RIVEN'S POV

"What excuses are left to give right now?" I thought inwardly to myself.

As I sat in front of the two top board members of Harrison Limited, flanked by the sharp eyes of Mr. Barrett on the right and the unblinking gaze of Mrs. Caldwell on my left.

Their presence was as suffocating as it was strategic; they weren't here for a discussion. They were here to pressurize, to con, to convince me to do the one thing I had sworn I never would.

"Let's begin the meeting," Mrs. Caldwell uttered.

Across the long mahogany table sat my uncle, Jones Harrison. The man wore his usual expensive suit and his signature smug expression, but today, that arrogance was cracking. Beneath his composed exterior I could see the tension of his fingers against the table's edge. Something about today made him nervous, and that made me even more alert.

"Riven," he began smoothly, his voice oily with fake concern, "you must understand, this isn't personal; the company is at a crucial point." He paused again for a sip from his cup of coffee placed on the long table before him.

"We need someone experienced at the helm, someone the board trusts."

I crossed my arms, my gaze unwavering. "And you think that person is you?" My eyes widened in anger.

Barrett shifted in his seat, finally speaking up. "It's not just about experience, Mr. Harrison; it's also about stability. You're young, and you're not married. Investors are watching closely, and sign of weakness."

"I'm not a weakness," I cut in coldly. "And my marital status has nothing to do with my ability to run this company."

My heart skipped a beat, as they aren't showing me mercy; they've all prepared for this day to humiliate me, but I won't show any signs of weakness at all.

Jones gave a dry chuckle. "Come now, nephew. You know better; in this world, image is everything. You might be your father's son, but leadership takes more than blood." He asserted and then continued. "It takes sacrifice and maturity, things I'm not sure you're ready for."

My fists clenched beneath the table. I kept my expression calm, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"I'm not stepping down." I said, "This company was my father's legacy. It's mine now; I'll fight to keep it."

Jones's eyes narrowed. The smugness vanished. He leaned forward slightly, the mask skipping.

"You think you're fighting me?" He said quietly. "You're fighting the board, the press, and the market. Do you even have a plan, Riven? A real one?"

I didn't blink. "I do, and it's already in motion." There was silence.

Then, for the first time, I saw something I never thought I'd witness in my uncle's eyes: uncertainty.

He looked down briefly, as if reconsidering something, then back at me. His voice softened, almost pleading.

"Just give me more time." He said, "A few more weeks, that's all I'm asking. Let's not turn this into a war neither of us can win."

But he was wrong; this wasn't the start of a war, it was already the middle of one.

When I thought all hope had been lost, the tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. The murmurs of the board members buzzed like flies, and every second that ticked by pushed Riven closer to defeat. Uncle Jones leaned back in his chair with a smug, victorious smile playing at the corners of his mouth, arms folded like a king awaiting his crown.

"This is over." Jones said quietly, almost triumphantly. "Step down now, and we can avoid making this any more painful."

I said nothing; I just stared at the polished surface of the long table, my reflection blurred and hollow. My fingers gripped the armrest of his chair tightly, knuckles white. I had come so far, so close, only to be cornered once again by board politics, power games, and the relentless pressure of expectation.

Then the door creaked open sideways, and soft footsteps echoed into the boardroom, bringing all conversation to a sudden halt. Heads turned. Even Jones looked up, startled, and there she was.

My eyes flashed with shock as I saw "Camelia." I said in a low tone.

She stood in the doorway, poised yet visibly nervous, her eyes scanning the faces in the room until they landed on me. I stood immediately, the disbelief in my eyes quickly replaced by something deeper: hope.

She took a deep breath, shoulders squaring as she walked forward. Dressed in a cream blouse and a navy blue skirt that swayed with each step, she exudes quotestrength, though her fingers trembled slightly as she clutched a folder to her chest.

"Miss...?" Jones asked, rising from his seat, confused like a bird. "Who are you?" He asked.

"My name is Camelia George," she said clearly, her voice firm despite the crack that threatened. "I believe you've been waiting for me."

She walked closer to my side and placed her small bag on the glass-made table. When she sat down beside me, the crisp sound of Lapeer filled the air from my end. There, inside, was the marriage contract. Her space awaits her signature. Gasps echo around the room.

"I've agreed to the terms," she said. "The contract I'll sign now, and I think with that Riven becomes my husband and fulfills the board's requirement."

Jones's face fell instantly, the color draining from his cheeks. "You... You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious," Camelia said, looking directly at him. "I may not understand your world, but I understand when a man is about to be cheated out of what is rightfully his."

Camelia took the documents, signed every space meant to be signed, and tossed the paper to the front.

I turned to her, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why?" I asked.

Camelia met his eyes. "Because someone once gave me a second chance, maybe now it's my turn to give someone else one."

I didn't say a word; I simply reached for her hand, steady and warm against hers.

Jones's mouth opened as if to protest, but no words came. The board members looked at one another, silent but clearly impressed.

How had he returned not with a victory speech, but with a quiet, brave step through a door?