Chapter - 3
955 Words
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Chan didn't like this.
Didn't like how Pete-his bright, warm-hearted child-was being pulled into the shadows of the Theerapanyakul family. A world of power struggles, blood-soaked deals, and endless danger. A world where trust was a weapon, and love was a liability.
Chan clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening slightly against the armrest of his chair.
Pete was innocent, untouched by the kind of darkness men like Theerapanyakuls thrived in. He had grown up in warmth, in kindness. Even after losing his mother, Pete had never once let the world make him bitter. He had found comfort in baking, in crafting something beautiful with his hands. He had never needed power or control to feel fulfilled.
And yet, here he was.
On the fringes of something far too dangerous for someone like him.
Chan knew his son.
But he also knew his son. Pete wasn't weak, but he never truly saw himself as strong either. He was stubborn, yes-kind to a fault-but beneath that warmth was a constant fear that he wasn't enough. But he was soft in ways that made Chan worry. Too kind. Too forgiving. Too willing to believe that even the worst of people had good in them.
Vegas Theerapanyakul wasn't just any man.
He was his father's son.
Cunning. Dangerous. A man born from power and sharpened by cruelty. The kind of man who consumed everything in his path, leaving behind nothing but ruins.
Could Pete handle someone like him?
His son had strength, yes, but not the kind needed to survive in Vegas's world. Pete wasn't built for war, for deception, for a love that came with knives hidden beneath silk sheets.
Most of all...
Chan feared that Pete would never truly see himself as enough for someone like Vegas. He doubted Pete's place in Vegas's world, afraid that one day, he'd be nothing more than a fleeting moment, a temporary piece in a game he didn't belong to.
It would be something far more dangerous.
A choice.
Gun drained the rest of his drink and set the glass down with a quiet clink.
Chan exhaled slowly, watching Gun make his way toward the door. "And what if Pete refuses?"
Gun paused, glancing over his shoulder.
"For Vegas's sake, I hope he doesn't. And I'm sure they will be happy together."
And with that, Gun Theerapanyakul walked out, leaving Chan alone with a decision that could change everything
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The scent of freshly baked pastries filled the air as Pete pushed open the glass door of his small yet cozy pastry shop. The soft chime of the entrance bell rang in greeting, a familiar, comforting sound that made his heart swell with warmth.
Golden light bathed the space, reflecting off the gleaming glass display cases where rows of delicate croissants, soft muffins, and beautifully decorated cakes sat like edible works of art. Every treat was crafted with love, each swirl of frosting and dusting of powdered sugar a reflection of the gentle hands that made them.
This was Pete's little world.
A place where everything made sense.
Here, he wasn't a boy born into wealth, nor the son of a powerful man. He wasn't someone people whispered about, questioning if he was strong enough to stand on his own.
Here, in this tiny bakery, he was simply Pete.
And that was enough.
More Than Just a Hobby
Pete didn't need money.
His father, Chan Phongsakorn Saengtham, was one of the richest men in Thailand. If Pete wanted, he could have spent his days in luxury, living effortlessly without lifting a single finger. But that wasn't who he was.
Baking wasn't just a hobby-it was his peace, his comfort.
The moment he stepped into the kitchen, the rest of the world faded away. The worries, the expectations, the pressure to be something more-none of it mattered here.
The sound of dough being kneaded beneath his soft hands, the gentle sizzle of butter melting in a warm pan, the rhythmic whisking of cream as it thickened to perfection-it was all music to him.
Not in the way others might hear it, with notes and melody, but in the way it felt deep in his bones. It was soothing, familiar, safe.
Pete loved watching people step into his shop, their faces lighting up the moment they saw the colorful array of pastries.
Some leaned close to the display case, eyes wide with childlike wonder. Others pressed their fingers to their lips, contemplating which treat to choose, while a few regulars walked straight to the counter, already knowing their favorite order.
And then came the best part-the first bite.
He watched as customers took a delicate bite of his croissants, their eyes fluttering shut as the flaky, buttery layers melted on their tongues. He saw their lips curve into a smile when they tasted his cupcakes, the sweetness bursting like happiness in their mouths.
And when they spoke, their words felt like magic.
"Your croissants are the best in Bangkok!"
"I always stop by for your cupcakes! They're magical!"
"This strawberry tart reminds me of my childhood. It's perfect!"
Each compliment, no matter how small, made Pete feel like he was floating. It filled his chest with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat from the ovens. It gave him confidence.
And confidence was something Pete sometimes struggled with.
He didn't need to be powerful.
He didn't need to be feared.
Here, in this little pastry shop, surrounded by the scent of sugar and vanilla, with flour dusting his fingers and an apron tied snugly around his waist, Pete was simply himself.
A sweet, gentle Omega with flour-dusted cheeks and a heart full of warmth.
And that was enough.
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- Writer
