Axton stepped in front of her, close enough that she could feel the quiet tremor of tension in his body. His fingers slid around her wrist first, gentle but insistent, and then he guided her hand into his palm, grounding her there. When she finally looked up, his gaze held a steady heat that refused to let her drift into the storm she was building inside herself.
"Elin. Look at me."
His voice was low, carrying the weight of someone trying to steady a shaking world with nothing but words.
"You did what you had to do," he said, eyes searching her face. "They broke the law. They threatened you. They walked toward this ending on their own."
Elin let out a shaky breath and leaned against him, her forehead brushing his collarbone.
The heaviness inside her felt thick, almost grainy, as if someone had poured sand into her lungs.
"Logically, I know that," she murmured. Her voice sounded smaller than she intended. "I know they chose it. I know I didn't force their hand." She swallowed, the guilt rising again, sharp and unwelcome. "But I hate that it ended this way. I hate that something I did pushed him into that kind of rage. It feels like I lit the fuse."
Axton's thumb brushed the back of her hand in a slow circles, creating a small rhythm meant to anchor her.
"You didn't push him," he murmured. "He was already falling. You just happened to be the thing he tried to grab on the way down."
Elin's eyes stung. Not with tears exactly, but with the pressure of a truth she wasn't ready to accept. Her chest tightened, a mix of grief and relief and confusion tangling too tightly to separate.
"I wish it didn't have to be like this," she said, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. "I wish he didn't choose the worst version of himself."
Axton pulled her into a hug.
She eased out of the circle of his arms just enough to see his face, though her fingers still clung to the fabric of his shirt as if letting go would make the moment collapse. Her eyes shimmered, the tears gathered so thickly that Axton's features blurred at the edges.
"He wasn't always just a villain, Axton," she murmured, her voice trembling with the weight of memories she wished she could scrub clean.
"Not at the start. There were these small, quiet moments when he felt completely harmless. Human. He had this way of showing up without forcing himself into my space. He would lean against the counter with a cup of coffee and just... observe. He paid attention and he tried to be gentle"
She blinked, and a tear finally slipped free. She wiped it away with the back of her hand before it could fall.
"He was everything you weren't at the time. Easy-going. Unthreatening. Someone I thought I could trust."
Elin's gaze drifted past Axton's shoulder, her expression softening as she replayed the memory. "There was one morning, when everything felt wrong and the yeast just refused to cooperate. I was so frustrated I wanted to scream. And he didn't try to fix it. He didn't offer advice or push me aside or turn it into a joke. He just sat there with his coffee, quiet, grounded, letting me figure it out. He felt safe in that moment. The exact opposite of your whole corporate hurricane energy."
Her lips curved slightly, a brittle smile that lasted only a heartbeat.
"Back then, I thought he was someone who wanted to be a friend. Someone who just liked the bakery for what it was."
She pressed both hands to her temples, as if the pressure could hold her thoughts still. Her breath hitched, then steadied only after a long pause.
"And now I can see it for what it really was," she whispered. "Every smile. Every soft word. Every patient moment. He wasn't being kind. He was collecting information. Studying me. Cataloguing everything I cared about so he could use it later." Her voice thinned, scraped raw. "It wasn't friendship. It was strategy. All that warmth was a performance."
Her shoulders slumped, the fight in her posture fading into something fragile and tired. "I hate that I was part of what pushed him into that rage. I know he chose it. I know he crossed the line long before that moment. But it feels like I lit the final spark, even if I didn't mean to."
Her hands fell from her temples, landing against the centre of her chest as if she could shield something there. "I just feel used, Axton. Used by him. Used by the whole system that let men like him walk into my life and pretend to be harmless until they showed their real face. By everything around us. This whole toxic game."
Axton's gaze softened, and the steel of his usual composure gave way to something warmer.
"Elin," he murmured, his voice low and steady, carrying both apology and conviction. "I understand. I know what it feels like to be opened, to let yourself be seen, and to realize the person you trusted never intended to honour it. I am so sorry you had to go through that."
He brushed a hand along her arm, feeling the tension trembling through her body. "He recognized the kindness, the honesty in you, and instead of respecting it, he weaponized it. That is his failure, not yours."
He tightened his embrace slightly, as though he could physically transfer some of his strength to her, and let his hand drift to her back in slow, comforting circles.
"He wasn't honest, and that is the tragedy," he said. "You gave him the chance to be genuine. You offered openness, patience, and the quiet trust that only comes when someone is truly willing to see another person for who they are. He didn't take it. Instead, he built a lie, and when that lie no longer served him, when he realized he couldn't manipulate or control you, he spiralled. That rage, that destruction—it came from his own entitlement, his own insecurity, not from you, Elin. You didn't push him. You never did."
Axton leaned his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her temple, and spoke even softer, almost a whisper.
"You are not responsible for his actions, Elin. You are not to blame. You are more than that. You are brave for feeling at all, and I will not let anyone, not even the ghosts of what he pretended to be, convince you otherwise."
Elin felt something inside her snap—the weeks of quietly swallowing the consequences of his corporate world finally clawing to the surface
Axton's arms tightened around her, but Elin wrenched free, her fury erupting like a storm.
"No, Axton! Don't tell me it's okay!" Her voice cracked, sharp with betrayal.
Her feet rattled across the polished floor of the small, secure room, the sound of her shoes echoing her agitation. She spun, almost violently, to face him, her hands tightening into fists, knuckles white. Her chest heaved with every breath, a storm barely contained within her frame.
Her hands shook, clenching tighter as if she could squeeze the fear and disgust out of her own body. "I told you! I told you how wrong it felt, how much I hated every part of it. I told you about the panic in my chest, the nausea every time he leaned too close. But your focus... your only focus was the takeover! The clock ticking down! Nothing about how I felt mattered, not really!"
Her voice rose, sharp and trembling with fury. "You prioritized the trap over me. You turned me into a tool in your war with him. You kept nudging me closer to Sebastian, closer to the edge, because you needed proof more than you needed me safe."
Her breath shook, but the anger steadied her. "And you bought the building long before that night. You could have told me. You could have spared me the panic, the sleepless nights, the fear that everything I built was one signature away from being taken. But you waited until he made the threat. You waited until I was desperate enough to play the part perfectly."
She stepped toward him, her voice quieter but no less devastating. "You manipulated my fear, Axton. Maybe not to hurt me. But you still used it."
The words landed hard. Axton's shoulders dropped, and his eyes lowered, the truth settling over him like a heavy, unmovable weight.
He drew in a slow breath, the sound barely audible, as if even the air felt too heavy to move through.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, threaded with remorse that softened every word.
"Elin, you are right." The admission came without hesitation, stripped of the usual restraint he carried. "I was selfish. I saw a plan coming together, and instead of seeing you, I saw the objective. I put the operation above your well-being, and I justified it to myself because I believed the end would protect you. But the truth is that I used your fear to secure the outcome I wanted."
He lifted his gaze, meeting her eyes fully, and there was no defence in them.
The shame settled visibly in the tightening of his jaw, the slight shake in his breath, the way his shoulders lowered as if he were finally absorbing the weight of every moment she described.
"I treated your safety like a variable," he continued. "I let the strategist in me drown out the man who loves you. When you told me you were afraid, when you came home shaking after being near him, I should have stopped everything. I should have pulled you out of that situation the moment you said you were uncomfortable. Instead, I convinced myself that just a little more pressure, just a little more time would guarantee the proof we needed."
He stepped toward her slowly, not closing the distance fully, but enough to show he was offering himself without the usual confidence that commanded rooms.
"I let my world bleed into ours. I handled a dangerous situation like it was a boardroom negotiation. I let my obsession with precision and leverage blind me to how deeply this was hurting you. That was my failure, not yours."
His hand lifted, but only partway, his movements slow and tentative. He wasn't reaching to hold her, not yet; he was asking, without words, for permission.
"Elin," he whispered, "I love you. Everything I did was meant to protect your long-term future from the kind of chaos I've lived in for years. But I didn't see what that chaos was doing to you in the present. I brought it into your life, into your body, into your sleep. And I'm sorry."
His voice thickened, softer now. "Tell me what you need from me. Whatever it is, I'll do it. Just... don't ask me to justify any of this. I won't. I can't. I deserve your anger."
Elin's fury bled out all at once, leaving her hollow and shaking. Without the anger to hold herself together, everything inside her felt exposed. She stepped back from Axton as if her legs no longer belonged to her and sank into the nearest chair. Her hands covered her face, fingers digging into her scalp as she fought for air.
"I can't... breathe," she whispered, her voice muffled and trembling.
The image of Sebastian's face, twisted with that cold, satisfied rage, rose in her mind with brutal clarity. The moment he made the threat. The moment she realized he didn't just want to hurt her livelihood; he wanted to hurt her.
The memory stabbed deeper when she thought of the bakery itself.
Bluebell Bakes.
Even the name felt tender now. It wasn't just a shop. It wasn't just a building. It was her grandmother's voice humming old songs as she measured flour with careful hands. It was her grandmother's laugh echoing through the kitchen, warm and full, telling Elin that mistakes in baking were just invitations to try again. It was the metal kneading board worn smooth from decades of use, the smell of the oven that never heated evenly but somehow always produced perfect loaves, the handwritten recipe cards smudged with chocolate and time.
It was home. A real one. The only one she had left.
Elin's breath hitched, and she lowered her hands slowly, tears clinging to her lashes. Her voice trembled as she tried to explain, to make Axton understand the depth of the wound.
"It wasn't just a shop," she said softly, but the emotion in her words made them resonate through the room. "It was Grandma's hands guiding mine when I was little. It was her voice telling me that baking could fix any bad day if you were patient with the dough. It was the smell of the ovens, the sound of the early-morning deliveries, the pride of unlocking the door before sunrise and knowing it was ours."
She pressed a hand to her chest as if trying to hold herself together. "When she died, that bakery was all I had left of her. Every recipe, every tool, every stain on the countertop—it was her legacy. And I kept it alive. I built it back up. I made it something she would have been proud of." Her voice broke, splitting on the final word.
She curled forward, elbows on her knees, fighting the wave of nausea rising in her throat. "And I risked it. I willingly walked into a plan that put it in danger. I let that man walk into my safe place and stand where she once stood. I let him get close. I let him make me question whether everything she gave me could be ripped away in a single heartbeat."
The memories swarmed: Sebastian's sneer, his hand brushing her arm, the implied threat, the glee he took in watching her fear.
It made her stomach twist.
"I was so terrified," she whispered. "Not just of him. But of losing her. Losing... everything."
Axton lowered himself beside her chair, keeping a careful distance. His eyes were serious, filled with concern, but he didn't reach for her, respecting the space she needed.
"Elin," he said gently, his voice calm but firm, carrying the weight of someone who refused to let panic take hold. "Look at me. I need you to hear this because it is real. The bakery is safe. I own the building. Everything is held in a trust that cannot be touched. The sale is completed. The demolition threat that haunted you, the one that made every step you took feel like walking on glass, it is gone. Sebastian has nothing. The building is empty to him. He cannot hurt it, and he cannot hurt you through it."
He let her take a breath before continuing.
"Your grandma's legacy is protected. You defended it with everything you had. You didn't lose anything. You didn't fail—you won. You faced someone who tried to manipulate you and you came through stronger."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "The charade is over. The deception is done. You can be angry, scared, anything you need to feel, but you don't have to fear the consequences. I made sure there aren't any."