SWEET RUIN

CHAPTER 2

Antonio POV

I was not supposed to walk into that bakery.

My schedule today was clear. A board meeting, a lunch with investors, a call with the Tokyo branch. My time was planned down to the minute. I hate surprises. My life is structured, clean, controlled. But fate has a way of interrupting carefully built systems.

My driver had taken a wrong turn. That was all. One wrong street, and I ended up in front of the bakery window. I saw her through the glass before I even stepped inside.

Kylie.

Small. Slim. Shoulders tense from carrying weight she should not have to carry. Her hair tied up, strands falling around her face. Her eyes tired. The kind of tired that settles into bone. The kind of tired that comes from surviving, not living.

And still, she was beautiful.

Not the glamorous, polished, artificial beauty I see at every event. She was natural. Unaware. Soft around the edges but strong where it mattered. The kind of beauty that stays in your mind long after you stop looking.

Then I heard the way that woman spoke to her.

Something inside me went still.

People think anger is loud. It is not. Not for me. When I am truly angry, the world quiets. Everything sharpens. Every word, every thought, clean and precise.

That bakery owner spoke to her like she was garbage. Like she had the right to tear her down. And Kylie did not fight back. She just took it. Not because she was weak. But because she was tired. Because life had taught her to keep her head down to survive.

I know that look. I have worn that look before.

When I saw the humiliation in her eyes, I knew I would not walk away.

So I told her to come with me.

And when she looked at me, her eyes widened like she was seeing a door she never believed existed.

I left the bakery. I told myself I was done. That I had made my offer. That she could choose.

But she did not chase after me.

And I could not leave.

I walked back inside.

She stood there like she was trying to decide if she was allowed to want something more than survival. Her fingers were still wrapped around my card.

“Kylie,” I said, “I didn’t ask you to call me later. I’m telling you to come with me now.”

She looked at me, really looked. I saw confusion. Fear. Hope. Hope is the most dangerous of them all.

Her boss jumped in front of her. “She is not going anywhere.”

I ignored the woman completely. She was irrelevant.

“It is your decision,” I told Kylie. “No one else’s.”

She swallowed hard. “I don’t have anything with me.”

“You will not need anything from here.”

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Kylie pulled off her apron. Quietly. Slowly. Like she was stripping away a piece of her old life.

Miriam stared as if she could not believe it. “You ungrateful little—”

“Say another word,” I said, my voice calm, “and I will have your business shut down by the end of the day.”

Silence. Clean. Complete.

Kylie stepped toward me.

Her hands were shaking.

I opened the door and she walked out beside me.

My driver looked surprised when we got in the car, but he knew better than to ask questions.

We sat in the back seat. Silence stretched between us. Not uncomfortable. Just fragile.

She stared out the window. “Why me?” she asked quietly.

I answered honestly. “Because you looked like you were drowning.”

She turned her face toward me. Her eyes glistened, but she did not let the tears fall.

“I was,” she whispered.

Her voice did something to me. I felt something tighten in my chest. I do not feel things. Not like this. I have had countless women. Beautiful, willing, eager. I take what I want. I make it clear it will not last. I do not do feelings. I do not do softness. I do not do vulnerability.

Yet here I am, looking at a girl who has nothing and still somehow feels like everything I have been missing.

I should have stopped myself.

But I did not.

“Kylie,” I said softly, “you will work in my home.”

She nodded, listening.

“You will have a room. Your own. No one will speak to you the way she did.”

Her lip trembled again. She looked away.

I continued. “Your salary will be three thousand a month. Room and meals included.”

She turned sharply. “Three thousand?”

“Yes.”

“That is too much.”

“It is not.”

She stared at me like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “What do you want from me?”

Honesty again. “I am not a good man. I do not pretend to be. I do not do love. I do not do relationships. But I take care of what is mine.”

Her breath caught. “Yours?”

“Yes.”

Her heartbeat sped up. I could hear it in the silence between us.

“But,” I said slowly, “you will choose what that means. You are not obligated to my bed. You are not obligated to anything but the work you are paid for.”

Her eyes softened. Something in them opened. Hope again.

But she did not know me yet.

My home came into view, a large estate on a hill overlooking the city. Expensive. Private. Quiet.

When the car stopped, she stared at the house like she was stepping into a different world.

“This is where you live?”

“Yes.”

She stepped out slowly. She looked small against the height of the building. Small, but not insignificant.

I walked beside her to the door.

Before I opened it, she spoke.

“Why are you helping me?”

I turned to her.

And for the first time in years, I told a truth that was not wrapped in power, desire, or control.

“Because I saw myself in you.”

Her breath hitched.

Before I could say anything else, the door opened from the inside.

My ex-girlfriend stepped out.

Tall. Rich. Cold. Perfect in the way diamonds are perfect. Sharp enough to cut skin.

She crossed her arms and smiled at me. A slow, knowing smile.

“Well,” she said, her eyes sliding to Kylie. “I see you replaced me quickly.”

Kylie froze.

My jaw tightened.

I had not expected this.

She was not supposed to be here.

And Kylie was not ready for what this meant.