Ryan's POV
Ryan stood in the boardroom of Saint Corp Headquarters, surrounded by senior executives and partners. The skyline of New York stretched behind him—cold, vast, unfeeling—just like the version of himself he presented to the world.
Yet today… he was off.
He snapped at one executive for presenting a flawed report. Shut down another's proposal without hearing the full pitch. Even Mr. Jackson, his ever-composed driver and aide, raised a subtle brow when he brought the Maybach around.
Ryan didn't apologize.
He never did.
But he knew why he was distracted. Mia.
Since she left that morning—shoulders tight, eyes avoiding his—he hadn't been able to concentrate. The memory of her whisper—Don't kiss me again—rang louder than the voice of any board member.
Why did it matter?
They were in a contract marriage.
A front.
A means to an end to satisfy his grandfather Desmond's pressures.
He'd made that clear. He wasn't a one-woman man.
But still… he hadn't called Diane.
Not since that night.
And he didn't understand why.
He loosened his tie and walked to the bar in his office, pouring himself a neat glass of bourbon. Just as he took a sip, his phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
He frowned and answered with his usual chill. "Ryan Saint."
A soft, unfamiliar voice whispered from the other end. "Mr. Saint… does the name Mia Walls mean anything to you?"
He froze.
The line crackled slightly.
"Who is this?"
"You may want to keep a closer eye on your wife, Mr. Saint. Not everyone stays hidden forever."
The call disconnected.
Ryan stood frozen for several seconds. The glass trembled in his hand before shattering in the sink with a sharp crash.
Someone knew.
Someone knew.
And that meant Mia might be in danger.