"Breathe, Elin," Axton instructed, his voice low and soothing, breaking the oppressive quiet of the vehicle. He reached over and took her hand, his thumb stroking her wrist in a familiar, comforting pattern.
Axton had changed into a flawless charcoal suit, a transformation that emphasized the intimidating reality of his world.
He looked every inch the powerful executive, and as they rode in the silent black sedan toward the estate.
Elin, dressed in a simple, tailored dark navy dress, felt utterly exposed.
"I feel like an imposter. I'm a baker, Axton. He's going to see right through the façade. He's going to see the 'distraction' you talked about."
"He'll see exactly what I want him to see," Axton countered firmly, turning his body to face her. His eyes were intense, focused solely on her.
"He expects you to be a nervous, pliable little thing, easily intimidated. We are giving him the opposite. You built a successful business from scratch. Focus on that drive. You are here because you agreed to one final, professional courtesy—nothing more."
The car glided up a sweeping, granite driveway.
The house was a fortress.
Massive, stone, and utterly devoid of warmth, it looked less like a home and more like the headquarters of a severe, ancient financial institution. The sheer scale of the wealth was immediately overwhelming.
A solemn housekeeper ushered them into a cavernous sitting room furnished with severe antique pieces and dominated by heavy, dark wood. There was no comfortable clutter, no warmth, just polished, expensive emptiness.
Axton's father, Mr Creighton, rose from a high-backed leather chair. He was a towering man, slightly broader than Axton, with a face carved from granite and eyes that missed absolutely nothing. He didn't offer a hand; he merely inclined his head in a gesture of minimal acknowledgement.
"Axton," he greeted, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that commanded immediate respect. "You're late. Punctuality, as always, escapes you when non-corporate matters are involved."
"Good evening, Father. We hit traffic," Axton replied, his own voice reverting to a colder, more formal tone, the filial warmth completely suppressed. He then placed a possessive, subtle hand on the small of Elin's back, guiding her forward. "This is Elin."
Elin took a slow, deep breath, remembering Axton's instructions. She extended her hand, her movements precise and steady. She had rehearsed this moment countless times.
"Mr. Creighton," Elin said, her voice clear and measured, entirely professional. "Thank you for the invitation. I appreciate the opportunity for this clarification."
Mr. Creighton's gaze was unnervingly direct, sweeping over her from her simple dress to her careful hairstyle. It was a prolonged, clinical examination, assessing her worth and her potential danger. He ignored her outstretched hand for a beat too long, an intentional power play designed to throw her off balance.
Finally, he gave her hand a brief, dry shake, his grip surprisingly forceful. "Elin. You are certainly... present. Axton described you as his 'foundation.' An interesting metaphor for someone in the pastry business. Foundations are generally built from stone, not sugar."
The subtle dismissiveness was a direct hit.
Elin felt a momentary sting, but she refused to look away or let her posture falter.
"Foundation is accurate, Mr. Creighton," Elin responded immediately, meeting his severe gaze without flinching. "Stone is prone to cracking under pressure. My foundation is built on reliable daily profit margins, effective supply chain management, and the loyalty of a growing customer base. It's solid, and unlike corporate stock, it doesn't crash."
The retort was quick, unexpected, and completely lacking in the expected deference.
A flicker of surprise crossed his's face. He narrowed his eyes, clearly reassessing the quiet baker before him. She hadn't stumbled or apologized; she'd challenged his metaphor using his own language: business.
"A rather aggressive defence of a small business model," Mr. Creighton commented, though his voice now held a trace of grudging interest. He didn't look at Axton, keeping his attention locked on Elin. "And where, precisely, does my son fit into that robust model?"
Elin's mind went blank.
The rehearsed responses—the talk of professional respect, of mutual business acumen—vanished under the immense pressure of the moment.
She couldn't give him the answer Axton had prepared, nor could she offer the calculated dismissal his father clearly expected. Instead, a truth, raw and utterly unscripted, escaped her.
"He fits in because I love him," Elin blurted out, the three simple words ringing through the cavernous, silent room. Her voice was sharp with sudden emotion, startling even herself.
Mr. Creighton's reaction was immediate and profound. His granite face didn't soften; it hardened, his eyes narrowing to sharp slits of pure disbelief and cold fury.
Axton, standing beside Elin, tensed, his hand dropping from her back and clenching into a fist at his side. The sudden confession completely derailed the carefully controlled professional narrative.
"Love," Mr Creighton sneered, the word tasting like an obscenity on his tongue. He stepped closer, his imposing height looming over Elin. "That is the answer of a child, not a foundation. Love, in this world, is not a strength. It is a vulnerability. It is a liability that clouds judgment and invites exploitation. You just confirmed my gravest fears about your influence, Elin. You are not a foundation but a risk."
The casual cruelty of his dismissal ignited a fiery, protective rage in Elin that instantly eclipsed her earlier nervousness.
Elin straightened her spine, planting her feet firmly on the expensive rug. She met his scornful gaze with a sudden, unshakeable force. The quiet baker was gone, replaced by a woman fiercely defending her heart.
"You are wrong, Mr. Creighton," Elin retorted, her voice gaining strength, clear and ringing through the silence. "You see love as weakness because you see everything as a transaction. I see it as the only thing that isn't transactional."
She lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated by his power or his wealth. "Love isn't the liability that clouds judgment; fear of loss is. And fear is what runs your world. You fear losing control, you fear vulnerability, and you fear any success you didn't personally orchestrate. That's why you sit here alone in this beautiful prison of a house."
Her words were brutal, hitting directly at the cold isolation that defined his life.
His face was a mask of incandescent rage, the colour high on his neck. His breath came in shallow, controlled gasps, but the fury in his eyes was volcanic. He was a man utterly unused to being contradicted, let alone dissected in his own domain.
"How dare you lecture me on my life, young woman!" he spat, his voice trembling slightly with the effort of restraint. "You mistake sentiment for substance. This 'love' you tout will be the downfall of my son. It already has him distracted from a critical, multi-billion dollar acquisition. That is not a foundation; that is a catastrophe."
Elin felt a wave of icy calm settle over the initial fiery outburst. She was already past the point of return; there was no façade left to maintain. She was simply stating the truth as she saw it, fighting for the life she wanted with Axton.
"It's not distraction, Mr. Creighton, it's perspective," Elin countered, her voice now steady and low, carrying a deep conviction that quieted Alistair's sputtering rage momentarily. "The money will always be there, but judgment rooted in human connection is not replaceable. Axton handles a multi-billion dollar deal because he knows what he's fighting to protect. He knows the value of the life he's building, not just the cost of the company he's acquiring."
Mr Creighton let out a harsh, barking laugh, devoid of humour. "Sentimental nonsense! You equate a small bakery—a pleasant hobby—with a corporate empire. You think you understand the stakes? If Axton fails this acquisition because he is distracted by you, the entire legacy suffers. And I assure you, Miss Elin, I will treat the source of that failure accordingly." His eyes were ice picks, threatening swift, merciless retribution.
"That's enough, Father. The threats end now."
Axton pulled Elin tightly to his side, his arm a steel band around her waist. His gaze met his father's—son against patriarch, equally matched in cold resolve.
"The dinner is over," Axton declared, his voice hard and absolute. "You have heard Elin's position, and you have heard mine. Your attempts to intimidate her have failed. I brought her here as a courtesy; I am now removing her."
Mr Creighton straightened his suit, the brief loss of control already receding behind a practiced mask of superiority. "You are proving my point, Axton. You are allowing your emotions to dictate your professionalism. This is the final warning. You sever this connection, or you risk everything."
"You are the only risk in this room, Father," Axton replied, spinning Elin swiftly toward the door.
"Oh, and Father, do not contact he, do not send your people to the bakery. You will deal only with me."
They walked quickly, the sound of their heels echoing unnervingly fast on the marble floors. Elin felt a rush of adrenaline mixed with profound relief. She looked back just once and saw his father standing rigid in the vast room, watching their departure with an expression of calculated, lethal disapproval.
The black sedan's doors slammed shut, severing them abruptly from the oppressive presence of the estate. The heavy silence inside the car was thick with adrenaline and shock. Axton, his features still taut with the immediate fallout of the confrontation, stared straight ahead, his breath coming in shallow, focused bursts.
Elin, however, faltered. The release of the tension, the sheer audacity of what she had just done, hit her like a physical wave. She suddenly felt faint, her earlier defensive fire extinguished by the terrifying reality of the man she had just verbally attacked.
She slumped against the plush leather seat, her head falling back, a shaky, audible gasp escaping her lips.
"Axton, I—I couldn't stop it," she whispered, her voice laced with sudden terror and regret. "I ruined your strategy. I was supposed to be detached, professional, and I just... I told him I loved you. And then I basically called his life a failure. He's going to destroy the bakery. He's going to destroy everything."
Axton remained silent for another agonizing moment, the intensity of his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the hood of the car. Then, slowly, a deep, surprising tremor started in his chest. It began as a muffled sound, growing quickly into a full, resonant peal of laughter.
He threw his head back against the seat, the sound echoing through the sedan, rich and unrestrained.
"Axton! Stop! This isn't funny!" Elin pleaded, straightening up, utterly bewildered and slightly hysterical. His reaction was completely unexpected.
Axton turned to her, his eyes still shining with mirth, a genuine, powerful smile splitting his usually severe features. He reached out and gently brushed the hair back from her face, his touch reverent.
"Oh, Elin. It's the funniest thing that has ever happened in that house," he choked out, still fighting back laughter. "You didn't ruin my strategy. You demolished it and replaced it with something infinitely better."
He shook his head, the awe returning. "No one. In the history of that family. No one has ever dared to look my father in the eye and call his life a prison built on fear. Not his brothers, not his lawyers, and certainly not me."
Axton's smile faded into a look of profound respect and deep love. "Everyone else walks into that room carrying a transaction. They try to impress him with wealth, status, or deference. You walked in there, armed with nothing but the truth, and you forced him to confront the actual cost of his empire—his isolation."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping, intense and serious. "He expected a timid girl easily dismissed. He got a woman who defended her love and her conviction without flinching, and who used his own corporate rhetoric against him. He didn't see an asset or a liability; he saw a force he couldn't control."
Elin felt a slow, hesitant warmth replacing the fear in her chest. His pride in her was palpable, overriding the terror of his father's retaliation.
"But he promised retaliation, Axton," she reminded him, the practical concern still sharp. "He said he'd treat me as the source of your failure."
"He will try," Axton agreed, his expression hardening back into focused resolve, but without the earlier tension. "But now he knows who he's dealing with. He won't try to buy you off; he'll come at you directly, which means he'll be predictable. And most importantly, Elin," he leaned in, his lips brushing her forehead, "he will never again underestimate you. You just secured your place, not as a weakness, but as the one person he truly needs to worry about."
Elin's mobile phone chimed loudly from her purse, shattering the intense silence of the sedan.
The screen flashed with Sebastian's name.
She glanced at the name and her face immediately tensed.
"It's him. He always calls after 9 PM. He's checking up," she whispered.
"Answer it," Axton commanded instantly, his voice sharp with renewed focus. He pulled the secure phone away from his ear, needing to concentrate fully on this new, immediate threat. "Put it on speakerphone. I need to hear exactly what he's planning. We have to keep him contained."
Elin nodded, taking a steadying breath. She hit the answer button and placed the phone carefully on the console between them. The sound of Sebastian's voice, smooth and confident, filled the enclosed space.
"Elin! There you are. I've been calling," Sebastian said, a deliberate undercurrent of concern masking the impatience in his voice. "Where are you? I stopped by the bakery, and you're not answering texts. I thought we were getting past this whole disappearing act."
Axton leaned closer to the console, his eyes narrowed, listening intently.
"Hi, Sebastian," Elin replied, her voice soft and slightly weary, selling the perfect persona of the exhausted, recently heartbroken woman. "I'm sorry. I just needed to take care of some urgent personal business out of the city. Everything's fine, just running errands."
Sebastian scoffed lightly. "Urgent personal business? In the middle of Friday night? Sounds suspiciously corporate, Elin. Are you sure you're not hiding from me? You said you needed space to clear your head.""
The possessiveness in his tone was blatant, a deliberate attempt to assert control and sow doubt about her breakup. Axton clenched his jaw, listening to the subtle manipulation.
"No, nothing corporate," Elin assured him gently. "Just a long day. I'm actually on my way back to my apartment now. It's been exhausting."
"Good," Sebastian confirmed, the relief clear in his voice. "Because I need to see you. Tonight. I know you said you need a week for the official title, but I haven't seen you all day, and I don't like it. I was thinking I could swing by your place in an hour. I could help you relax."
He was pushing hard, forcing proximity and breaking the 'week' boundary she had set. Axton quickly mouthed the word: "NO."
Elin picked up on the cue. "Sebastian, not tonight," she replied, injecting a genuine sound of fatigue into her voice. "I really am completely wiped out. The last thing I need is conversation. I just need to crash. Maybe tomorrow afternoon?"
Sebastian paused, a dangerous silence on the line. He hated being denied. "Tomorrow afternoon? You're delaying me, Elin. I thought you wanted something real. Real relationships don't hide."
"They also don't rush," Elin countered, holding firm. "I promised you an answer next week, and you have my word. But I can't think straight tonight. Please be patient."
He let out a heavy, theatrical sigh, finally conceding the point, but not without leaving a final, possessive barb. "Fine. Tomorrow afternoon it is. But text me the minute you walk in the door, Elin. And I expect you to make it up to me. I'll swing by the bakery right before closing tomorrow."
"Understood," Elin murmured. She waited a beat, then ended the call.
The silence that followed was charged. Elin snatched the phone off the console, her hands slightly shaking. "He's getting worse, Axton. He's furious about the delay, and he's setting a deadline for tomorrow."
Axton's expression was grim. "He's desperate. He's trying to close the gap before the corporate dust settles. He knows he's running out of time."