PENELOPE
The past few days have been absolute chaos. Reporters stationed outside the bakery, people online debating whether I was actually talented or just a “passing trend,” and Samantha Elliott enjoying every second of it.
But if there was one thing she had underestimated, it was me.
I wasn’t just some privileged rich girl who stumbled into baking. I had put time into learning and I built this from the ground up, with Jess by my side, and no one—not Samantha, not the press—was going to take that away from me.
So, if she wanted a war, she was going to get one.
Jess and I sat at the bakery counter, a laptop open between us, creating Sweet Delights’ official i********: page.
“This is long overdue,” Jess muttered, typing furiously. “We should’ve started this sooner. I can't believe we
