Days had passed, and the initial panic over the catastrophic firewall breach had settled into a focused, cold war strategy.
Axton was back in his office, impeccably dressed once more, the rumpled suit replaced by steel-grey confidence. The fatigue was still there, a constant companion, but it was buried deep beneath layers of surgical calm.
The most critical element of the operation was now entering its final phase: stalling Vivian long enough for Lance's team to not only repair the breach but to ensure the stolen data led to an irreversible trap for both her and Sebastian.
He knew exactly what fuelled Vivian's latest push: information.
Vivian entered Axton's office with a calculated confidence that bordered on aggressive intimacy. She was carrying a sleek black folder, ostensibly related to the project budget, but her eyes held a deeper, more personal agenda.
"Axton, I think we need to talk about the budget projections," she began, closing the door behind her with a soft, decisive click, creating an undeniable barrier of privacy.
"They can wait, Vivian," Axton replied, his voice low, tinged with a weariness that was now entirely feigned. He rose slowly, walking toward the windows, presenting his profile—the handsome, troubled executive—to her. "It's been a brutal few days, dealing with... all of it. The projects, the breach, the personal fallout."
Vivian seized the emotional opening. She moved swiftly, closing the distance between them. Her voice dropped to a soft, conspiratorial purr. "I know. And you're doing too much alone. I've heard that Elin is already moving on, trying to put distance between herself and your life. It's painful, but it's for the best, Axton. She never truly understood this level of commitment."
She placed a gentle hand on his arm, her touch warm and overtly sympathetic. "But I understand it. I always have. We were always meant to operate at this level, together."
Vivian took a breath, letting her gaze sweep over his tired face, her eyes filled with a predatory mix of ambition and affection. "Axton, I see how much this breakup has hurt you, how distracted you've become. Let me help you put things back where they belong. Not just the company, but us."
Axton turned slowly to face her, letting his eyes convey a profound, conflicting exhaustion. He didn't recoil from her touch; he allowed her hand to linger on his arm, the deliberate inaction selling the certainty that she still held a fundamental, unchallenged place in his life. He needed her to believe that his grief had eroded his judgment, leaving him vulnerable only to familiar comfort.
"Vivian," Axton murmured, his voice thick with what sounded like conflicted longing. "You're right. I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm operating on fumes. I wasted months fighting for a future with Elin, and now... now I can't even see the next week clearly."
He lifted a hesitant hand, his fingers barely brushing her jawline, a feather-light touch of confusion and longing that perfectly sold his inner conflict.
"You've always been here, Vivian. You've always been the absolute constant," Axton continued, letting his voice drop lower, conveying a vulnerability she hadn't seen since their earliest days. "Part of me wonders if I've been blind, if I've been fighting for the wrong things."
He leaned in slowly, deliberately, his eyes locking onto hers, his gaze hot with what she would interpret as undeniable, delayed desire. He brought his face closer to hers, close enough for her to feel the faint warmth of his breath, close enough that the tension became excruciating.
Axton hovered his lips near hers, not closing the distance, but holding the moment suspended, pulling her in with a silent, magnetic force.
"I need you, Vivian," Axton whispered, the words heavy with double meaning. "I need you to be the one thing I can rely on right now. I can't think straight about the acquisition, not with... all this." He pulled back the barest fraction, letting his eyes drop to her lips and then back to hers.
"Just tell me what to do."
Her eyes fluttered, her focus completely consumed by the promise in his gaze.
"You don't need to think, Axton," Vivian breathed, her voice slightly strained with triumph.
"You need stability. Let me run point on the project budget and the board reports for the next forty-eight hours. You take the time you need. I will handle everything else."
The request was perfect. It gave her command of the public-facing corporate narrative, exactly what Axton needed her to focus on.
Vivian felt a powerful rush—a heady blend of professional triumph and personal vindication. She wasn't just getting the reins to the Q4 budget; she was getting Axton back. The office tension was no longer a threat; it was their shared battleground, and she was the only ally he had left.
She reached out, her fingers gently cupping his cheek, finally taking the kiss he hadn't fully given her and placing it, softly, on his jawline.
Axton gave her a slow, grateful nod, letting his hand drop from her face, his features still etched with the pain of an internal struggle. "Thank you, Vivian."
"Trust me," she whispered, her gaze intense, full of the sincerity of a woman who genuinely believed she was saving him. "I know how to protect you, Axton."
With a final, confident nod, Vivian turned and exited his office.
Only when he's certain she left, Axton then allowed his entire demeanour to collapse. The fatigue was real now, the revulsion a bitter taste on his tongue. He walked quickly to his desk, retrieving the secure phone with surgical precision.
"Forty-eight hours, Lance," Axton commanded into the phone, his voice stripped of all pretence. "She thinks she has the keys to the kingdom and my heart. The lock is ticking. Execute the final phase of the Infiltration Protocol. Her communication with Sebastian must be the smoking gun that seals their mutual demise."
***
The afternoon air inside Bluebell Bakes was heavy, not just with the scent of vanilla and caramel, but with the palpable weight of deception.
Elin was behind the counter, her movements precise and almost mechanical as she finished arranging a pyramid of lemon tarts. Every action was focused, a deliberate anchor against the surging tide of anxiety.
She knew this final interaction with Sebastian was the last significant move before Axton's carefully constructed corporate trap was set to snap shut.
The bell above the door chimed precisely at the designated hour, announcing Sebastian's arrival. He walked in, his confidence radiating off him like heat, his expensive blazer perfectly tailored, his cologne a sharp contrast to the gentle bakery scents.
He moved with a sense of entitlement, expecting a swift, favourable resolution to the 'delay' she had imposed. He was carrying a small, beautifully wrapped, expensive gift box, a silent, weighty testament to his intent.
"Right on time, my sweet baker," Sebastian announced, leaning casually over the counter with a practiced charm that didn't quite reach his intense eyes.
He ignored the tired set of Elin's shoulders and the faint wariness in her gaze. "The week is almost up, and frankly, I'm done waiting. I figured we could finalize things before I take you out for a proper, dinner."
He slid the gift box across the counter, positioning it directly in front of her. The sleek, dark packaging felt like a subtle demand. "Just a small something to celebrate our new beginning. Open it later."
Elin kept her hands steady, resting them flat on the countertop beside the golden-yellow tarts.
She did not touch the box, maintaining a critical physical and emotional barrier. She met his gaze, her expression a perfect blend of distressed confusion and reluctant attraction—enough vulnerability to keep him hooked, but not enough triumph to give him victory.
"Sebastian, I told you I needed a week," Elin reminded him softly, holding firm to the boundary Axton required. "And I meant it. I can't think about 'official' beginnings right now. My head is still spinning from everything, and honestly, every time you push, it just makes me feel more pressured and confused." She let her voice convey a genuine fragility.
Sebastian's charm faltered, a deep, tell-tale frown of impatience creasing his brow. The smooth veneer cracked, revealing a flash of deep irritation.
"Elin, please. You're being ridiculous. We both know Axton is history. He's moved on and Vivian is practically stapled to his side in the office, I hear. You need to stop punishing yourself for being free."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a persuasive, almost urgent whisper that felt like a coiled threat.
"Look, I know what this is. You're afraid of moving too fast, afraid of the commitment. So let's forget the titles for a minute. Just dinner. Tonight. Just you and me. I need to know you're prioritizing us over this old drama." He was demanding a physical concession to test the limits of her resistance.
The pressure was immense.
She couldn't give Sebastian a dinner that would break the illusion of her being emotionally unavailable and too distracted by her own turmoil. She needed to stall, but decisively, making the stall feel like a fragile, personal need for space, not a rejection.
"I can't tonight, Sebastian," Elin insisted, her voice gaining a firm, genuine texture. "I have a massive, non-negotiable order for tomorrow, and I'm honestly too drained for a formal dinner. Everything is just too much right now, and I can't pretend to be good company."
She quickly pushed a small, perfectly arranged box of the lemon tarts toward him. "But I did bake these for you. Take them. Think of it as a down payment on that official answer. I promise, next week, I'll tell you exactly where we stand. But until then, please, let me breathe and focus on my business."
The offering was subtle brilliance: a friendly, personal offering that acknowledged his feelings and effort while firmly reinforcing the stall and her dedication to her own foundation.
Sebastian looked down at the box of tarts. The calculated flicker of frustration on his face was replaced by something cold and genuinely offended. He made no move to touch the offering.
"Tarts?" Sebastian's voice was low, laced with contempt, making the word sound utterly inadequate. He glanced at the elegant, expensive gift box he had brought, still sitting untouched on the counter between them. "I bring you a serious proposal, an expensive gift to celebrate our future, and you offer me baked goods?"
He didn't just reject the offering; he dismissed the entire symbol of her world. His frustration boiled over, shattering the last remnants of his charming façade.
"Stop treating me like one of your regulars, Elin," he demanded, his voice rising, carrying through the quiet bakery. He slammed his hand flat on the counter beside the tarts, the sudden, sharp thwack making the remaining pastries on the display shelf tremble. "This isn't about giving me a nice little treat to keep me happy. This is about your commitment."
Elin flinched, not from fear, but from the shock of his undisguised anger. His eyes were hard, sharp with impatience and possessiveness. The mask was completely gone; this was the raw entitlement of a man who believed he was owed her compliance.
"Sebastian, please lower your voice. There are people outside," Elin warned, instinctively glancing toward the glass storefront. The immediate priority was damage control and maintaining the professional illusion.
"I don't care about the people outside!" he snapped, leaning further over the counter, forcing her to instinctively take a small step back. "I care that you keep running from what we both want. I am offering you stability, a relationship that is present, and you hide behind Axton's failures and some miserable catering order!"
He gestured wildly at the tarts. "I don't need your little sugary bribes to put me on hold! I need you to look me in the eye and tell me that you choose me, unequivocally!"
He pushed the box of tarts back toward her with a violent sweep of his arm. The box slid across the counter, crashing against the display shelf with a sickening crunch. The delicate tarts inside were instantly ruined, the smooth lemon filling smeared against the cardboard.
He leaned both hands heavily on the counter, towering over her, his polished façade completely dissolving. "Stop playing games. I am not some lovesick teenager who waits a week because a baker needs to 'breathe.' I am offering you an immediate, secure future, a partner who won't abandon you for corporate nonsense, and you're repaying me with delays and desserts."
Elin's heart hammered against her ribs, but she held her ground, refusing to flinch.
"I am not playing games, Sebastian," Elin insisted, her voice surprisingly steady despite the fear radiating off him. "I am telling you that I need time to process things. I run a business, and I take commitment seriously."
Sebastian's lip curled into a sneer of utter contempt. "You run a bakery, Elin. It's a nice little hobby. But I know exactly what you own here, and I know exactly who owns the building. And let me tell you this: I am tired of waiting. I want your answer now. Official girlfriend, yes or no."
He paused, letting the silence emphasize the threat, then delivered the final, crushing blow, his eyes locking onto hers with chilling malice.
"Because if the answer is no, I will find a buyer for this building by the end of the week. This bakery you're so proud of? It's built on leased space. I will force a sale, and I will watch your little hobby get bulldozed to make way for a mediocre coffee chain. You either choose me, or you choose unemployment. Now, what is it?"