The rain poured mercilessly over the city, washing away the faint aroma of freshly baked bread from the small patisserie on the corner of Bell Street. Natasha Rivers stood by the window, her fingers gripping the counter so tightly her knuckles turned white. The neon "Closed" sign flickered behind her, though the shop had been closed for more than two weeks now.
She used to love the sound of rain. It reminded her of cozy kitchens, of warm ovens, of the sweet scent of vanilla and caramel that clung to her clothes long after she left work. But tonight, the rain only reminded her of endings—the kind that leave nothing but a bitter aftertaste.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. She didn't need to check the name. She already knew who it was.
"Natasha, please pick up," came the muffled voice from the voicemail. A man's voice. Familiar. Warm. Deceptive.
Ethan.
The man she had been engaged to for the last two years. The man who promised her forever. The man who, just three weeks ago, she had caught in the kitchen of their apartment, tangled in the arms of her best friend, Marissa.
She could still see the way Marissa smirked when Natasha's grocery bags slipped from her hands, strawberries rolling across the tiled floor.
"You're early," Marissa had said, as if it were Natasha who had made the mistake of walking in at the wrong time.
Natasha had left without a word. She didn't scream. She didn't cry—not until later, when she was alone and the walls could hear her.
Now, standing in her closed bakery with the rent unpaid and her dreams crumbling, she wondered if betrayal always came in pairs. Ethan had stolen her heart. Marissa had stolen her trust. And together, they had stolen her business.
The rain outside blurred the city lights into hazy smears. Somewhere in that chaos, she would have to start over.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. She frowned. The lights were dim, and she wasn't expecting anyone.
"Miss Rivers?"
The voice was deep, calm, and precise. The kind of voice that didn't ask questions—it made statements.
She hesitated before unlocking the door. A tall man in a perfectly tailored black suit stepped inside, carrying the scent of expensive cologne and something else… power.
He removed his hat, revealing sharp features, neatly styled dark hair, and eyes that seemed to see right through her.
"Who are you?" she asked, clutching the counter like it was a shield.
"Edward Blackwell," he said simply. "CEO of Blackwell Enterprises."
The name sent a flicker of recognition through her. Everyone in the city knew who Edward Blackwell was. He was the kind of man who bought failing companies just to dismantle them and sell the pieces. Ruthless. Untouchable. Dangerous.
"I think you have the wrong shop," Natasha said quickly. "We're closed."
"I know," he replied, glancing around the darkened bakery as though evaluating every inch. "That's why I'm here."
She stiffened. "If you're here to buy the place, it's not for sale."
One corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, more like an acknowledgment of her defiance.
"I'm not here to buy your bakery, Miss Rivers," he said, stepping closer. "I'm here because I have a proposition for you."
Natasha's guard went up instantly. "What kind of proposition?"
"The kind," Edward said, his voice lowering, "that could ruin the people who wronged you… and make you very, very rich in the process."
Her breath caught.
"I'm not interested in games," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
"This isn't a game," Edward replied smoothly. "It's business. And I believe we can help each other."
Natasha stared at him, her pulse quickening. She didn't know this man, but something in his tone told her he knew exactly what had happened with Ethan and Marissa.
"How do you know about—"
"Let's just say," Edward interrupted, "I have a habit of… collecting information."
Her mind spun. This stranger, this powerful CEO, standing in her empty bakery on a rainy night, offering her something she wasn't sure she wanted but couldn't ignore.
"What's in it for you?" she asked finally.
Edward's gaze darkened. "Revenge."
The word hit the air like a blade.
For a moment, Natasha could hear nothing but the sound of the rain outside. She didn't know whether to throw him out or ask him to tell her everything.
"I'll give you one night to think about it," Edward said, placing a sleek black business card on the counter. His fingers brushed hers—cold, deliberate. "Call me when you're ready."
He turned and walked to the door, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty shop. Before leaving, he looked over his shoulder.
"Miss Rivers," he said, his voice smooth and lethal. "When you decide… you won't just be baking cakes. You'll be baking their downfall."
The door closed with a soft click.
Natasha stared at the card in her hand. The gold lettering gleamed under the flickering light.
Edward Blackwell. Blackwell Enterprises.
A single phone number.
She didn't know if she was ready for revenge.
But she did know one thing—whatever she chose, her life would never taste the same again.