The next week passed with a strange, hollow rhythm.
Every morning, the ovens hummed, the aroma of butter and sugar permeated the air, and the bell above the bakery door chimed with the same familiar ring. However, Elin felt that something fundamental was lacking.
The sound of his voice.
The way his laughter used to fill the silence between batches of croissants.
The warmth of his presence somehow made the entire space feel alive.
Now, there was only quiet.
Axton hadn't stopped by since the day of the scandal. She told herself it made sense—he was the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company, and things were chaotic. He was dealing with leaks, rumours, and board members who probably expected him to perform miracles overnight. She couldn't possibly demand his time.
But understanding didn't make it easier.
She caught herself glancing at the clock more often than usual. Every time the doorbell jingled, her heart jumped in foolish hope before crashing down again.
Her fingers moved on autopilot, kneading dough that didn't need kneading, wiping down a spotless counter, pretending she didn't notice the empty chair in the corner — his chair.
She could still see him there if she let her mind wander, That infuriating half-smile tugging at his lips as he leaned over the counter, his tie loose, his voice low.
"Just a taste," he'd say, already swiping a finger through her buttercream.
Now the frosting sat untouched in the bowl, and the silence mocked her.
She sighed, pressing her hands to the counter to steady herself. You're being ridiculous, she told herself. You're not sixteen anymore. He's just... busy.
But then she'd catch herself glancing at her phone again, hoping for a message that never came.
The aunties noticed, of course. Mrs. Lim gave her that knowing smile. Mrs. Tan, less subtle, nudged her and whispered, "Your handsome CEO not coming today ah?"
Elin only managed a small, weak laugh. "Maybe he's on a business trip."
But her voice lacked conviction, and they both saw it.
She missed him.
Not just his presence but him. His teasing, his quiet steadiness, the way he somehow made her feel seen even when she tried to hide behind work.
She missed the way he leaned across the counter when she was flustered, or how his voice softened when he told her to take a break, or how the world always felt smaller and safer when he was standing next to her.
"You could've at least texted." She mumbled to herself.
By late afternoon, the lull between lunch and the evening rush settled in. The aunties had gone home early, leaving Elin alone in the quiet hum of the bakery. The late sunlight pooled on the marble counter, golden and warm.
She sighed softly and began wiping down the display case for the third time that day. The repetition helped her think less. Or at least, that was what she told herself.
That was when the door opened.
The chime was gentle, but something about it pulled her head up instantly.
The man who entered wasn't familiar. He was tall, maybe a little taller than Axton, dressed in a sharp grey suit that looked freshly pressed. His hair was neatly styled, and there was an easy confidence in the way he carried himself—as though the world had never told him no.
"Bluebell Bakes," he said, voice smooth as silk. "Finally, I get to see the place everyone's been talking about."
Elin blinked, caught off guard by the polished charm in his tone. "Oh... thank you. Welcome."
He smiled at her, a smile that looked almost too perfect. "You're Elin, right?"
Her brows lifted slightly. "Yes... how did you—?"
"I asked around," he said lightly, brushing the question away. "Word of mouth travels fast in this city, especially when the story involves a certain baker who caught Gordon Ramsay's attention."
Elin flushed, immediately looking down. "Oh, that. It's been... overwhelming, honestly."
"I can imagine," he said. "Success isn't always gentle, is it?"
His eyes lingered on her just long enough to make her shift on her feet, unsure if she should feel complimented or wary.
"Can I get you something?" she asked, trying to steady her tone.
He tilted his head, scanning the array of pastries before him. "Hmm. What would you recommend?"
"The kaya croissant," she said, automatically falling into her routine. "It's one of our best sellers."
He smiled again, measured, practiced, but not unkind. "Then I'll trust the expert."
As she turned to prepare his order, she could feel his gaze still on her. It wasn't invasive, exactly—more like the quiet interest of someone cataloguing details for later. The rhythm of the bakery returned briefly: the scrape of the tray, the hiss of the coffee machine, the gentle hum of the ceiling fan.
When she placed his order on the counter, he didn't reach for it immediately. Instead, he looked at her again. "You bake all this yourself?"
"Yes," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Every morning."
"That's impressive," he said, picking up the croissant at last. "You can tell. There's care in every layer."
He took a bite, closed his eyes for a second, and hummed softly. "Delicious."
"Thank you," she murmured, smiling shyly.
He extended his hand across the counter. "Sebastian," he said. "And I think I'll be coming here quite often."
She shook his hand, polite but hesitant. His grip was firm, steady, almost too self-assured. "Nice to meet you."
For a while, he lingered.
And then they chatted about pastries and coffee blends.
He asked about the bakery's beginnings, about her passion for baking, about the kind of customers she liked most.
When he finally left, the doorbell jingled softly behind him, and the shop fell silent once again.
Elin let out a slow breath she hadn't realized she was holding. There was something odd about him. Something she couldn't quite name. Maybe it was just his confidence. People like him didn't usually come into small, cozy bakeries like hers.
Still, she found herself smiling faintly. A new customer was a new customer.
***
Across the city, the skyline shimmered beneath a restless night. Glass towers glittered like polished obsidian, their reflections bending and shattering against the Marina waters. Inside one of those towers, Axton Creighton sat in his office, surrounded by chaos.
Documents littered his desk like fallen leaves. The soft hum of his computer screens filled the silence, broken only by the muted vibration of his phone every few minutes. Reports, investor calls, legal consultations—it all blended together into a single blur of exhaustion.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes burning from the glow of the monitor. He had been running on caffeine and adrenaline for three days straight. The leaks had hit harder than he expected. Confidential contracts, client names, projected expansions—all of it out in the open. Investors were losing patience. Partners were demanding assurance. Every decision felt like walking barefoot across glass.
He pulled at his tie, letting it hang loose around his neck. His reflection in the dark window stared back at him: tired eyes, hollowed cheeks, and a shadow of the man he was two weeks ago. His untouched coffee had gone cold long ago, the rim of the cup stained dark brown.
When his phone buzzed again, he groaned softly, ready to ignore it. But the screen caught his eye.
Not another email.
Not another urgent meeting.
It was a message from her.
Elin: Hope you're eating well.
Five simple words, glowing softly on the screen.
He stared at them for a long moment, as if the message could somehow absorb his fatigue. His chest tightened, the guilt hitting sharper than before. Two days. It had been sitting there for two days, unanswered.
He imagined her—flour on her cheek, hair pulled back in that messy bun, smiling at the customers who came into her little bakery. She'd probably sent that text during one of her breaks, thinking of him between kneading dough and frosting cakes.
He rubbed the back of his neck, leaning forward on his desk. He wanted to reply. He wanted to call her.
To hear that light, calming voice that always made him forget how sharp the world could be.
But then his monitor blinked again, flashing another notification: Board Meeting Request—Urgent.
He closed his eyes, forcing his thoughts back into order.
He leaned back, fingers pressing against his temples as he whispered under his breath, "Just a few more days. Then I'll see her."
The words sounded hollow, but he needed to believe them.
***
The rain came without warning.
It started as a thin drizzle, soft against the windows of Bluebell Bakes, before turning into a steady downpour that painted the streets in streaks of silver. Elin sighed softly as she drew the blinds halfway, the sound of rain tapping against the glass filling the quiet shop.
She had just finished serving the last customer and was cleaning up when her phone buzzed again, showing another missed call from Axton's assistant. She hesitated before putting the phone face down on the counter. She didn't need to hear that he was "still in meetings." Not tonight.
She missed him, but she didn't want to be that kind of person. The clingy girlfriend who demanded attention.
Girlfriend. That word still sounds so foreign when she said it.
They didn't even have the chance to plan their next date before the leak happened. Now he's not even replying to her messages.
She blew out a quiet sigh, turning off the display lights. But as she was about to step outside to lock up, her hand slipped on the wet floor. The cleaning bucket tipped, spilling soapy water everywhere.
She tried to catch her balance, but her foot hit the slick surface wrong. Pain shot up her ankle, sharp and quick. She gasped, clutching the edge of the counter as the world blurred for a second.
"Ah... damn it," she whispered, wincing as she tried to move. The pain only worsened.
The door suddenly opened.
"Elin?"
"Axton?"
She was excited for a second, forgetting the pain in her ankle.
"No, I'm Sebastian,"
Standing under the awning, umbrella dripping rain, was him, the well-dressed stranger from earlier today. He stepped inside, the scent of rain clinging to his clothes.
"What are you—" she began, startled.
"I saw the lights still on," he said calmly, lowering the umbrella. "And then I saw you nearly fall. Are you alright?"
"I—uh, I'm fine," she said quickly, but her voice wavered.
He closed the umbrella, setting it neatly aside before walking toward her.
"You're not fine," he said simply. "Can I see?"
Before she could protest, he crouched down beside her. The warmth of his presence contrasted the cool air, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe. He touched her ankle lightly, his fingers gentle but firm.
She winced.
"Sprained," he murmured. "You shouldn't move."
"It's okay, really, I just need to—"
"No," he interrupted softly, looking up at her. "You need to sit down."
Something in his voice made her obey without thinking.
"Alright," he murmured, already slipping off his jacket. "Let me help."
Before she could protest, he was beside her, one arm around her back as he helped her up.
"Easy," he said quietly. "I've got you."
The words shouldn't have made her heart flutter, but they did.
It was the tone he used. It sounded like Axton. God, she missed him.
He guided her to a chair, crouching again to inspect her ankle. His hands were warm even through the chill of the rain. "It's swollen," he said after a moment. "You'll need ice. Do you have any?"
"Freezer," she murmured, still trying to process his sudden presence.
"Where's your freezer?"
"Behind the counter," she said quietly.
He found a towel, wrapped some ice, and returned to her side. He knelt again, pressing the makeshift ice pack gently against her ankle.
"Better?"
"A little," she said, her voice soft.
"Good," he said. "You should keep it elevated for a while."
She looked at him, noticing how his shirt had begun to cling to his shoulders from the rain. "You didn't have to stop by," she said after a moment. "You must be busy."
He smiled faintly, eyes meeting hers. "Sometimes, life tells you when you're supposed to show up."
Her breath caught. There was something disarming in the way he said it — like he wasn't talking about coincidence at all.
Sebastian rose to his feet and looked around. "You shouldn't be cleaning up tonight," he said. "I'll close up for you."
"You don't have to—"
"I insist."
He moved easily around the shop, collecting trays, switching off lights, locking the doors — like he'd done it a hundred times before. She wanted to protest, but the throbbing in her ankle made her sink deeper into the chair, her exhaustion settling in.
By the time he came back, she was half-lost in thought.
He crouched again, looking at her with that same calm expression. "You live nearby?"
"Just two blocks away."
"Then I'll drive you."
She blinked. "You really don't have to—"
"Elin," he said softly, her name a gentle rebuke. "You can't walk. Let me."
There was something so certain in his voice that she didn't argue again.
He helped her up carefully, wrapping his jacket around her shoulders before leading her into the rain. His car was sleek, black, and far too expensive for someone who "just dropped by." She noticed that but said nothing.
She hesitated before sliding into the passenger seat. The leather was soft, the air faintly scented with cedar.
"Seatbelt," he reminded her, voice low.
She fastened it, trying not to look at him. The rain pattered against the windshield, and for a while they drove in silence.
"You're close to Axton Creighton, aren't you?" he asked finally.
The question caught her off guard. "How do you know him?"
A smile curved at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Singapore isn't that big. Powerful men leave ripples."
She wasn't sure what to make of that, so she said nothing.
When they reached her apartment, he got out first, opened her door, and helped her again. Every gesture effortless, like instinct. Once she was safely at her doorstep, she turned to him.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For helping me tonight."
He smiled, rain glinting on his hair. "Anytime, Elin. You don't have to thank me."
"I don't even have your number," she said.
He reached into his pocket, took her phone from her hand gently, and typed it in himself. "Now you do."
When he handed it back, his gaze held hers for just a moment longer than necessary.
"Get some rest," he said softly. "And next time, call me if you need help. I'll be there."
Then he turned and walked away, the rain swallowing his figure as he disappeared down the street.
Inside the car, Sebastian loosened his tie, glancing at the rain-slicked streets with a quiet smirk.
"She's softer than I thought," he murmured. "This won't take long."
He started the engine, the city lights catching the edge of his sharp smile.
He unlocked his phone, thumbs moving swiftly across the screen.
Sebastian: She's perfect. I can see why he likes her.
Moments later, a reply flashed back.
Vivian: Then make sure she forgets him.
His lips curved slowly, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. He turned the phone in his hand, studying her reply for a long moment.
He could almost picture her, poised in her sleek penthouse suite, a glass of wine in hand, eyes gleaming with cold amusement as she waited for his answer. Vivian never asked twice. Her words were commands wrapped in silk.
And Sebastian had never minded following them only when it suited him.