The bell over the bakery door jingled like it was announcing the devil himself.
Emilia looked up from behind the counter, still frosting cupcakes, and nearly dropped her piping bag when he walked in.
Aidan Thorne. In her shop. In another tailored suit that probably cost more than her oven.
He looked completely out of place amidst the pastel walls, handwritten chalkboard menus, and shelves of heart-shaped cookies. His expression was unreadable as usual except for the faint tick in his jaw, which screamed I can't believe I'm here either.
Emilia crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Oh no. Nope. Turn around. Out."
He didn't.
"Emilia," he said, voice calm, hands in his pockets like he had all the time in the world. "We need to talk."
"No, you need to leave. This is a frosting-only zone, and you're bringing in too much chaos. And cologne."
He ignored that, stepping further inside. "It'll only take a minute."
"You told your grandmother I was your fiancée."
"She assumed. I didn't correct her."
"You definitely didn't."
"I had a reason."
"I don't care if you were protecting national security," she snapped. "You dragged me into your weird billionaire soap opera and I—wait, why are you looking at those cupcakes?"
Aidan's gaze had drifted to the glass display case. Specifically, to the corner where her signature pink velvet cupcakes sat in a perfect row.
"I was wondering how much sugar it takes to make something look that… aggressive," he said dryly.
Emilia blinked. "You did not just insult my cupcakes."
"I didn't insult them. I just implied they could blind someone with their cheerfulness."
She leaned across the counter. "Say another word and I'll pipe frosting straight up your nose."
There was a pause. Then, shockingly he smiled. Just the tiniest flicker, like a crack in a glacier. But it was there.
Emilia's brain short-circuited for half a second. Did he just… almost flirt?
No. Definitely a trick of the light.
"Why are you here?" she asked warily.
Aidan stepped forward and set a folder down on the counter. Crisp. Black. Official.
"Because I want to make you a deal."
"Oh no." She backed up like it might bite her. "If that's a contract, you can fold it into an origami swan and shove it."
He opened the folder anyway.
"It's simple. One month. You pretend to be my fiancée. You attend a few family dinners, smile for the press once or twice, and in return—"
"No."
"—I pay off your bakery's debt. All of it."
Silence.
She stared at him. Her heart actually tried to leap, but she stomped on it with mental boots.
"I'm not for sale," she said.
"I didn't say you were."
"But you're trying to buy me."
"I'm trying to hire you. It's different."
"Oh really?" She stepped out from behind the counter, arms crossed. "And what exactly would this job entail?"
"Public appearances. Some photos. Staying at my penthouse occasionally for credibility."
"I have a life, you know."
"I've checked. Your bakery is three weeks behind on rent and six months into a repayment plan that isn't working."
Her face went cold. "You checked?"
"I do my research."
She snatched the contract and flipped through it, trying not to let the panic show. The numbers on that debt were real. Too real. And she had been staying up every night baking extra orders just to keep the electricity on.
Her eyes drifted to the bottom of the contract where his signature already waited.
Clean. Precise. Emotionless.
Aidan Thorne didn't do things halfway.
"And what if I say no?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Then I'll find someone else. But I'd prefer you. My grandmother likes you. And…" He hesitated. "You feel... real."
Emilia blinked. "Wow. What a romantic. You make me sound like a used car."
"I'm a businessman, Emilia. I'm offering you a clean solution. No tricks. Just a deal."
She looked down at the contract again. Her bakery. Her dream. Her freedom.
Then she looked back at him. "I'm still not saying yes."
"I didn't expect you to. Not yet." He reached into his pocket and pulled out something surprising—a small pink box. Her bakery's logo on top.
"You bought a cupcake?" she asked, suspicious.
"I thought I'd give your chaos a second chance."
He set it down gently and turned to leave.
"Oh," he added at the door, "my grandmother would like to see you again. She asked for your bakery address."
"You gave it to her?"
"Of course."
She gaped. "You're a menace."
He paused at the door and looked over his shoulder.
"I'm a man who knows what he wants."
Then he was gone.
Emilia stood frozen in place, staring at the cupcake box. She opened it slowly.
Inside was a single pink velvet cupcake with gold dust and a small sugar heart.
Underneath it, tucked into the corner of the box, was a sticky note in clean, bold handwriting.
"Still not smiling." – A.T.