Vivian stood just beyond the glass wall, her reflection faintly mirrored beside Axton's broad silhouette. From where she stood, she could see everything—the way Elin looked up at him, clutching the pastel pastry box like a nervous schoolgirl with a confession, and the way Axton's whole expression softened in response.
That smile. That quiet, unguarded smile.
Her heart gave a sharp, ugly twist.
Vivian had seen Axton smile before, but it was never like this. With her, his smiles were polite, professional—tight, fleeting things that never reached his eyes. Yet here, standing in the centre of his gleaming corporate lobby, he was looking at Elin as though the world had paused for her. The corners of his mouth curved, his shoulders eased, and his eyes—those eyes that could freeze a boardroom with a single look—seemed almost tender.
Vivian's nails dug into the folder she held. Paper crinkled beneath her grip.
"Pathetic," she whispered under her breath, but the word didn't have conviction.
Elin laughed at something Axton said. It wasn't loud, just a soft sound that floated upward, bright and genuine. Axton leaned closer, a small grin tugging at his lips. Vivian could practically feel the shift in the air around them—the easy warmth, the familiarity, the spark of something intimate that shouldn't have existed in this space.
She felt like an outsider peering into a world she wasn't invited to.
Her throat tightened as she watched Axton reach for the box, his hand brushing against Elin's. The baker's cheeks flushed pink, and Axton's grin widened, boyish and unguarded. Vivian's stomach turned.
Axton Creighton—the man who snapped at her for mistakes that weren't hers, who barely looked up from his laptop during dinners, who once told her he "didn't have time for distractions"—was smiling like a lovesick fool over a box of pastries.
She forced herself to look away, but her body didn't move.
The sound of Elin's voice carried faintly through the glass, gentle and sincere. "I thought you might be tired, so I made your favourite."
Vivian almost laughed. "Your favourite." As if the CEO of Creighton & Vale had time for favourites. As if someone like Elin, flour-smudged, sweet-voiced, and naïve could possibly understand the man who built an empire from nothing.
And yet, as she looked again, Vivian saw the way Axton was gazing at Elin, how his features softened like melting wax. He wasn't thinking about mergers or deadlines. He wasn't Axton Creighton, the CEO, in that moment. He was just... Axton.
And Elin was the reason.
Vivian's lips pressed together. Her vision blurred slightly as she blinked away the heat building behind her eyes. No one noticed her standing there, silent and invisible. They never did. Not when she stayed late to handle his reports, not when she quietly corrected his errors before the board meetings, not when she sacrificed her weekends just to make sure his life ran perfectly.
She was the shadow behind his success, and now she was being outshined by a baker.
When Axton walked Elin toward the elevator, Vivian turned away. Her heels clicked across the marble, the rhythm sharp and controlled even though her chest felt like it was splintering. She made it to her office, shut the door softly, and pressed her back against it.
The moment the latch clicked, her composure cracked.
She let out a shaky breath, running her hand through her sleek hair. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She hated the feeling. Jealousy—it was messy, human, beneath her. But she couldn't deny the sour taste in her mouth or the tightness curling in her stomach.
Vivian crossed to her desk, her reflection faint in the glass windows that overlooked the city. The skyline stretched endlessly, glittering like a promise she'd spent her entire life chasing. She had clawed her way up to this office, sacrificed sleep, relationships, even her softness. All to earn respect. All to earn his respect.
And now some small-town baker had walked into his life and undone it all with a smile and a croissant.
Her hand curled into a fist.
Vivian sat down at her desk, smoothing the hem of her skirt with a precise, mechanical motion. Then she opened her planner. Her pen hovered over the schedule for the week. Her handwriting was flawless, practiced. She flipped to Thursday—Meeting with media team. Bluebell Bakes collaboration.
The corner of her mouth lifted, but the expression didn't reach her eyes. She drew a single, deliberate line through the note.
"No," she murmured, her voice low. "Not anymore."
Her eyes hardened as she stared at the ink bleeding across the page.
If Elin Chen thought she could walk into Axton's world and stay, she was mistaken. Vivian had seen too many people crumble under the weight of this life. She would make sure Elin did too.
Not with scandal, not with drama. No, Vivian was far smarter than that. It would be quiet. Subtle. A few delayed calls. A few meetings rescheduled. A few whispers in the right ears about professionalism and boundaries.
Vivian leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. The city glowed beneath her window, cold and merciless.
"She's sweet," she murmured softly to herself, her tone like honey over steel. "But sweetness doesn't survive long here."
Her lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
"Let's see how long she lasts."
Vivian barely had time to compose herself before the soft ding of the elevator reached her office door. Her hand froze halfway through straightening a stack of papers. Her heart gave a nervous, traitorous flutter.
A knock followed—three sharp raps, deliberate, familiar.
"Come in," she said, her voice crisp, almost too calm.
The door opened, and Axton stepped inside, tall and effortlessly commanding, the faint scent of cedar and espresso trailing behind him. He wasn't wearing his usual corporate mask today; his tie was loose, his sleeves rolled up and his expression unusually soft.
Vivian noticed immediately. And she hated how quickly she did.
"Axton," she greeted, lifting her gaze, a practiced smile curving her lips. "You're early. I was just about to finalize your calendar for next week. We have the investor meeting with the Singapore delegation on Monday, the charity gala on Thursday—"
"Cancel them." he interrupted gently but firmly, walking past her to the window.
The two words landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Vivian blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"Cancel everything," he repeated. His tone was firm, but not cold. He stepped closer to the window, looking out at the skyline where the late afternoon sun was painting gold across the towers. "Clear my week."
"Axton, the investor meeting has been confirmed for months. The Expo keynote—"
He turned slightly, cutting her off with a glance. "I know. You'll handle it."
His confidence in her should have felt flattering. It usually did. But this time, it stung. He was giving her the reins only so he could walk away.
Vivian took a slow breath, regaining her composure. "May I ask why?"
Axton hesitated. Just for a second. His jaw flexed before he exhaled softly, as if weighing how much truth to give her. "There's someone I've been meaning to spend time with," he said finally. "Someone who deserves my attention."
The silence that followed was heavy. Vivian's pulse thudded in her ears. She didn't need him to say the name. She already knew.
"Elin," she said quietly, testing the sound of it on her tongue.
He didn't deny it. That was confirmation enough.
Her heart sank, but her face remained a perfect mask of composure. "I see," she murmured.
Axton nodded slightly, unaware—or perhaps unwilling to acknowledge—the weight of her words. "She deserves better than silence. I'll be unreachable for the next few days. Just handle things as you usually do."
Vivian forced a professional tone, though her voice trembled almost imperceptibly. "Of course. I'll handle it."
He smiled then, that rare, genuine smile that lit up his face and always made people feel seen. "Thank you."
Vivian's chest burned.
Axton's phone buzzed, and he glanced at it, then back at her. "And Vivian—take a break yourself. You've been working non-stop. You deserve it."
She almost laughed. Her voice came out like silk over glass. "I'll keep that in mind."
He nodded once, then turned and left, the scent of his cologne lingering like a ghost.
The moment the door clicked shut, Vivian's entire body sagged. The tension she'd been holding so tightly in her spine slipped into her shoulders. Her heart pounded, furious and hurt all at once.
She turned toward the window, watching his reflection in the elevator as it descended, shrinking smaller and smaller until it disappeared.
Her office was painfully quiet.
For a long while, she just stood there, staring at the city below. The skyline glittered, alive and indifferent.
Vivian pressed her hand flat against the glass. "You're taking time off for her," she whispered.
The bitterness in her voice startled even herself. She let out a small, humourless laugh, one that cracked halfway through. "For a woman who bakes bread."
She sank into her chair, her reflection ghosted against the city lights.
He had always been her anchor in this world of sharks and skyscrapers. The one person who never doubted her capability, who relied on her instincts, her precision and her control.
And now that anchor was drifting away, drawn toward someone softer, simpler—someone who smiled like sunlight and smelled like vanilla and butter.
Vivian's jaw clenched.
She reached for her laptop, her fingers trembling slightly before they steadied on the keyboard. Her gaze sharpened, all warmth stripped away.
Axton wanted a break? Fine. Let him rest. Let him play house and eat pastries.
Her phone buzzed with a message from an industry contact. Without hesitating, she began typing. Her words were polite, measured, strategic. She hinted at potential scheduling delays, suggested minor changes in logistics for one of Axton's ongoing deals. Nothing overt. Nothing that would trace back to her.
Just enough to ripple the calm.
When she hit send, her reflection on the laptop screen smiled faintly, lips curving in satisfaction.
"Let's see," she murmured, eyes glittering, "how perfect your little world stays when you're not here to hold it up."
She stood, smoothing her skirt, adjusting her blazer. The mask slid back into place, flawless as ever. To anyone else, she would still be the efficient, unflappable Vivian Lau, the woman who could keep the Creighton & Vale running in her sleep.
But beneath that calm surface, jealousy simmered slow and hot.
She turned back to the window, whispering almost tenderly to the glass, "Enjoy your time off, Axton. Because when you come back..." Her smile thinned, elegant and dangerous. "You'll remember why men like you don't fall for women like her."
***
The next morning began like any other.
The smell of butter and sugar filled the air as Elin brushed egg wash over her final batch of pastries, the golden glow of dawn pooling through the bakery windows. The bell above the door chimed occasionally as her regulars trickled in, their familiar chatter wrapping around her like a warm blanket.
Mrs. Tan and Mrs. Lim sat by the window, as always, gossiping softly over cups of milk tea. "Aiyo, business is booming these days," Mrs. Tan said, eyeing the growing line outside. "Our Elin girl will need to hire staff soon!"
Elin smiled faintly, wiping her hands on her apron. "Maybe one day. For now, I think I can still manage."
Everything felt steady again, almost peaceful. The kind of calm that made her heart unclench. She even found herself glancing at the door more than once, wondering if maybe today, Axton would walk through it again.
Then the door swung open.
The bell jingled, louder than usual, followed by the sudden shuffle of unfamiliar shoes. Five people entered together: a mix of men and women in crisp office attire, holding phones and folders. They didn't queue. They didn't smile. They looked... purposeful.
Elin blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Good morning," she greeted, trying to sound cheerful. "What can I get for you?"
The tallest woman, with dark hair pulled into a perfect bun, stepped forward. "Are you Elin Chen?"
Elin's throat went dry. "Yes," she said cautiously.
The woman exchanged a glance with the man beside her, then held up her phone. "Then perhaps you can explain this?"
She turned the screen toward Elin. On it was a social media post—one that bore the Bluebell Bakery logo—but the words beneath it made Elin's blood run cold.
It read:
"Handcrafted pastries using imported ingredients from endangered farms. Exclusive to the elite who understand true quality."
The comment section was exploding. Hundreds of furious replies, accusing her of exploiting the environment, mocking "elitism," and calling for a boycott.
Elin's heart stuttered. "That's... that's not mine," she said, voice trembling. "I didn't post that."
"Really?" another woman said coolly. "Because it's coming from your verified page."
"That's impossible," Elin whispered, already moving to the counter, fumbling for her phone. She opened her bakery's account—her hands shaking so hard it took her three tries to type in the password.
The post was there. The logo, the caption, even the timestamp from last night. Except she hadn't been online. She'd gone to bed early after cleaning the bakery.
A murmur started to rise among the other customers, curious heads turning. The aunties frowned, whispering to each other. "Endangered farms? What nonsense is that?"
Elin felt her chest tighten. "Someone hacked my account," she tried to explain, her words tumbling too quickly. "I would never—please, you have to believe me."
The man folded his arms. "So you're denying it?"
"Yes!"
He raised a brow, unimpressed. "Convenient."
One of the women started filming with her phone. "The internet will love to hear your side of the story, Miss Chen," she said, voice syrupy but cold. "Would you care to repeat that for our followers?"
Panic flared in Elin's chest. "Please don't record me," she said softly, taking a step back.
More people came in—some curious, others already with phones out, murmuring accusations.
Mrs. Lim stood abruptly, her chair scraping the floor. "Hey! Don't you bully our Elin girl," she snapped, hands on her hips. "She bakes for everyone, you hear? Everyone! She gives extra buns to schoolkids!"
Mrs. Tan chimed in, her voice sharp. "Shame on you for believing nonsense online!"
But the reporters or whoever they are, barely flinched. They were after drama, not truth.
Elin's throat burned. Her eyes darted around the bakery, to the trays of pastries cooling by the counter, to the steaming coffee cups abandoned mid-sip. The place that had always felt like home suddenly felt small, claustrophobic.
Her phone buzzed again—a flood of notifications. Comments. Tags. News outlets already picking it up.
"Bluebell Bakery exposed?"
"Local baker accused of using banned ingredients!"
"Gordon Ramsay's recent favourite—under fire for false claims?"
Elin's stomach dropped.
It wasn't just hate now—it was headlines.
She leaned against the counter for support, her fingers digging into the wood. "I didn't do this," she whispered again, mostly to herself this time. "I swear I didn't..."