Semua Bab Three Hot Billionaires Brothers wants Me : Bab 141 - Bab 150

“I can’t keep doing this,” I whispered, pacing the narrow room as dawn crept through the thin curtains. My reflection in the cracked mirror looked nothing like me, eyes sunken, lips trembling, hair a mess of fear and exhaustion. “I can’t live like this anymore.”My voice trembled, but the silence that followed was worse. It pressed in on me until I could hear my own heartbeat echoing in my ears.Every part of me screamed to run, but where? How many times can a person start over before they run out of selves to become?I threw the last of my things into my worn-out bag, clothes, a few crumpled bills, my mother’s bracelet, and headed straight to the bakery.If I were leaving, I had to tell Mrs. Alden. She deserved that much.The bell over the door chimed as I stepped in, the smell of fresh bread wrapping around me like a memory I was already losing. Mrs. Alden was behind the counter, flour on her apron, hair tied in its usual messy bun. She looked up and smiled.“There you are, sunshine

Days passed.For a while, I almost believed I could live like this, making bread, serving strangers, breathing air that didn’t taste like fear.The bakery became my little world. The soft hum of the ovens, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla, the rhythm of kneading dough, it all wrapped around me like a lullaby I hadn’t known I needed. I found comfort in the routine, in the smallness of it. There were no boardrooms, no lies, no threats. Just flour, sugar, and the faint, hopeful sound of morning laughter through the glass windows.And Adrian.He stayed close, quietly, gently, like someone who understood the art of not pushing too hard. Every morning, a cup of coffee would wait by my station before I arrived. Always the same, two sugars, no cream. Somehow, he knew. When we walked home after work, he always stopped halfway, claiming his house was “just around the corner,” even though I knew it wasn’t. He never said it, but I could tell, he just wanted to make sure I got back safely.He

“I stayed because of her,” he said, eyes soft. “And because this place… It’s the only thing that ever felt like home.”I smiled faintly, brushing flour from my hands. “Who?” I asked softly.He looked at me, like the answer was obvious. “My mom,” he said. “Yeah… I stayed because of her.”There was something in his tone, that quiet ache people carry when they’ve loved too hard and lost too much. For a moment, he wasn’t the calm, steady man I saw every day. He was just a boy who’d once stood in the ruins of something he couldn’t fix.He looked down at the dough he was kneading, his fingers moving gently, almost reverently. “She used to wake up at four every morning,” he said. “Even when her back hurt. Even when the lights were cut off and we had to bake by candlelight. She said the world still needed bread… even on bad days.”His voice dipped lower. “My father didn’t see it that way. He wanted more, money, reputation, power. Said a bakery was too small for his dreams. One night, they arg

The morning came far too quickly.I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard that whisper again, Miss Daniels.The faint echo of laughter still lingered in the corners of my mind like smoke that refused to fade.By the time the first light broke through the curtains, I was already up, staring blankly at the wall. My phone sat on the bedside table, the message still glowing faintly on the screen.Tomorrow will be beautiful. Don’t be late.Well, it was tomorrow now.And beautiful? Not quite.I pushed the thought aside, forcing myself to breathe, to move, to function. Today wasn’t about fear. It was about work, about pretending everything was fine.The scent of rain still lingered in the air as I stepped outside. The sky was washed clean, pale blue stretching over the roofs, and the streets were quiet except for the soft hum of early deliveries. I hugged my cardigan close and walked briskly toward the bakery.From afar, I could already see the golden glow of Alden’s Bakehouse.

The next three days passed in a whirl of color, sugar, and something that felt dangerously close to happiness.If fear still lingered in the corners of my heart, I didn’t let it show. I buried it under frosting, laughter, and the soft hum of music that Mrs. Alden insisted on playing while we worked.Each morning began the same, sunlight spilling through the bakery windows, the smell of fresh dough in the air, and Adrian already there, sleeves rolled up, waiting.On the first morning, I walked in to find him rearranging the pastry display with surgical precision. Every éclair, every tart, every swirl of cream looked like it belonged in a magazine spread.“Someone’s been busy,” I said, setting my bag down.He didn’t look up. “You said you wanted everything perfect.”“I didn’t mean you had to start before dawn.”He finally turned, eyes glinting with quiet amusement. “Perfection doesn’t sleep.”I laughed softly. “Clearly neither do you.”Mrs. Alden appeared from the kitchen carrying a tra