April O'Neil was no fool.
She had always been wary of Baxter Stockman. He was a genius, no doubt, but also a man whose arrogance had burned bridges faster than he could build them. That was the Stockman she had known—brilliant, but temperamental. A man who pushed people away rather than pulled them in.
But the man standing before her now?
There was something... different about him.
His words were smoother, more calculated, yet oddly sincere. His eyes held a sharpness, an intensity that hadn't been there before. He wasn't just trying to convince her of his ideas—he was drawing her into them, into him.
And damn it, it was working.
She studied the blueprint again. The design was... remarkable. The level of detail, the sheer ingenuity—this wasn't just some pipedream. If Stockman could actually build this, he wouldn't just change the prosthetics industry. He would dominate it.
"...This is real?" she asked, glancing up at him.
Stockman smirked. "Very real. And I want you to be a part of it."
April's brow furrowed. "Why me?"
He leaned in slightly, just enough to make her aware of the space between them. "Because you're not just some lab assistant, April. You have vision. You see potential where others see limitations. You push past barriers, ask the right questions." His voice lowered, almost conspiratorial. "And because I need someone I can trust."
April swallowed.
She had expected manipulation. She had expected flattery. What she hadn't expected was this kind of charisma.
Stockman had always been smart, but this was different.
He was dangerous.
And that sent a thrill down her spine.
April exhaled, trying to steady herself. "Alright. I'll help. But I want full transparency—no shady dealings, no hidden agendas."
Stockman chuckled. "You wound me, April. Have a little faith."
She gave him a pointed look.
He grinned. "Fine. No hidden agendas. But let's celebrate this partnership properly."
April raised an eyebrow. "Celebrate? How?"
Stockman stepped away from the desk and gestured toward the small kitchenette in the corner of the apartment. "Wine. A toast to the future."
April hesitated. This was not what she had expected when she came here. But there was something undeniably... exciting about this turn of events.
She nodded. "Alright. One drink."
Stockman smirked. "That's all I need.
The wine was cheap, but neither of them seemed to care. They sat across from each other in the dimly lit apartment, the air between them thick with an unspoken challenge.
April took a sip, watching him. "So, what's your real goal here? Money? Power?"
Stockman leaned forward, swirling his glass. "Influence."
April blinked. "That's... honest."
He smirked. "No point in lying to you. I don't want to be another corporate drone. I want to change things. And I want people to remember my name—not as some forgotten scientist, but as the man who reshaped the world."
April found herself staring at him longer than she intended. There was something intoxicating about his certainty, his sheer self-belief.
"You're bold," she admitted.
Stockman chuckled. "And you like that, don't you?"
April opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat when she saw the look in his eyes.
Confidence. Challenge. Desire.
The room suddenly felt much warmer.
She should have pulled back. She should have reminded herself that this was Baxter Stockman, the same man who had frustrated her for months.
But right now?
Right now, he wasn't the man she had known.
He was better.
And before she could stop herself, she leaned in.
Stockman didn't hesitate. The moment he saw the shift in her posture, the way her lips parted ever so slightly, he moved.
One hand cupped her jaw, firm but controlled, while his lips claimed hers with confidence. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty—only a man who knew what he wanted.
And April?
She melted into it.
His kiss was intoxicating—slow at first, teasing, before deepening into something dangerously seductive. His hand slid from her jaw down to her waist, pulling her closer, until she was nearly straddling his lap.
A small voice in her head screamed that this was reckless. That this was Baxter Stockman.
But another part of her—the part that had been drawn in by his brilliance, his ambition, his certainty—shut that voice down.
Right now?
She didn't care.
The kiss broke, but Stockman didn't pull away. His forehead rested against hers, his breath warm against her lips.
April licked her lips, dazed. "...Well. That was unexpected."
Stockman smirked. "Liar."
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Cocky bastard."
His hand slid up her spine, fingers tracing deliberately slow patterns. "Confident," he corrected. "And you like that."
April exhaled sharply, her grip tightening against his shoulders. "I should be worried about how quickly this escalated."
Stockman's voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Are you?"
She stared at him for a long moment.
No.
No, she wasn't.
And that realization was the most dangerous thing of all.
End of Chapter 3.