Chapter 6 - A Sweet Forever"Vanessa," I said, forcing my voice to stay level as I stepped back against the edge of the glass desk, subtly blocking the server screen with my body. "You shouldn't be here. The FBI is looking for your father."
"My father is already on a boat to South America!" Vanessa hissed, her hand shaking as she pointed the gun straight at my chest. "And I was supposed to be on it too! But I couldn't leave Chicago without making sure you paid for what you did to me!"
"Emily!" Adrian’s voice screamed in my earpiece, though it was muffled, distorted by the thick concrete walls of the study. "Emily, answer me! What’s happening?!"
I couldn't reply without alerting Vanessa to the mic.
"You ruined my life!" Vanessa spat, taking a step closer, her heels digging into the Persian rug. "I had everything! I was going to be Adrian Morello’s wife! I was going to rule this city! And you... a pathetic, oversized nobody who smells like burnt butter... you took him from me!"
"I didn't take anything from you, Vanessa," I said, my eyes scanning the desk behind me for anything I could use as a weapon. A heavy crystal paperweight sat six inches from my left hand. "Adrian left you eighteen months ago because he saw who you really were. Cold. Cruel. Empty."
"Shut up!" Vanessa screamed, her finger tightening on the trigger. "Shut up!"
"75%..." the soft, synthetic voice of the server terminal chimed behind me.
Vanessa’s eyes flicked toward the screen. "What is that? What are you doing to the server?!"
"I’m erasing your father’s empire," I said firmly.
"You bitch!" Vanessa roared, raising the revolver.
I didn't wait for her to pull the trigger.
I grabbed the heavy crystal paperweight off the desk and threw it with all my strength straight at her face.
It struck her shoulder with a sharp crack. The gun went off—BANG!—the bullet tearing through the glass desk behind me, sending a cascade of shattered shards raining down onto the floor.
Vanessa stumbled back, gasping in pain, but she raised the gun again, her eyes wild with murderous intent.
Before she could adjust her aim, the heavy oak door of the office was smashed off its hinges with a deafening crash.
Adrian burst into the room.
He didn't look at the server. He didn't look at the shattered glass. His eyes locked onto Vanessa holding the gun at me, and a roar of pure, primordial rage ripped from his throat.
He closed the distance in a fraction of a second, grabbing Vanessa’s wrist and twisting it upward.
CRACK!
The revolver flew from her grip, clattering across the floor. Adrian slammed Vanessa against the wall, pinning her effortlessly, his hand clamped over her throat, his gray eyes burning with a dark, lethal fire that made even Vanessa paralyze in sheer terror.
"If you ever... ever... look at her again," Adrian growled, his voice so low it vibrated through the floorboards, "I will ensure you spend the rest of your natural life in a cage so deep you’ll forget what the sun looks like."
"100%. Transfer Complete," the server terminal chimed cheerfully behind us.
Marco stepped into the room a second later, followed by four armed federal agents.
"Take her," Adrian ordered, shoving Vanessa toward the agents.
Vanessa was sobbing, her makeup ruined, her leather coat torn as the marshals slapped heavy steel handcuffs onto her wrists and dragged her out of the room.
The office went quiet.
Adrian turned around.
He looked at the shattered glass desk. He looked at the bullet hole in the wall. Then he looked at me, standing near the server, holding my arm where a small piece of glass had scratched my skin.
He walked over to me, his breathing heavy, ragged. He didn't say a word. He reached out, wrapped his arms around my waist, and pulled me violently against his chest, burying his face into the crook of my neck.
He was shaking. The most feared man in Chicago was trembling in my arms.
"Adrian..." I whispered, my hands wrapping around his back, holding him tightly. "I’m okay. I’m fine."
"I thought I lost you," he choked out, his voice raw, completely stripped of his usual cold composure. "When I heard the gunshot over the radio... I thought I was too late."
"You were right on time," I said softly, leaning back to look at his face. "You always are."
Adrian looked down at me—at my flour-dusted hair, my chef’s coat, my plus-size frame that society had told me for years wasn't worthy of love or protection. He looked at me like I was the only thing in the entire universe that mattered.
He cup my cheeks with his large, warm hands and kissed me.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was deep, desperate, filled with weeks of unsaid promises, fierce protection, and an undeniable, overwhelming love that swept through my veins like wildfire.
I kissed him back, wrapping my arms around his neck, letting myself melt completely into his strength.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his gray eyes shining with an emotion so bright it took my breath away.
"I love you, Emily," Adrian whispered, his thumb softly tracing my bottom lip. "I loved you the moment you made me wait ten minutes for a misaddressed birthday cake in your bakery."
I let out a breathless laugh, tears of pure relief prickling my eyes. "I love you too, Adrian. Even if your family brings way too much drama to my kitchen."
Six months later.
The spring sun was shining brightly over Lincoln Park.
Armitage Avenue was bustling with weekend shoppers, but the largest crowd in the neighborhood was gathered outside the grand reopening of Rose & Rye.
The bakery had been completely rebuilt and expanded. It was now twice its original size, featuring beautiful mahogany counters, brass light fixtures, and a massive glass display case filled with hundreds of delicate, beautiful pastries.
Above the entrance hung a brand-new hand-carved wooden sign: Rose & Rye — Fine Pastries & Confections.
Inside, the bakery was packed with laughing customers.
Sophie was behind the counter, proudly wearing a manager’s apron, serving a tray of fresh croissants to a group of university students.
Near the window table sat Frank Morello, wearing a bright yellow cardigan, happily reading the morning newspaper while eating a large, powdered-sugar cannoli.
And sitting at his side, scolding him gently, was my grandmother, who had moved to Chicago two months ago to help manage the bakery’s books.
I stood behind the main prep counter, wearing my favorite white apron, putting the finishing touches on a massive, three-tiered wedding cake made of almond sponge, blackberry compote, and delicate white chocolate buttercream.
A pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind.
I smiled, leaning back against Adrian’s solid chest. He was wearing a dark blue suit, his collar open, looking handsome enough to stop traffic on the street outside.
"You’re supposed to be in a board meeting downtown, CEO," I murmured, turning my head to kiss his cheek.
"I delegated," Adrian whispered, kissing the shell of my ear, making a lovely shiver run down my spine. "Besides, the head of my catering department promised me a private tasting at two o'clock."
"Did she now?" I giggled, turning around in his embrace to rest my hands on his lapels. "And what does the famous Adrian Morello want to taste?"
Adrian looked down at me, his gray eyes soft, warm, and overflowing with endless devotion. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box, opening it to reveal a breathtaking, custom-cut radiant diamond ring set in rose gold, surrounded by tiny carved ivy leaves.
The room seemed to go quiet around us. Frank stopped reading his paper. Sophie gasped from behind the counter.
Adrian sank down onto one knee right there on the flour-dusted floor of my bakery.
"I want a lifetime of sourdough," Adrian said, his voice ringing out clearly across the warm, sweet-scented room. "I want every morning with you scolding my grandfather. I want every night holding you in my arms. Emily Roy... will you marry me?"
Tears of absolute joy overflowed my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. I didn't care about my weight, I didn't care about the ghosts of the past, and I didn't care about what high society thought.
I was Emily Roy—a proud Chicago baker—and I had found a man who cherished every single inch of my soul.
"Yes!" I sobbed, laughing through my tears. "Yes, Adrian! A thousand times yes!"
The entire bakery erupted into wild cheers and applause. Frank clapped his frail hands together loudly, wiping a tear from his eye, while Sophie let out a loud whistle.
May you like
Adrian stood up, slipped the sparkling ring onto my finger, and pulled me into his arms, lifting me completely off my feet as he spun me around in the middle of the kitchen.
He kissed me deeply as the smell of fresh bread, sweet sugar, and endless love filled the air around us—a perfect, sweet forever that no cream pie, no bitter ex, and no shadow of the past could ever destroy again.
