“Iamnice.” She begins to walk toward the door and mutters, “He’s just an idiot who thinks with his dick all the time.”
A small chuckle rumbles from my throat as I watch her leave, then everything falls into silence. The bakery hums around me—ovens cooling, timers ticking, and the sweet haze of cinnamon and butter clinging to the air.
It’s supposed to feel like peace.
But it just feels hollow.
I finish wiping down the counters for the third time before grabbing my bag and heading out the back door. The night air hits me—cool, sharp, and faintly salty from the ocean breeze. The streets are quiet, slick with dew and the kind of silence that feels too aware of itself.
And that’s when I see him.
Except it’s not him
It's Nikolai.
Leaning against the hood of a black SUV.
My stomach drops, and he looks too at ease—clean suit, no tie, and a faint smirk like he’s enjoying his new power and life.
While we ripped Benedikt’s away together.
“Evening.” He pushes off the car when he catches my eye. His voice is smoother than Benedikt’s, but colder. There’s something predatory about his calm.
I stop a few feet away, crossing my arms instinctively. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking in.”
I don’t like that.
We’re not friends, and I don’t want him to think we can be just because I gave him everything.
That Benedikt and I weren’t in love.
That I was playing a role.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I say.
He chuckles. “You don’t have to. I just wanted to make sure you’re settling in. Adjusting.”
“I’m fine.”
He glances toward the bakery sign behind me. “When do you get to leave this place? I drove by the other bakery, and it looks good. He had good taste; I’ll give him that.”
My pulse stutters. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Talk about him.”
That makes him smile—a slow, deliberate curve. “Still a sensitive topic?”
My nostrils flare. “I wouldn’t say exiling someone makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.”
“You thought he would go quietly?”
No.
Benedikt is too controlling and goal-oriented to back off.
