Chapter 15 015
EMILY
“What the fuck are you doing here, Fred?”
I was on my feet before the words had fully formed, my chair shrieking against the floor as it skidded back. I didn’t bother softening my tone. I didn’t care how it sounded. My heart was already racing, adrenaline flooding my veins like my body had decided for me that this was a threat.
Ryan stayed seated, but the tension coming off him was unmistakable. It rolled through the room in heavy, dangerous waves, thick enough to choke on.
Frederick’s gaze flicked lazily to Ryan, then slid back to me, that same slow, infuriating smile curving his mouth. The one that had once made my stomach flutter. Now it just made my skin crawl.
“Are you not going to tell him to leave?” He asked mildly, like he was commenting on the weather.
I gave him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Really?”
I stepped away from the desk, putting space between myself and both men. The office suddenly felt too small. Too tight. My pulse hammered so hard I was convinced they could hear it echoing in the air between us.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded again.
Ryan shifted behind me. I felt it more than I saw it—his body tensing, his weight shifting like he was about to stand and excuse himself, to give us privacy. The thought of him leaving, of being alone with Frederick even for a second, made something sharp twist in my chest.
I turned my head just enough to catch Ryan’s eye. “We’re not done talking, Ry.”
He sat back immediately. No argument. No hesitation. Just those steady eyes locked on mine, grounding, present—like he understood exactly what I needed without me having to say it out loud.
I faced Frederick again. “I’m asking you one last time, Fred.”
He inhaled slowly, the smile slipping just a fraction, like it took effort to keep it in place. “I heard you were looking for investors,” he said smoothly. “I came to pitch myself.”
For a second, I just stared at him.
Then I laughed.
It wasn’t humor. It was disbelief sharpened into sound. Short. Bitter. The kind of laugh that scraped my throat raw on the way out. “You came to pitch yourself.”
“That’s what I said.”
I shook my head, genuinely confused now, anger tangled with something like disbelief. “How did you even get my address?” I asked. “And what made you think I’d want to have a conversation with you? After everything?”
His smile widened, slow and smug, like he thought we were sharing a private joke. “Considering where we were before,” he said, voice low, intimate, “I thought we could kick it off again. Seeing you the other night woke up some… dead feelings.”
My stomach twisted.
Then he glanced at Ryan, almost casually. “Sorry, my man.”
Something snapped.
I laughed again—louder this time. It burst out of me before I could stop it. Then I stopped abruptly. Then laughed again, sharp and humorless, like my body couldn’t decide whether to scream or shatter.
The sound echoed in the small office, brittle and wrong.
I turned away from him, suddenly desperate for air. For space. For proof that my world hadn’t just tilted sideways again. My hand shook as I reached for the door handle. I pulled it open and leaned slightly into the doorway, eyes scanning the bakery beyond like I was checking to make sure reality was still intact.
The ovens hummed. Customers murmured. The scent of sugar and butter hung warm and familiar in the air.
Normal.
Too normal for what was happening behind me.
I inhaled deeply, steadying myself.
But my gaze went straight to the spot near the front counter.
No pink backpack.
No small figure perched on a stool, swinging her legs.
No little voice narrating her entire existence.
My stomach dropped so fast it felt like free fall.
I stepped back into the office, closing the door carefully behind me. My hands were shaking now, fingers clumsy as I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Eddie.
She picked up on the first ring. “Hey, boss.”
“Is Zara with you? You told me this man was with my daughter.” I asked, forcing calm into my voice like my life depended on it.
“Yeah,” she said easily. “She just got here a few minutes ago with Morgan. They’re in the front eating cookies. Frederick was bluffing. He came in alone.”
Relief slammed into me so hard my knees almost buckled.
“Thank you,” I whispered, ending the call before my voice could crack.
I turned back to Frederick slowly.
“You have ten seconds,” I said, my voice low and deadly calm, “to leave my sight. Or I call the cops.”
Something in my expression must have finally cut through his arrogance, because his face changed. The smirk slipped. His brows pulled together in surprise, like he hadn’t expected me to draw a line this sharp.
Then he laughed.
Low. Mean. Dismissive.
“I just wanted to help you, poor girl,” he said. “I heard you needed help and—”
Ryan stood up.
The sound of his chair hitting the floor was quiet compared to the shift in the room. His voice was low, controlled, and terrifying in its restraint.
“Say another word,” he said evenly. “I dare you.”
Frederick froze.
His eyes darted between us, measuring, calculating. For the first time, he looked unsure. Then his jaw tightened, anger flashing sharp and ugly across his features as he glared at us like we’d taken something from him.
He turned toward the door.
And that was when it burst open.
Zara came flying in like a whirlwind, cheeks flushed, curls bouncing, chocolate smeared on the corner of her mouth. Morgan followed close behind, breathless and apologetic.
“Mommy!”
Everything else vanished.
Frederick shot us one last look—cold, resentful, venomous—then scoffed under his breath and walked out without another word. The door shut behind him with a final, satisfying click.
Zara didn’t notice. She was already running.
Straight toward Ryan.
“Hii, Mr Blue Eyes!”
My heart cracked open.
Right there, in the middle of my tiny office—surrounded by order sheets, flour dust, and the faint, comforting smell of fresh cookies—something inside me melted completely.
Ryan dropped to one knee like it was instinct. Like his body already knew exactly how to meet her at her level. Zara launched herself into his arms without hesitation, small hands grabbing onto his shirt like she belonged there.
He caught her gently. Carefully. Like she was made of something precious and fragile and irreplaceable.
His eyes softened in a way I hadn’t seen in years. Maybe ever. One big hand cradled the back of her head as he hugged her back, holding her close like he’d been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.
“Hey, princess,” he murmured, voice thick with something dangerously close to tears.