The days following Axton's urgent phone call stretched into a slow, tense prelude to Saturday.
In the warm, comforting confines of Bluebell Bakes, Sebastian was an almost constant presence.
He arrived earlier than necessary, lingered later than polite, and found endless, creative reasons to occupy the space near Elin. He wasn't overtly threatening; a relentless, easy-going charm masked his persistence, yet it coiled tighter around Elin with every passing hour.
He'd take his coffee, which he inexplicably ordered every thirty minutes, at the counter, narrating snippets of his life, his voice low and confident. He offered unsolicited 'help' with inventory, which invariably meant leaning over her shoulder and allowing his cologne to mingle with the flour dust.
Elin felt her internal composure thinning, stretched taut by the need to be friendly, available, and utterly non-committal. She offered polite smiles, kept her responses brief and focused on bakery business, and built small, invisible barriers—a sack of flour, a stack of cooling trays, the wide register monitor—between them.
The discomfort was a low-level annoyance she couldn't switch off.
It wasn't just the unwelcome flirtation; it was the proprietary air he was cultivating, the way he would casually tell a regular customer, "Elin's just a little stressed today," or comment on her clothes, treating her as a possession he was on the verge of claiming.
She felt constantly watched, constantly evaluated, and the pressure to maintain the heartbroken façade was exhausting.
The bakery regulars were not blind. They had witnessed the easy, established dynamic between Elin and Axton; the quiet, protective way he'd sit with his coffee, the shared knowing glances.
Now, they saw the rumpled CEO replaced by the smooth, always-present Sebastian.
On Thursday morning, Mrs. Tan, a silver-haired woman known for her keen observations and weekly order of sourdough, approached the counter. Sebastian, naturally, was right beside Elin, polishing an already-spotless display case.
"Elin, dear," Mrs. Tan began, her voice a low, concerned timbre. She ignored Sebastian entirely, her focus squarely on Elin's tired eyes. "Is everything truly alright? I haven't seen Axton in days. Your face looks strained, my girl."
Elin forced a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. The question was gentle, yet it felt like a spotlight on her performance. "I'm fine, Mrs. Tan. Just busy with a big order," she replied, keeping her voice light.
Sebastian, however, seized the opening, injecting himself smoothly into the conversation. He rested his hand briefly on Elin's back, a gesture that made Elin stiffen.
"Axton's busy with the corporate world, Mrs. Tan. Some people just can't handle the charm of an apron and flour," he said, his laugh easy and dismissive. "Elin needs someone who appreciates the simple things."
Mrs. Tan's gaze sharpened, moving slowly from Sebastian's hand on Elin's back to his overly confident face. Her disapproval was palpable, expressed not with words, but with a slight compression of her lips.
"Young man," Mrs. Tan addressed Sebastian, her voice cool and steady, making him remove his hand instantly. "I've been coming here for five years. Axton never failed to check on Elin, even on the busiest days. He saw her, not the apron. He was polite, discreet, and he didn't hover."
She turned back to Elin, her expression softening into genuine, maternal concern. "Elin, honey, what is going on? Did you and Axton truly end things? And is this young man... well, is he forcing his attention on you?" The question was direct, borne of protective instinct.
Elin felt a sudden, sharp wave of conflicting emotions: gratitude for Mrs. Tan's intervention, a profound weariness from the constant deception, and a panicked realization that she couldn't confirm the real nature of Sebastian's presence.
"It's true, Mrs. Tan," Elin managed, letting a small, controlled quiver enter her voice. "We... we broke up. And Sebastian..." she glanced at him, forcing a hesitant, almost embarrassed smile, "he's just being persistent. He's been kind. It's... it's just a lot right now." She was vague, suggesting he was a difficult but welcome rebound.
Sebastian recovered, his smile back in place, satisfied with her non-denial. "Just being persistent, ma'am. I told you, I like a little resistance," he chuckled, reclaiming his territory.
Mrs. Tan gave Sebastian a final, withering look that promised swift judgment if Elin seemed unhappy, and then patted Elin's hand. "Well, you be careful, dear. Some men only see an opportunity, not a person. You let me know if you need any of my son's help with inventory."
Elin watched Mrs. Tan exit the bakery, her departure marked by the gentle chime of the door. The older woman's words of warning and protective concern hung in the air, a stinging indictment of Sebastian's conduct. Elin's exhaustion was momentarily replaced by a tense, nervous anticipation—she knew Sebastian wouldn't let the public reprimand pass without a reaction.
Sebastian's smile, which had been plastered on since Mrs. Tan's arrival, vanished instantly. The change was startling, a quick, chilling snap from charming suitor to something calculating and cold.
He turned his attention back to the counter, picking up the polishing cloth with an aggressive, unnecessary force.
"That old bird," Sebastian muttered, his voice low, his tone laced with genuine venom that he didn't bother to disguise. He didn't look at Elin; instead, he glared at the spot where Mrs. Tan had stood. "These sentimental dinosaurs always think they know everything about everyone."
Elin felt a knot form in her stomach.
The brief flash of naked contempt he held for the bakery's customers made her increasingly uneasy.
"She's a regular, Sebastian. She means well," Elin said quietly, trying to deflect the anger without challenging him directly. She needed to avoid confrontation, maintain the persona of the sweet, non-aggressive baker.
She kept her focus on stacking the finished scones, her movements quick and deliberate, hoping to convey that the subject was closed.
Sebastian scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive.
"Meaning well means minding her own business. Who is she to judge what's going on between two adults? Especially when one of those adults," he looked pointedly at Elin, his eyes glittering with a sudden possessiveness, "is finally waking up and realizing who the better partner is."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, attempting to re-establish their intimacy and erase the public moment of criticism. "She just doesn't understand our dynamic, Elin. She sees Axton's wealth and thinks it's love. She doesn't see the exhaustion he put you through."
He let the polishing cloth drop onto the counter with a soft thud. He reached out and captured her hand, stopping her work entirely. His grip was firm, persuasive, leaving no room for her to pull away easily without making a scene.
"Don't let people like her shame you into feeling bad for moving on," Sebastian insisted, his thumb stroking the back of her hand, a gesture that was intended to be comforting but felt utterly coercive. "You deserve someone who's present, who's here. Someone whose world is small enough to hold you entirely, not split between a desk and a trophy girlfriend."
The term "trophy girlfriend" felt like a direct, cynical weapon aimed at her relationship with Axton.
Elin's heart hammered against her ribs. She forced her fingers to relax, preventing her inevitable desire to snatch her hand back. She manufactured a small, weary sigh.
"I know, Sebastian," Elin murmured, keeping her gaze lowered, conveying shame and confusion rather than defiance. "It's just hard. Everything's happening so fast."
She gently pulled her hand free under the pretext of needing to label a package, immediately putting the counter space between them again. She needed to buy time and keep the façade of being easily swayed.
***
It was late Friday afternoon, and the bakery was quiet, the last rush having subsided. The air was cool now, scented mostly with residual vanilla and cleaning solution.
Elin was wiping down the glass display case, her mind already consumed by the logistical nightmare of the upcoming dinner with Axton's father.
She needed Sebastian to leave so she could close up and think.
Sebastian, predictably, was still there, leaning against the counter near the register. He was nursing a lukewarm cup of tea, watching her every movement with an unnerving intensity that felt less charming and more like surveillance. He waited until she was completely done with her task, placing the final cloth back in the bucket.
"Elin," Sebastian began, his voice cutting through the silence.
Elin paused, slowly straightening up, her internal guard immediately snapping into place. She met his gaze, forcing her expression to remain neutral, expectant.
"I know things have been messy for you. The on-again, off-again drama with Axton," he continued, smoothly dismissing her entire relationship. "But it's time to stop looking in the rear view mirror."
He pushed himself off the counter and walked around the display case, stopping directly in front of her. He put his tea cup down and reached for her hands, his action too quick for her to fully withdraw. He held them firmly, his warmth a stark contrast to her cool, tired skin.
"Look, I'm not subtle, and I don't pretend to be," Sebastian said, his eyes drilling into hers, brimming with self-satisfaction. "I like you. A lot. I like this place. I like the peace you bring to this crazy city. And I know you like me too because you keep letting me hang around."
"I'm serious about this. About us," he said, his eyes intense and unwavering. "This whole week, watching you, I know you and Axton were never really a fit. You're too good, too real for that corporate circus."
He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper—not a gift, but a simple note, which felt somehow more personal and less easily dismissed than a bouquet.
"I want to make it official," he stated, his confidence ringing in the quiet bakery. "I know you're hurting, and I know I've been rushing you. But I can't stand seeing you alone like this. I don't want to just be the kind shoulder or the distraction."
He met her eyes, his expression earnest, almost vulnerable, a calculated tactic designed to disarm her. "Elin, be my girlfriend. Let me take care of you. Let me show you what it's like to be with someone whose priorities are here, with you, not on some distant deal."
The question hung between them, thick and demanding.
A cold wave of panic wash over her.
This was too fast, too bold. This crossed a critical line.
Agreeing would not only make the lie exponentially bigger but would give Sebastian actual leverage, not just presumed access.
Refusing, however, might signal to him that the breakup with Axton was the real ruse, making him suspicious of the very thing Axton was trying to protect.
"Sebastian," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "I... I appreciate this so much. You've been so kind to me this week. But everything is still so raw with Axton. I can't jump into something new, not yet. It wouldn't be fair to you."
She searched for the right words, the words that would keep him interested without committing her. "It's been a confusing, messy week. Give me a little time. Please."
She reached out and gently placed her hand over his, briefly holding the note without taking it.
Sebastian's expression flickered, frustration battling with his determination. He hated the delay, but her seemingly genuine confusion and concern for him suggested that she was close to yielding.
"I understand, Elin," he conceded, but the words were tight. He slid the note into her hand anyway, forcing the action. "But I'm not going to wait forever. I'm telling you, I'm a much safer bet than the man who just dropped you the second things got complicated."
He lifted her hands to his lips and pressed a swift, possessive kiss to her knuckles. "A week, I'll give you a week. And, I'm counting the days, Elin. And I expect a clear answer then."
He released her hands and finally stepped away, leaving Elin to clutch the cold steel of the mixer, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She had bought them time, but the pressure had ratcheted up exponentially.
***
The stress culminating in Sebastian's aggressive proposal, had left Elin feeling raw and exposed. The thought of facing Axton's father, the imposing patriarch who viewed her as a mere "distraction," was infinitely more nerve-wracking than fending off Sebastian's advances.
Sebastian was a flirt; Axton's dad was a threat to her very existence in Axton's world.
A soft, insistent knock echoed on the door of her small apartment, exactly five minutes after the agreed-upon time.
Elin glanced through the peephole.
Instead of a late courier, she saw a man wearing a slightly ill-fitting, branded cap and jacket, a large, nondescript cardboard box held awkwardly under one arm. It took her a moment to recognize the intense, familiar gaze.
She yanked the door open. "Axton," she breathed, her relief and exasperation mixing into a complicated sigh. The sight of him, still looking professionally rumpled but safe, instantly calmed the frantic beating of her heart.
He slipped inside, shedding the disguise in one fluid motion. The delivery cap landed on the nearest chair, and he immediately pulled her into a tight, grounding embrace. "I had to see you," he mumbled into her hair, inhaling the comforting, signature scent of sugar and warmth that clung to her. "I couldn't face that dinner without running the full brief. And I missed you."
"I missed you too," Elin whispered, holding him fiercely for a brief, necessary moment before pulling back. Her relief was quickly replaced by a fresh surge of anxiety. "But this is reckless. What if Sebastian saw you? He's been practically living at the bakery."
"Lance drove me. We took every precaution so it's okay, no one see me."
Elin sank onto her sofa, pulling Axton down beside her. The weight of Sebastian's demands spilled out quickly. She recounted the incessant lingering, Mrs. Tan's questioning, and finally, the direct, demanding proposal.
"He called her a 'sentimental dinosaur,' Axton. He didn't even bother to hide his contempt," Elin recounted, her voice flat with lingering distaste. "He was so possessive. And when he demanded I be his girlfriend, I told him I needed a week. I told him I was confused and heartbroken, and that I needed time to decide."
Axton listened, his face hardening with every detail. He nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "A week is perfect. That buys us time for the file to move and for Vivian to make her move. You handled that perfectly, Elin. You kept him invested without committing."
He reached for her hand, his thumb tracing worried circles on her knuckles. "I hate that he touched you. I hate that you have to listen to his nonsense."
Elin leaned her head against his shoulder, letting herself feel the weight of her own exhaustion. "It's the constant pressure, Axton. He is so persistent. He makes me feel like he's not just flirting; he's acquiring me. I hate being a pawn in this game."
"But, Sebastian is nothing compared to tonight," Elin said, her voice dropping with genuine fear.
"I'm going to the lion's den, Axton. Your father sees me as a weakness, a distraction. I don't know the rules of his game. What am I supposed to wear? What am I supposed to say about my bakery? He'll dissect me."
Axton moved closer, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You're going as my choice, Elin. My foundation. And your job is to appear strong, but non-confrontational. Polished, but authentic. He'll look for weakness; you give him unwavering composure."
He knew the impossible tightrope he was asking her to walk. "As for the rules, there's only one: Don't lie. Be direct about your business, your success, and your independence. He respects success, even if he views yours as small."
Elin took a deep breath, trying to absorb the frantic advice. She turned toward the counter, where a cooling rack held a meticulously frosted batch of miniature vanilla bean cupcakes. They weren't for a customer.
"I baked these," Elin announced, a small gesture of preparation that seemed utterly inadequate for facing a corporate titan. The cupcakes were tiny, perfect, topped with a delicate sugar flower. "For your father. Do you think it's too... sweet? Too much like a domestic offering?"
Axton looked at the cupcakes, a genuine, if fleeting, softness entering his gaze. It was a gesture of profound kindness and vulnerability from her.
"No," he said decisively, reaching out to gently touch one of the sugar flowers. "It's exactly right. It's an offering of your strength, Elin. You are successful on your own terms."
"That's enough for now," Axton declared, his voice cutting through the tense air of strategy. He stood up, towering over her, his expression intense.
He reached down, slipped one arm beneath her knees, and the other around her back, and swept her up into his arms without warning.
Elin gasped, her hands instinctively clutching his broad shoulders. "Axton! What are you—"
"No one saw me come in, and no one will see me now," he assured her, his eyes dark with a hunger that was purely for her. "I need one hour that isn't about Sebastian, or my father, or a decoy file. One hour where we are just us, and this world doesn't exist."