Elin stood in the middle of her apartment kitchen, the early light spilling through the curtains in soft ribbons.
She opened her phone, thumb hovering above the "post" button for her bakery's page. The words she had typed looked impersonal, detached: "Taking a short break today. Bluebell Bakes will be closed. Thank you for understanding!" She added a cheerful emoji, even though she didn't feel particularly cheerful. Her finger hesitated a moment longer before pressing "Share."
The second it posted, a quiet sort of finality settled in. The bakery would be dark today. No customers. No Aunties teasing her. No jingling bell announcing the start of another warm, bustling morning.
She set the phone down on the counter and exhaled, rubbing her palms against her pyjamas. "You just need rest," she told herself, but her voice came out thin, like she didn't believe it.
The truth was, she missed him.
It had started as a small ache, something she tried to push away while folding dough or chatting with customers. But three days without Axton had turned that ache into something that pulsed deep in her chest. She missed the easy rhythm they had fallen into—the quiet mornings, the playful teasing, the way he always seemed to make the room feel a little brighter just by standing in it.
Now, the bakery felt empty without his voice threading through the hum of the ovens. Even her coffee didn't taste the same.
She sat at the kitchen table, staring at her hands. "You're ridiculous," she muttered to herself. "You barely knew him a few months ago, and now look at you. Acting like you've lost a limb."
But she couldn't lie to herself. There was something about Axton that had burrowed under her skin. It wasn't just his charm, or the way his eyes softened when he looked at her. It was the quiet understanding between them, the way he listened when she talked about baking like it was art. The way he treated her like she mattered.
Elin rubbed her arms, trying to shake off the warmth that crept up her neck. "Enough. Do something useful," she whispered. Her gaze drifted toward the countertop, where a small jar of kaya sat beside a block of butter.
The sight tugged at a memory—the morning she had made Axton a batch of kaya croissants. He had leaned against the counter, tie loosened, watching her work like she was performing magic. When he took the first bite, his eyes had widened in surprise. "That's dangerous," he'd said, smiling. "You're going to ruin every other croissant for me."
The memory made her laugh softly. Without realizing it, her hands were already moving—pulling out ingredients, measuring flour, cutting butter into the dough with quick, practiced motions.
The kitchen slowly filled with the comforting hum of her work. The scrape of metal against the bowl, the soft hiss of butter hitting the pan, the scent of yeast and sugar blooming in the air. With every fold and turn of the dough, some of the tension in her chest eased. Her thoughts quieted.
Still, Axton lingered in her mind like a song that refused to fade. She wondered what he was doing. Whether he was buried under spreadsheets again, or if he had finally gotten some rest. Was he thinking about her too?
"Probably not," she said under her breath, a small smile tugging at her lips. "He's too busy being important."
But even as she said it, her heart didn't believe it. She could almost hear his voice teasing her in response, low and amused. "Important, am I? You make it sound like a bad thing."
She shook her head, chuckling softly. The warmth in her chest grew with each passing minute, mixing with the scent of butter and sugar. When she finally slid the tray of kaya croissants into the oven, she stood back and let the golden light of morning catch her face.
Elin rested her elbows on the counter, watching the dough rise behind the oven glass. "You'd better like these," she murmured, imagining his crooked grin. "I made them just for you."
Her voice trembled slightly on the last word.
Then she drew in a breath.
No more waiting.
Enough of pacing around her tiny kitchen, glancing at her phone every few minutes as if he might suddenly appear through the door with that crooked grin and a coffee in hand. If she missed him, she missed him. Pretending otherwise didn't make the ache any quieter.
She turned toward the cooling rack. The kaya croissants sat there, golden and perfect, their edges glistening. The same ones she had once made for him on a whim. Back then, he'd taken one bite and looked at her like she'd reinvented joy. That memory alone was enough to make her chest tighten.
"All right," she murmured, as if talking to herself could make the nerves settle. "Let's make these perfect."
Her hands moved with practiced rhythm—careful, precise, but more tender than usual. She brushed the pastries with melted butter, added a final sprinkle of sugar, and watched the light catch on the flaky layers. Each one felt like a message she couldn't quite say out loud.
When the last croissant cooled, she arranged them neatly into a box lined with pale blue parchment paper, tying it closed with a satin ribbon. The simple act made her heart race. Her fingers trembled slightly as she tightened the bow, and she told herself it was from excitement.
Then she turned to her room, scanning her modest wardrobe. She paused when she saw the navy dress draped over the back of her chair—the one Axton had given her before their dinner. It seemed to be waiting for her.
For a long moment, she simply stared at it. She remembered how it felt the first time she wore it, how his gaze had softened when he saw her, how she'd never felt more seen in her life.
"Guess it's your turn again," she whispered, half-smiling.
She slipped into the dress carefully, smoothing the fabric down with both hands. It was elegant but simple, a reflection of her—soft but steady. She brushed her hair loose, added a hint of gloss, and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes uncertain but bright.
"You can do this," she whispered to herself. "You survived Gordon Ramsay in your bakery. You can handle one CEO."
Grabbing her bag, she tucked the pastry box inside, careful not to smudge the ribbon. The morning air was already warming when she stepped outside. The world smelled like sunlight and bread. She locked the door behind her and walked to the bus stop with quick, nervous steps.
The city was waking up around her—hawker stalls opening, the hiss of oil from nearby cafés, students rushing for buses, delivery riders zipping past. Everything was alive and loud, but her heartbeat was louder still, thudding somewhere in her throat.
When the bus arrived, she climbed aboard, scanning for an empty seat. She slid by the window, resting the pastry box carefully on her lap. Her reflection in the glass stared back at her, framed by streaks of light and passing buildings.
The ride stretched on. The rhythm of the bus, the chatter of passengers, the hum of traffic—all blurred together. She clutched the box tighter, her thumb tracing circles along the ribbon.
What was she even going to say when she saw him?
"Hi, I made you croissants because I miss you"?
Ridiculous. She pressed her lips together, fighting a smile.
Still, she could already picture it—Axton standing tall and sharp in his office, pausing when he saw her. Maybe he'd tease her, maybe he'd smile that slow, dangerous smile that made her stomach twist. Or maybe he'd just look at her, and that would be enough.
Her chest fluttered.
As the bus turned toward HarbourFront, the skyline rose ahead—glass towers glinting like polished mirrors against the pale morning sky. She spotted the sleek building she remembered from before, the one with his company's logo near the top. The thought of walking through those polished doors again made her palms sweat.
But she didn't slow down.
When the bus stopped, she stepped out, the breeze tugging lightly at her skirt. The walkway was busy with office workers and shoppers, the sound of shoes clicking against tile echoing around her. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going.
Elin took one last steadying breath. She wasn't from this world of suits and boardrooms, of expensive watches and glass walls—but she wasn't going to let that stop her now.
She adjusted her bag strap, squared her shoulders, and whispered, "All right, Axton Creighton. I'm coming to find you."
The glass doors of Creighton & Vale glinted beneath the sunlight, tall and intimidating, polished to perfection. The kind of place where everyone walked fast and spoke in clipped tones, where even the air seemed to hum with quiet power.
Elin hesitated just outside, the pastry box balanced delicately in her hands. She could see her faint reflection in the glass—soft curls brushing her shoulders, the cream dress catching the light, eyes wide and uncertain. She didn't quite fit in here. Not with the sleek suits and high heels that strode past her.
But she wasn't turning back.
She pushed the door open. The lobby was cool and quiet, the faint scent of espresso and lemon polish mixing with the distant hum of an elevator. The receptionist, a young woman with sharp eyeliner and an even sharper gaze, looked up from her desk.
"Good morning. How can I help you?"
Elin blinked, suddenly aware of how out of place she looked with a box of pastries instead of a briefcase. "Hi, um... I'm looking for Mr. Creighton," she said, her voice softer than she intended. "Axton Creighton."
The receptionist's eyebrows lifted slightly, interest flickering behind her professional smile. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but—" Elin hesitated, then pressed the pastry box closer to her chest like a shield. "I just wanted to drop something off. It's... personal."
For a second, the woman just studied her, and Elin could practically feel her scanning for context. Her dress was simple, her makeup light, but there was something about the sincerity in her voice that made the receptionist's expression soften.
"Wait here," she said finally.
Elin nodded, trying to stay composed as she stepped aside. Her gaze drifted toward the elevator lobby, where a small group of employees waited, chatting quietly. She caught her reflection again in the polished wall and wondered what Axton would think when he saw her. Would he be surprised? Annoyed? Maybe... happy?
She didn't realize how tightly she was gripping the ribbon until she heard the click of heels behind her.
"Elin?"
The voice was smooth, feminine, and faintly surprised.
She turned.
Vivian was walking toward her, every inch immaculate—tailored red suit, glossy hair cascading in soft waves, designer heels tapping a rhythm of control. Her smile was sharp enough to cut.
"Well," Vivian drawled, eyes sweeping Elin from head to toe, pausing briefly at the pastry box. "This is a surprise."
Elin straightened instinctively. "Hi, Vivian. I... came to see Axton."
"Oh?" Vivian's smile didn't falter, but a faint tension flickered in her gaze. "That's sweet. Not many people just drop by Creighton & Vale unannounced."
Elin forced a polite smile, even as her palms began to sweat. "I just wanted to give him something."
Vivian's eyes lingered on the box, and for a heartbeat, her expression slipped—just enough for the envy to show. It was quick, controlled, but unmistakable. Then her lashes lowered again, the smile returning smooth as silk.
"I see. You're full of surprises, aren't you?"
Elin blinked. "Pardon?"
"Oh, nothing." Vivian's tone was light, but her words curved like a knife. "It's just... unusual for Axton to let anyone walk into his world like this. He keeps his personal life very private."
The words hung there, soft and poisonous.
Elin smiled faintly. "Maybe I'm just lucky, then."
For a brief, tense second, their gazes locked. Vivian's polished façade cracked just slightly, a hint of irritation flashing across her face. Then she leaned in, her voice smooth as honey but laced with steel.
"He's in a meeting right now. I could take that to him for you."
"No, thank you," Elin said, her tone gentle but firm. "I'll wait."
Vivian blinked, clearly not used to being refused. Her lips twitched, the faintest trace of disdain slipping through. "You really like him, don't you?" she asked suddenly.
Elin hesitated. Then, with quiet honesty, she said, "Yes. I do."
Vivian's eyes hardened, though her smile stayed perfectly in place. "Well. I hope you're ready. Life beside a man like Axton isn't easy."
Before Elin could reply, Vivian's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then back at her with a smile that looked more like a mask. "If you'll excuse me, I have a meeting."
She pivoted on her heel, her perfume lingering in the air like tension after an argument.
The receptionist gave Elin a subtle, sympathetic look. "He's on the top floor," she said softly. "You can go up."
"Thank you," Elin whispered.
She stepped into the elevator, the doors gliding shut behind her. The mirrored walls reflected her anxious expression from every angle. The hum of the elevator filled the silence as the numbers climbed higher and higher. Her palms felt damp, her heart thudding fast.
When the doors finally opened, she was met with quiet—polished floors, soft lighting, and the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air. Through the glass walls ahead, she saw him.
Axton sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up, pen poised over a stack of papers. His tie hung loose, and fatigue softened the sharp lines of his face. He looked different from the man who teased her across the bakery counter. This version of him was all intensity and focus, shoulders tense from long hours.
Elin stood frozen for a heartbeat, watching him. The ache that had followed her all week flared in her chest.
Then she took a step forward.
The sound of her heels against the floor made him look up. His brows furrowed at first, as if he thought he was imagining her—but then his expression shifted completely.
"Elin?"
Her heart flipped. "Hi."
He stood, disbelief flickering across his face. "What are you doing here?"
""I thought you might be tired, so I made your favourite."" She lifted the pastry box, her voice trembling slightly. "You could use a break." She added softly.
For a moment, he just looked at her. His jaw tightened, like he was fighting the urge to smile. Then he exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "You came all the way here for that?"
"I came because I missed you," she said softly.
The words hung in the air, fragile and honest. His expression faltered, the wall behind his eyes cracking just a little.
"And I figured if you won't come to the bakery, the bakery can come to you."
That drew a quiet laugh from him, a sound that made her chest ache. "You shouldn't have," he murmured, but his eyes said he was grateful.
"I know," she replied, her gaze lifting to meet his. "But I wanted to."
"You look tired," she said softly. "Have you even eaten today?"
"Coffee counts," he said.
"Coffee does not count."
He smiled again, the kind of smile that undid her. "You sound like my conscience."
"Someone has to."
He took the box from her, brushing his fingers against hers. The warmth lingered, sparking something that neither of them could quite ignore.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "You didn't have to come all the way here, but I'm really glad you did."
Her throat tightened. "So am I."
Behind them, through the corridor's glass walls, Vivian paused. She was speaking with another executive, but her attention shifted—drawn inevitably to the sight of them together.
Axton standing close. Elin smiling up at him.
Vivian's jaw tensed, her grip tightening around the folder in her hand. Her expression didn't change, but her eyes burned faintly as she turned away.
Inside the office, Axton opened the pastry box carefully, the sweet scent of butter and kaya filling the air. "You made this yourself?"
Elin nodded. "Of course. You were the first person I thought of when I started baking this morning."
He looked at her for a long moment. "You have no idea what that means to me."
Her smile trembled, small and soft. "Maybe I do."
Axton's eyes lingered on her, his expression gentling in a way it never did for anyone else. He gestured toward the small lounge by the window. "Stay for a while? I promise I'll share."
She laughed lightly, feeling the tension ease from her shoulders. "Only if you actually eat and not just talk about work while you do."
"I'll try my best," he said, leading her to his office.