SWEET RUIN

Kylie POV I swear the scent of burnt sugar clings to my skin more than soap ever could. The bakery was already hot when I got in that morning. The ovens roared like angry beasts and the air was thick with steam and flour. My hair was tied up in the same old messy bun I wore every day, mostly because I didn’t own enough conditioner to make it smooth anymore. My apron was stained, my fingers dusted white. I looked like I had been rolled in dough and baked alive. It wasn’t glamorous. But it was work. And work was the only thing keeping me from being on the street. “Faster,” my boss, Miriam, snapped from behind the register. Her voice was high and sharp like she chewed on bitterness for breakfast. “You look lazy today. Do you want to scare away customers?” I kept my head down, kneading dough with both hands, pushing my weight into it. “No,” I said quietly. “What was that? Speak up.” I swallowed. “No. I don’t want to scare away customers.” “Then move. We open in five minutes and the shelves look empty. Honestly, if I had someone else to hire I would have fired you already.” The words landed like stones in my chest, but what was I supposed to do? I needed this job. I needed rent. I needed to eat. I stayed silent. Miriam smirked like she’d won something. She usually did. The bell rang at the door. Someone had come in early. I didn’t look up at first. I was too busy shaping croissants. But the air shifted. The bakery didn’t feel small anymore. It felt like it was suddenly holding its breath. I raised my head. He was tall. Taller than anyone I’d ever seen. Broad shoulders under a black tailored coat. Dark hair pushed back like he hadn’t even tried and still somehow looked expensive. His jaw was sharp, his eyes colder than the iced pastry glass. And God help me, he was beautiful in a dangerous way. The type of beautiful that ruins rational thought. Antonio Russo. I recognized him. Everyone would. His face was on billboards, magazines, news sites. Billionaire. Business emperor. Scandal magnet. A man who could buy this entire bakery just to burn it down for fun. What was someone like him doing here? Miriam noticed him too. Her posture changed instantly. Like a rat that suddenly saw cheese. “Welcome,” she said in a voice I had never heard her use before. “How may I help you today?” Antonio didn’t look at her. He looked at me. His gaze slid over my flour covered apron, my tired eyes, the hole in my left sleeve I had stitched twice already. My cheeks flushed with heat. I hated that I felt exposed. Like he saw everything I tried to hide. “Coffee,” he said finally. His voice was deep, smooth, but there was something in it. Something that could melt into a growl if pushed. Miriam laughed a little too brightly. “Of course. Right away. Kylie, go.” I wiped my hands and moved to the machine. But my hands shook. I don’t know why. He was just a man. A very rich, very beautiful man. But still. A man. I placed the cup under the brewer. “Kylie is terribly slow,” Miriam said, loud enough to be heard. “But she tries. Even though she looks like she doesn’t bathe most days.” The words were casual. Like breathing to her. Like cruelty was a language she was fluent in. A couple of customers at a nearby table looked at me and whispered. My throat tightened. I stared at the cup as it filled. Pretend you didn’t hear it. Pretend it’s fine. Pretend you’re fine. Antonio studied Miriam now. His expression didn’t change, but something in the atmosphere did. It felt heavier. Colder. I placed the finished coffee on the counter. “Here,” I said softly. Antonio didn’t move to take it. Instead, he asked Miriam, “Do you speak to all of your employees like that?” His voice… did not sound impressed. Miriam laughed. “Please. She should be grateful she even has a job. Girls like her don’t get many opportunities.” Girls like her. Meaning poor. Meaning disposable. Meaning less. Heat rushed up my chest. Antonio’s jaw shifted. A subtle movement. Like he was biting down the urge to react more than he should. He took the coffee finally. But he spoke again before taking a sip. “What is your salary?” The question was directed at me. I blinked. “One hundred and eighty a week.” “And how many hours?” “Fifty. Usually.” He took a slow breath. His eyes turned sharper. Calculating. “That is illegal,” he said. Miriam’s face paled. “Now look, sir, this is a small establishment. We do what we can.” “No,” Antonio said. “You exploit her. And you humiliate her.” The bakery felt silent. Completely silent. Miriam sputtered. “You… you don’t understand the situation. She needs this job.” Antonio set his coffee down. Untouched. “Not anymore,” he said. He turned to me. “Come with me.” My heart stopped. I stared. “What?” He spoke slower this time. Like I was something fragile he didn’t want to scare. “You are leaving this place today. I will offer you new employment. Better pay. Better treatment. Better environment.” Miriam shrieked. “You cannot just take my staff!” “She is not your possession,” he replied coolly. “She is a person.” My vision blurred. No one had ever said something like that for me. Not once. Not ever. But still. This was insane. “I…” My voice shook. “I don’t know you.” “No,” he said. “But I know enough.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. He placed it on the counter, near my hand. “If you want to leave this life,” he said, “call me today. I pay generously. You will have your own room. Three meals a day. Respect.” Respect. The word alone nearly broke me. He picked up the coffee again. Looked at me one last time. And walked out. The door shut behind him. I stared at the card. Antonio Russo. Private Number. My hands trembled around it. Miriam hissed, “You are not going anywhere. Do you hear me? If you walk out, you will starve. You will lose everything.” Maybe. But my heart was beating hard and fast. Like it already knew something. The line between my old life and something new was sitting right between my fingers. The card slipped slightly because my hands were sweating. And then the bakery door swung open again. Antonio stepped back inside. His gaze locked on me. Firm. Unwavering. Dangerous in a different way now. “Kylie,” he said. “I didn’t ask you to call me later.” His voice was quiet. Commanding. Certain. “I’m telling you to come with me now.” My breath caught. And the world stopped.