The next morning, sunlight spilled through the bakery windows, glinting off the polished glass cases. The storm had washed the streets clean, leaving the world outside looking fresh and new.
Elin tightened her apron, trying to focus on stacking trays of buns in neat rows. But her mind betrayed her, replaying fragments of last night: the way Axton's lips had brushed hers with quiet certainty, the way her hands had rested on his chest, feeling his heartbeat thrum beneath her palms.
Every time the memory resurfaced, her cheeks warmed, and she quickly busied herself kneading dough or rearranging pastries that didn't need rearranging. Maybe it had just been the storm. A trick of candlelight, thunder, and two people caught in the same silence. Perhaps it wasn't something to think too much about.
She was almost convincing herself when the bell above the bakery door jingled.
She looked up sharply, heart stuttering. And there he was—Axton. Tall, broad, impossibly composed. He carried himself as if the night hadn't cracked him open, as if the weight he'd revealed about his sister hadn't been laid bare. Yet when his gaze found hers, it softened in a way that made her breath hitch. Whatever last night had been, it lingered in his eyes too.
"Elin," he said, his voice lower, warmer than usual. "Do you have a moment? I... want to show you something."
Her brows rose. "Something?"
"Yes." He paused, searching her face as though trying to measure her readiness. "My world."
Before Elin could reply, the door banged open again with the unmistakable clamour of two familiar voices.
"Ahhh, you two are here already!" Auntie Tan announced, sweeping inside like a force of nature. She carried a basket of mangosteens, her slippers squeaking against the floor. Behind her, Auntie Wong shuffled in, armed with plastic bags of breakfast bao.
Elin's stomach dropped. "Aunties, the shop isn't open yet—"
"Nonsense," Auntie Wong waved her off. "We came to check if the young man survived the storm. You know how heavy the rain was? Poor thing, all drenched. Did you feed him?"
Axton inclined his head politely. "Yes, ma'am. Elin made sure I was well taken care of."
The aunties exchanged a look. Auntie Tan's brows rose, sharp as a hawk spotting prey. "Made sure, ah? Elin, you took care of him properly, is it?"
Heat flared across Elin's face. "Auntie, please—"
Auntie Tan clucked her tongue. "Aiyoh, no wonder the girl looks so fresh-faced today. Good sleep, is it? Or maybe no sleep?"
"Auntie!" Elin squeaked, horrified.
Meanwhile, Axton's lips curved ever so slightly, fighting a smile. "They seem very protective," he murmured, leaning just close enough for her to hear.
"They're nosy," Elin hissed under her breath.
The aunties, oblivious to her silent panic, settled at a corner table like royalty inspecting their subjects. Auntie Wong plunked down a paper bag. "Here, boy. Eat some bao. You need strength to keep up with our Elin. She works too hard, you know."
Axton accepted it with surprising grace, bowing his head slightly. "Thank you. I'll do my best."
That answer only fuelled the aunties' giggles. Elin groaned, pressing her palms to her face.
Finally, Auntie Wong sighed dramatically. "We will not disturb. You two go on. But ah, Elin, remember—men are like buns. Must proof properly before baking."
Elin nearly dropped her tray. Axton chuckled, deep and rich, and Elin wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
When the aunties finally bustled out, baskets and slippers squeaking, Elin slumped against the counter, glaring at him. "You think this is funny?"
He set down the bao, still smiling. "A little." Then, more seriously, "But I meant what I said. I want to show you my world. Will you come?"
Her pulse quickened, caught between curiosity and the ache still lingering from the kiss. She bit her lip, then nodded slowly. "Alright. Show me."
She hadn't expected to find herself in his sleek black car that morning, apron hastily tucked into her bag, hair still smelling faintly of flour and butter. The city rolled past her window in streaks of colour and movement, but her mind kept circling back to the absurdity of it all.
She should have been proofing dough, wiping counters, greeting early customers. Instead, she was sitting in Axton's car, where tinted windows separated her from the noise of the street, where the leather seats seemed far too soft for someone who still had flour smudged on her knuckles.
Beside her, Axton scrolled through his phone with practiced efficiency, thumb flicking over the glass in silence. Yet every so often, she caught his eyes drifting toward her, quick and searching, as if checking whether she was nervous or regretting her choice to come.
She pretended to be fascinated by the blur of traffic lights and shop signs. In truth, her pulse hadn't slowed since the moment he'd asked her to come along.
When the car finally turned a corner, the building rose before them. It was all glass and steel, polished so perfectly it caught the sunlight like a blade. His company's name gleamed across the entrance in bold lettering, and people in crisp suits streamed in and out with clipped heels and purposeful strides.
Elin's stomach tightened. She tugged at the sleeve of her cardigan, suddenly conscious of her simple sundress, her unpolished nails, the faint flour she hadn't quite scrubbed from her skin. She felt like a loaf left too long in the oven, out of place and uneven.
"You didn't tell me this would feel like walking into another universe," she murmured, her voice a shade too small.
Axton glanced at her, a quiet smile curving his lips. "That's why I wanted you to see it. I spend too much time here. Maybe you can remind me it's not everything."
His hand pressed lightly at her back as they stepped through the revolving doors. The lobby was vast, humming with energy. Marble floors gleamed under chandeliers, and the click of polished shoes echoed in waves. Receptionists straightened as they passed, eyes widening in recognition before bowing slightly. People shifted out of his path instinctively, the way water bends around a stone.
Axton wore the role like a tailored suit. His steps lengthened, his expression settled into something calm, measured, almost untouchable. Elin, trailing beside him, noticed the subtle tension in his frame. His shoulders sat higher, his jaw set tighter. This was not the same man who had kneaded dough badly by candlelight or brushed flour from her cheek. This was the man the world saw, and it startled her, how stark the difference was.
The elevator doors closed, cutting off the buzz of the lobby. Only then did Axton's posture ease a fraction. He reached out, brushing his knuckles lightly against her hand. The gesture was fleeting, almost secretive, but it steadied her in a way she hadn't expected.
When it opened, sunlight flooded in from floor-to-ceiling windows. His office stretched wide, every detail sleek and deliberate—the dark wood desk lined with papers and contracts, a laptop flashing with unanswered emails, a row of framed photographs she couldn't quite make out from the doorway. The view swept across the city like a living map, skyscrapers piercing the sky, the bay glittering in the distance.
"Impressive," Elin admitted, her voice hushed as she turned slowly, letting her eyes trace every detail of the office.
Axton leaned against the edge of his desk, arms folded loosely, his expression unreadable. "It's... work," he said, his tone clipped, almost dismissive. "Necessary, but not exactly warm." Then his gaze softened, the faintest curve tugging at his mouth. "So? What do you think?"
Elin tilted her head, letting honesty win over politeness. "Honestly? It feels a bit like a different planet. Cold, busy, overwhelming."
That earned the ghost of a laugh. "That's accurate."
She expected him to slip back into his business-like demeanour, to start talking about numbers and schedules. Instead, he surprised her. He pushed away from the desk and crossed to the couch, settling down with a sigh that seemed to release something tightly wound inside him. With a tilt of his hand, he gestured for her to join.
Curiosity pricked her. She crossed the space slowly, her footsteps quiet against the sleek floor, and lowered herself beside him.
Without a word, Axton reached into the drawer of a low side table. His hand emerged holding something small, out of place among all the polish and order. A seashell bracelet, the twine slightly frayed, the shells dulled with age.
He turned it over in his palm as though reacquainting himself with it. "Freja made this for me," he said, his voice stripped of its usual steadiness. "When she was little. I keep it here because it's the only thing that makes this office feel less... hollow."
The shift in his tone tugged at Elin's chest. She leaned closer, her hand brushing his as she touched the bracelet gently. The shells were smooth, their edges worn, yet they carried a quiet strength. "She really is still here," Elin murmured. "In you. In the way you carry her."
For a moment, he didn't speak. His green eyes lingered on her, unguarded in a way she rarely saw. The city gleamed behind him, distant and indifferent, but here in the hush of the office, he was no CEO, no untouchable figure. Just a man holding onto a piece of someone he had loved.
"And now you're here too," he said softly, almost as if the words surprised him. His thumb brushed the bracelet once more before he set it carefully on the table. His gaze stayed locked on her. "I wanted you to see this side of me. The one that isn't just flour-dusted mornings or easy banter."
Their quiet moment fractured at the sound of a brisk knock on the glass door. The rhythm was sharp, purposeful, not the kind of knock that asked permission but the kind that announced inevitability.
The door swung open and a tall woman stepped inside. She was precision embodied, from the perfectly tailored navy suit to the sleek bun at the nape of her neck. A tablet rested against her chest like a shield, and her heels clicked crisply on the polished floor as she crossed the threshold.
"Mr. Creighton," she said, bowing her head in professional acknowledgment. Her voice carried the smooth confidence of someone used to commanding attention. "Your ten o'clock board call is waiting. Do you want me to push it back?"
Axton didn't answer right away. He glanced at Elin, and in that moment the whole room seemed to hold its breath. Then he gave a single nod, his tone calm but final. "Yes. Push it. I'm occupied."
The woman's eyes flicked toward Elin. Just for a heartbeat, but long enough to sting. Her gaze swept over the soft cardigan, the flour-smudged sleeve, the simple flats. It wasn't openly cruel, not even hostile. It was worse than that. A quick, practiced dismissal, as though she had already catalogued Elin as someone who didn't belong in this glass-and-marble world.
Elin felt it immediately, like a pinprick under her skin. Heat crept up her neck as she tugged at her sleeve, wishing she had worn something sharper, something that didn't scream "small-town bakery." Her heart sank with a quiet ache, as though she were shrinking against the backdrop of this office.
"Very well," the woman said, her tone as smooth and cool as polished stone. She pivoted, already moving toward the door.
"Vivian."
The sound of Axton's voice cut through the air. It was calm and low, but carrying a weight that made Elin glance at him in surprise. Even the woman paused, her heels silenced mid-step.
She turned back, brows raised in polite inquiry.
"This is Elin Chen," Axton said. His green eyes held steady, and there was something in the set of his jaw that made it clear this was not a casual introduction. "She owns the Bluebell Bakery. The one I told you about."
For the first time, Vivian's immaculate composure slipped. Just a flicker, the faintest widening of her eyes. Surprise, quickly reined in. She dipped her chin in acknowledgment. "I see." Turning her gaze back to Elin, she gave a small, precise nod. "My apologies, Ms. Chen. I wasn't aware."
Elin managed a polite smile, though her palms were damp against her skirt. Her heart beat uncomfortably fast, not from fear of Vivian but from the raw relief of being seen. She hadn't realized until that moment how much she hated the idea of being dismissed, erased before she even had the chance to stand in this space.
When Vivian left, the glass door whispered shut, and silence settled over the office like a heavy curtain.
Elin's fingers twisted together in her lap, knuckles pale against the soft fabric of her dress. She stared at them as though they might give her an answer she couldn't find. Her voice came out low, almost reluctant. "I... don't exactly fit here, do I?"
The words tasted of uncertainty, carrying the echo of Vivian's cool dismissal. She tried to laugh, but it frayed at the edges.