Chapter 17
Leo
I stand alone in the bakery, the smell of sugar and yeast suddenly cloying, thick in the back of my throat.
It is the wrong smell now. Too sweet. Too alive. Like it is mocking me.
I have failed. Again.
The realization lands heavy and final, like a verdict. Not dramatic. Not explosive. Just done.
I had her. She trusted me. She did not just let me see the thing. She handed it to me. Her parents. Her fear. Her plan. That spreadsheet was not numbers. It was a heart with rows and columns.
And I did exactly what I always do.
I reached for money.
I reached for the lever that always worked before. The one that makes problems disappear. The one people thank me for later, once they realize I was right.
And this time, it shattered something.
On top of that, Marissa had to show up. Like a curse I cannot shake. Like proof that no matter how far I think I have stepped away from my old life, it is always right there, waiting to remind me who I am.
Or who I have been.
I kick the leg of the steel table.
The impact is dull. Hollow. Completely unsatisfying.
The table does not move. Does not bend. Does not care.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid.
The word repeats in my head like a chant, as if saying it enough times will make me reach the version of myself who does not screw this up. The version that knows when to stop talking. When to just listen.
Why could she not see I was trying to help?
The thought comes sharp and defensive, and I hate it even as it forms. Why did she have to make it so hard? Why did she look at my offer like it was poison instead of what it was?
An answer.
A solution.
I do not want control. I do not want ownership. I do not want her bakery on a spreadsheet or my name on a wall. I do not want to take anything from her.
I want to give her the thing she wants most.
I want to be useful.
I want, God help me, to be the hero.
Instead, I am the idiot.
Again.
I grab my phone and do not look back.
I cannot.
If I look back at the stainless steel, the racks, the proofing room door, at the place where something real almost happened, I might lose it completely.
The bell jangles as I push out the front door. Too loud. Too cheerful. I wince.
I do check the lock. Muscle memory. Respect. I twist the deadbolt and tug once, just to be sure.
Then I walk.
Fast. Furious. Head down. Past the window where she is probably still standing. Past the spot on the sidewalk where Marissa stood like she owned the place. Past the block where the smell of bread gives way to exhaust, trash, and the city at night.
My car is parked three blocks away because I did not want to be seen. Because I did not want this to be about me.
Low profile. Black. Silent.
I get in and slam the door.
The sound is muted by soundproofing and luxury engineering, which somehow makes it worse. It is like even my anger is not allowed to be loud in here.
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles ache.
Years. She is willing to wait years for something I could do in a second.
It is inefficient.
The thought flares, automatic and ugly, and I hate myself the instant it surfaces. Hate that it still lives in me. Hate that my brain still categorizes time like a problem to be solved instead of a thing to be lived.
I scrub a hand down my face.
This is what she meant. This is exactly what she meant.
My phone buzzes against the dash. The display lights up.
Rex Chen.
I have been ignoring him for two days. Ever since the franchise pitch. Ever since I realized exactly what kind of predator he is. Ever since I saw the look in Tess’s eyes when she said the word scaling, like it tasted bad.
I hit ignore.
The phone buzzes again. A text this time.
REX: Ignoring me, Ashford? Bad for business. I’m at The Aviary. You and me. Ten minutes. Don’t be an idiot.
Don’t be an idiot.
I let out a short, humorless laugh that echoes too loudly in the quiet car.
I feel like the biggest idiot on the planet.
Frustrated. Angry. Completely misunderstood.
And painfully aware that misunderstanding does not mean I am right.
I stare at the text longer than I should.
Maybe being an idiot is not what I need right now.
Maybe what I need to be is a billionaire.
The thought settles in, heavy and familiar, like slipping back into a suit that fits too well.
I jam the car into gear.
The Aviary is everything Sunrise and Salt is not. It is dark and cold, all leather, low lighting, and quiet power. No windows. No warmth. No visible work. The kind of place where nothing is made, only moved.
It smells like money, old deals, and cologne that costs more than most people’s rent.
Rex Chen is already there, sitting in a corner booth like he owns it. Which, honestly, he probably does. He holds a glass of something amber, swirling it slowly, like he is thinking.
He looks exactly like what he is.
A shark in a five-thousand-dollar Tom Ford suit.
“You look like hell, Leo,” he says as I approach, not bothering to stand. His eyes flick over me, sharp and assessing. “And you smell sweet. It’s unsettling.”
“Long day,” I say flatly as I slide into the booth across from him. “What do you want, Rex?”
He smiles like I just asked him his favorite question.
“I want to make you richer,” he says, taking a small, precise sip. “And I want to help you get the girl.”
My head snaps up so fast I feel it in my neck.
“What?”
“Oh, come on,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m not blind. And I’m not stupid. I have eyes on you. You’re smitten. And you’re blowing it.”
I bristle. “You don’t know anything about her.”
He slides a slim, leather-bound proposal across the table, cutting me off.
“You’re trying to be something you’re not, Leo,” he says, voice calm and certain. “You’re trying to be a baker.”
He shakes his head slowly, disappointment practiced and theatrical.
“You’re not. You’re a king. You build empires. So, build her one.”
My jaw tightens.
He taps the folder with one finger.
“Sunrise and Soul.”
“I told you,” I growl. “She will never go for it. She hates scaling. She wants soul. And not the kind you are offering.”
Rex leans forward, elbows on the table. His voice drops. His eyes sharpen.
“You’re not listening.”
He never raises his voice. He does not need to.
“She doesn’t want to scale,” he continues. “She wants something more. I saw the viral clip. Cute kid. Great PR. Real heart tugger.” His lips curve. “But noble does not pay the bills.”
He opens the folder just enough for me to see the charts. Clean lines. Projections. Control.
“You spin this right,” he says, “and Sunrise and Soul become the engine for her dream. She gets her soul. Hell, we brand it “Baking with Soul.” And you get scale.”
He sits back, pleased.
“Everybody wins.”
I shake my head, but doubt is already creeping in, worming past my defenses.
“She wants it to stand on its own,” I say. “Without outside interference.”
Rex laughs. Soft. Pitying.
“Kid,” he says, “you’re a billionaire. Sustainable is for people who have to wait. You do not wait. You create the market.”
He taps the folder again.
“This funds any dream she has. In six months. Not six years. You get to be the hero. You get to give her everything.”
My chest tightens.
I think of Tess’s face when she showed me the spreadsheet. The fire in her voice. The way her hands shook just a little, like she was afraid I would dismiss it.
The way she shut down when I offered her money.
This is not just a check.
This is a system.
A structure.
A way to protect what she loves.
“But the quality,” I say quietly. “She would hate it if the quality dropped.”
“We will lock it down,” Rex says smoothly. “Controls so tight she could sign off on them herself. But to do that, we need leverage.”
He pulls out another document. Shorter. Simpler.
“A contingent Letter of Intent,” he says. “Not the final deal. Just the opening move. It secures our position. It protects her from other sharks.”
He meets my eyes, his gaze intense.
“Because trust me, Leo, with this buzz, they are already circling. If you do not do this, someone else will. And they will not care about her soul. Or her. We need to do this to make this project of yours make sense to the outside world.”
He slides a heavy, expensive pen across the table.
I stare at it.
I think of Tess’s disappointment. The way her shoulders tensed. The way she said it, without you, like it cost her something to say it.
I tried to do it her way. The slow way. The small way.
And I failed.
So, I will do it my way.
The big way.
I will build her the lighthouse. I will give her the world.
And then she will understand.
She will see that this is not betrayal.
It is protection.
I pick up the pen.
And I sign my name.