?"
A pause.
"No, I don't owe you an explanation. And if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll go straight to the board myself."
Another pause. His tone sharpened. "You forget who built this company's name. You forget whose blood it carries."
Then he hung up.
For a moment, he stood still — silent, furious, but controlled. Then he looked back at Mia.
"You should stay away from him," he said quietly. "And from me, until this settles."
Mia's chest tightened. "You think distance will fix this?"
"It'll keep you safe."
"But what about you?" she whispered.
He smiled faintly — a sad, almost broken smile. "I stopped being safe a long time ago."
And with that, he walked away, leaving her in the corridor — the light fading behind him, the sound of his footsteps echoing like a warning and a promise all at once.
---
That night, Mia sat in her small apartment, laptop open, thoughts restless. The world outside glowed with city lights, but her mind replayed his words again and again.
You already have.
He wins if I give in.
I stopped being safe a long time ago.
Every word was a battle she didn't know how to fight.
Her phone buzzed. A message.
> Unknown Number:
You made an impression today, Ms. Mia.
Be careful whose shadow you stand in.
Her breath caught. No name. But she didn't need one. She knew that tone.
The uncle.
Her fingers trembled as she typed back — then hesitated. Deleted the message.
She refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
But as she locked her door and drew the curtains, a shiver ran through her. The game had begun in earnest.
And this time, the stakes weren't just professional.
They were personal.
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