It was late in the evening, and the golden hues of the setting sun barely filtered through the bakery’s frosted glass windows. Seraphine Theron stood at the deep metal sink, her hands submerged in soapy water as she scrubbed a mountain of greasy containers. The clock on the wall ticked its way to 6:00 p.m., her official closing time, but her task seemed endless. Quitting before everything was spotless wasn’t an option—Mrs. Adler was strict about cleanliness, and Seraphine needed the money.

Earlier, she had sliced her palm on the sharp edge of one of the stainless bread containers. The pain lingered, but she clenched her teeth and kept scrubbing, her pride refusing to show weakness. As she worked, Mrs. Adler’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

“Seraphine, stop what you’re doing. Serve that man at the counter a fresh cornbread. Now!”

Turning, Seraphine caught sight of a man standing near the counter, his tall frame leaning casually as if he owned the place. His tailored shirt and expensive shoes didn’t belong in the humble bakery, and neither did the air of arrogance radiating from him.

Without much thought, she quickly plated a warm, golden cornbread, adding a small butter cup on the side. Balancing the plate carefully, she approached him, placed the dish on his table, and gave a polite nod, ready to return to her cleaning.

But the stranger wasn’t about to let her off so easily.

“Is this how you serve here?” he asked, his voice sharp and commanding. “Where’s my water? And don’t even think about handing me a bottle without a glass.”

Seraphine froze for a moment, her patience thinning. She pressed her lips together and silently walked to the refrigerator, retrieving a chilled bottle of water. Placing it in front of him, she was about to leave again when his irritated voice stopped her.

“Are you deaf, or just incompetent? Where’s my cup?”

Her jaw tightened, but before she could respond, Mrs. Adler stepped out of her office, her heels clicking against the tiled floor.

“What’s going on here?”

The man turned to her, completely ignoring Seraphine. “Who hired this girl? She has no manners.”

Mrs. Adler’s face softened into an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, sir. She’s new and still learning the ropes. Seraphine,” she said, her tone sharp as she addressed her, “get him a cup. Immediately.”

Biting back her frustration, Seraphine grabbed a clean glass and placed it on the table with a little more force than necessary.

“Wait,” he said, his gaze fixed on her. “What’s your name?”

“Seraphine. Seraphine Theron.”

“Seraphine,” he repeated, as if testing the way it sounded. Then, with a smirk that sent a flicker of annoyance through her, he added, “I want you to stand here and watch me eat.”

Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall. It was already 6:15 p.m. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, but the man was unmoved by her impatience.

“So, Seraphine,” he began casually between bites, “tell me about yourself.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” she replied curtly.

“Oh, I doubt that,” he said, a sly grin forming. “You seem far more interesting than you give yourself credit for.”

She ignored him, her eyes focused on the clock.

“Are you a student?” he pressed.

“And what if I am?”

“Then I’d like to know where you study.”

“And what will you do with that information?” she shot back, her tone sharper than intended.

He chuckled, clearly entertained. “Fair enough. So, where do you live?”

“Across the street,” she answered flatly.

“Convenient,” he murmured. “Now, clear this table and bring me a loaf of wheat bread. I’ll be waiting in the parking lot.”

Without another word, he tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table and walked out, his polished shoes echoing against the floor.

By the time she finished clearing the table and packaging the bread, it was already 6:30 p.m. She grabbed the bag and headed outside, spotting a sleek black jeep in the lot. The man honked, motioning her over.

As she approached, the trunk popped open, and she placed the bread inside. Before she could step back, the tinted window rolled down, revealing the stranger lounging in the passenger seat. A driver in a crisp black suit sat at the wheel.

“Hop in,” the man ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“To where?” she asked, frowning.

“My place.”

She laughed, a bitter sound. “Sorry, but I’m not that kind of girl. I'm not that cheap.”

His smirk faltered. “You’d rather scrub containers all night than spend the night with me?”

“I’d rather keep my dignity intact, thank you very much.”

His jaw tightened as she turned and marched back to the bakery without another glance. He watched her retreat, irritation flickering in his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he barked at his driver, slamming the window shut. As the jeep pulled out of the parking lot, Seraphine disappeared into the bakery, her head held high.

For a moment, he considered going back, but his pride got the better of him. Instead, he made a mental note: Seraphine Theron wasn’t a woman who could be easily dismissed.

---

The evening air in the Pedro estate was heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and polished wood. In the opulent study, Lucca lounged on a velvet couch, his face twisted in a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. Draven, seated at the large oak desk cluttered with files and blueprints, glanced up briefly from his paperwork before returning to the ledger in front of him.

“What’s eating you?” Draven asked, not looking up.

Lucca slammed the wheat bread he’d carried in from the bakery onto the coffee table. “You wouldn’t believe what happened today,” he spat, his jaw clenched.

“Enlighten me,” Draven said dryly, still focused on his work.

“A low-class girl had the audacity to downgrade me!” Lucca leaned forward, his voice rising with each word. “Can you imagine? She rejected me outright, as if I were some common beggar.”

Draven paused, finally looking up. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You? Rejected? Now that’s something I’d pay to see. What did you do to deserve such humiliation?”

“I was being nice,” Lucca said defensively, throwing his hands up. “I even asked her to spend the night with me—casually, of course—and she had the nerve to say, ‘I’m not that cheap.’ Can you believe it?”

Draven leaned back in his chair, his interest piqued. “You can’t possibly be serious. You know Dad would have your head if he found out you were chasing after girls.”

“It’s not like I was going to bring her home,” Lucca muttered, glaring at the ceiling. “I just wanted to… test her to see her other skills. Know what kind of girl she was.”

Draven chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. And foolish. We’ve been over this a thousand times. No distractions. No relationships. Or have you forgotten that?”

Lucca waved him off. “She’s not even worth it. Just some annoying girl working at our bakery.”

Draven froze mid-laugh, his eyes narrowing. “Wait. Our bakery? What are you talking about?”

“You heard me,” Lucca said with a shrug, picking at the corner of the bread bag. “She works for us. I saw her there tonight, scrubbing containers like her life depended on it.”

Draven’s brows furrowed. Something about Lucca’s tone made his pulse quicken. “Describe her,” he said, his voice low.

Lucca rolled his eyes. “Why does it matter? She’s just some girl. Small, fiery attitude, pretty in a plain sort of way—oh, and she rolls her eyes more than a spoiled brat. Why?”

Draven’s stomach dropped as memories flickered to life. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. “The girl from the store,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The one I stopped you from… dealing with.”

“Bingo,” Lucca said with a smirk, lounging deeper into the couch. “Guess she’s not as innocent as she looks. Though I’ll admit, she’s a hard nut to crack. Not that I care anymore.”

Draven paced the room, his mind racing. He remembered her clearly—the sharp defiance in her eyes, the way she’d held her ground despite the danger surrounding her. He hadn’t been able to forget her, and now, she was working in their bakery?

“Did you get her name?” Draven asked, his tone urgent.

Lucca gave him a sideways glance. “Why do you care? Don’t tell me you’re interested in her now.”

“Just tell me her name,” Draven snapped.

“Fine, but only if you do something for me first.”

Draven glared at him. “I don’t have time for your games, Lucca.”

“Relax. It’s simple,” Lucca said with a grin. “Do my laundry for a month, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Draven clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “A month? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Lucca said, leaning forward with a malicious glint in his eyes.

Before Draven could respond, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway, and the brothers immediately fell silent. The study door creaked open, revealing their father, Don Pedro. His sharp eyes scanned the room, his presence suffocating.

“Talking about a girl, are we?” Don Pedro said, his voice a low growl.

Lucca straightened, the smirk vanishing from his face. “No, sir. Just a new employee at the bakery,” he said quickly, flashing a practiced smile.

Don Pedro stepped closer, his piercing gaze moving between his sons. “You know the rules. No distractions. No relationships. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

“Good,” Don Pedro said, his tone icy. “Because I don’t want either of you jeopardizing everything I’ve built. One mistake—one foolish slip—and you’ll bring this family down. Is that understood?”

“Yes, boss,” Lucca said, while Draven remained silent, his thoughts elsewhere.

Don Pedro’s eyes lingered on Draven. “You seem distracted. Care to share what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, sir,” Draven said quickly, forcing a neutral expression.

Don Pedro studied him for a moment longer before nodding. “Tomorrow’s operation is critical. I need both of you focused. No room for error.”

“Yes, sir,” they said again.

As Don Pedro left the room, Draven exhaled, his shoulders tense. He couldn’t shake the feeling that fate was pulling him toward this strange girl. If she truly was the girl from the store, their paths crossing again couldn’t be a coincidence.

Later that night, as Lucca slept soundly, Draven sat by the window, staring out into the darkness. His mind raced with questions. What was Seraphine doing at the bakery? Did she know him? And most importantly, if their father discovered the connection, what would happen?

The sound of the wind rattling the windowpane was the only noise in the room as Draven made a silent vow. He needed to see her again, no matter the risk.

The next day, Draven stood in the shadows outside the bakery, his heart pounding as he waited for a glimpse of her. Just as he was about to give up, the door swung open, and Seraphine stepped out, her hair tied back, her expression distant.

Draven’s breath caught in his throat. It was her.