Chapter Twenty-Seven
Raina
The whir of the mixer filled my small kitchen, a steady hum that drowned out the thoughts I’d been trying to escape all morning.
I watched the thick chocolate frosting slowly thin as I added the milk, the motion methodical and soothing.
Two dozen cupcakes sat cooling on the counter, perfect golden domes waiting for their sweet topping.
The familiar rhythm of baking—measuring, mixing, creating—was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
I’d woken up feeling hollow. No job to go to. No relationship to look forward to. Just the wreckage of what I’d thought was the best thing that had ever happened to me, scattered across the landscape of my life like debris after a storm.
So I’d done what I always did when the world felt too heavy. I got in the kitchen and baked.
There was comfort in following a recipe, in the precision of measurements and the alchemy of ingredients transforming into something beautiful.
Baking didn’t judge me. It didn’t accuse me of sabotage or question my character.
It was satisfying and simple. And right now, that simplicity was exactly what I needed.
Besides, Miles was still in the hospital. Hazel had been there all night, and they could both probably use something sweet. At least my heartbreak could be productive.
The frosting reached the perfect consistency.
Glossy and smooth, the kind of chocolate that would make you close your eyes on the first bite.
I turned off the mixer and began transferring it to a piping bag, my movements automatic after years of practice.
I wasn’t a professional decorator by any means, but I could manage an impressive swirl topped with chocolate sprinkles.
As I worked my way through the cupcakes, my mind drifted back to Simon. It had been doing that all morning, no matter how hard I tried to redirect it. The ache in my chest intensified with each thought, a dull throb that sharpened whenever I remembered the look on his face in that parking lot.
I squeezed the piping bag too hard, and frosting squirted out in an uneven blob. Sighing, I scraped it off and started again.
Just two days ago, I’d been happier than I could remember being. I’d had a job I actually loved, working for a man I respected and admired. More than that, I’d had Simon. His rare smiles, his dry humor, the way he looked at me like I was the most fascinating thing in the room.
I’d been starting to think I might love him.
The realization had been creeping up on me for weeks, but I’d been too afraid to examine it closely. Love felt like a big word, a dangerous word, one that carried the weight of vulnerability and the risk of devastation.
Turned out, I got the devastation anyway.
Not that it mattered now. Whatever we’d had was over, personally and professionally. I just needed to move on. It would take time, and I might work my way through the entire dessert section of my cookbook in the process, but I was determined to get past this pain.
Eventually.
I finished the last cupcake, admiring my work despite my mood. Twenty-four perfect swirls, each one topped with a sprinkle of chocolate. I licked a stray bit of frosting from my fingertip, savoring the rich sweetness, when the doorbell rang.
Frowning, I untied my apron—smeared with cocoa powder and a few errant streaks of batter—and headed for the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I definitely wasn’t in the mood for company. Probably a delivery, or maybe Wren checking up on me again.
I didn’t bother looking through the peephole. It didn’t seem to matter who it was.
I regretted that decision the moment I swung open the door and found Simon standing on my doorstep.
The air left my lungs in a rush, and for a moment all I could do was stare.
He looked… terrible. That was the only word for it.
Stubble darkened his jaw, something I’d never seen on him before, not once in all our time working together.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his clothes, while still expensive, looked like he’d slept in them.
While he looked like he hadn’t slept at all.
Those eyes burned into mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter despite everything. There was something in them I hadn’t expected to see.
Regret.
No. I steeled myself against the flutter in my chest. It didn’t matter if he regretted what he’d said. He’d still said it. He’d still broken me.
I moved to close the door in his face, but Simon was faster. His foot slid into the gap, blocking it, and his hand curled around the edge of the door with gentle but immovable pressure.
“Leave, Simon.” I snapped. “I don’t want to see you.”
“Please, Raina.” The word sounded foreign coming from him, rough and unfamiliar, like he wasn’t used to saying it. “I just want to talk to you.”
He stepped past me before I could stop him, his body brushing against mine in the narrow doorway. The contact sent electricity sparking across my skin, and I hated myself for the way my pulse quickened. Hated that even now, after everything, my body still responded to his presence.
He was standing in my living room now, looking out of place among my cozy furniture and bright throw pillows. I slammed the door shut—harder than necessary—and turned to face him with my hands planted on my hips.
“I think you said enough yesterday.”
Simon didn’t flinch, but the shame that flickered across his features was unmistakable. “I know. Kurt told me what happened with Miles.”
Damn it. I’d asked Hazel not to tell Miles, but I hadn’t thought to extend that request to my other overprotective brother.
“I was a complete asshole,” Simon continued, his voice low and rough. “And I’m sorry.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. Despite how wrecked he looked, despite the regret written plainly on his face, I wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
He didn’t get to show up at my door looking like a man who’d lost everything and expect me to just…
forgive him. Not after what he’d said. Not after the way he’d made me feel.
I jutted my chin out. “That’s not good enough.”
The words came out steady, but inside, my blood was rushing in my ears.
I’d never been someone who got angry easily.
I preferred to smooth things over, find the bright side, let things go.
But this? This was different. Simon had taken my insecurities, my vulnerabilities, everything I’d trusted him with, and he’d used them as weapons.
How dare he think he could just push his way into my home and say he was sorry, as if that would erase the devastation he’d left in his wake?
“Please.” There it was again, that word that seemed to cost him something to say. He took a step toward me, and I held my ground, refusing to retreat. “Just give me ten minutes.”
I let out a slow breath, warring with myself. The anger was still there, hot and justified, but beneath it was something else. Curiosity, maybe. Or the stubborn hope that I couldn’t quite extinguish, no matter how hard I tried.
If I sent him away now, I’d always wonder what he would have said.
“You can have five minutes.”
I was being petty, and I didn’t care. Simon nodded anyway, relief washing over his features. He gestured toward the chair, and I sat, deliberately choosing the armchair instead of the couch so he couldn’t position himself beside me.
But Simon apparently had no interest in distance.
He lowered himself onto the coffee table directly in front of me, close enough that our knees nearly touched.
His elbows rested on his thighs as he leaned forward, closing the space between us until I could see every line of exhaustion on his face, every shadow of regret in his eyes.
“I’ve never told you why I’ve had such a hard time keeping assistants,” he said.
I arched an eyebrow. “I assumed it was your winning personality.”
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile, but not quite.
“When Liam and I opened the investment firm, I hired an assistant named Carla. On paper, she was more than qualified, with a business degree and years of experience as an executive assistant. I really thought I’d learned my lesson about trusting the wrong people after what happened with Chuck,” Simon continued, his gaze dropping to his hands before lifting back up to me.
“But I convinced myself Carla was different. That she was capable. Then, a few months after we launched, she sent an email with confidential financial information to the wrong person. She didn’t just blow the deal, she violated the NDA we’d signed.
Liam had to use every ounce of charm he possessed to keep us from being sued. ”
He paused, and I watched the tension ripple through his shoulders.
“We’d barely even gotten started, and our business was almost destroyed.
Because I trusted the wrong person. Again.
” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body.
“After that, I couldn’t bring myself to depend on anyone.
I kept finding fault with every assistant who came through because it was easier than trusting them or risking that kind of failure again. ”
The anger in my chest shifted, making room for something more complicated.
Understanding, maybe. It didn’t excuse what he’d done, but I was starting to see the shape of his fears more clearly.
The pattern of betrayal that had taught him trust was dangerous.
The walls he’d built to protect himself from ever feeling that vulnerable again.
He wasn’t a villain. He was a wounded man who’d let his scars dictate his reactions. That didn’t make it okay. But it made it… comprehensible.