(Dorian’s POV)
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The moment Scarlett’s footsteps fade down the hallway, I pick up my phone. The call I’ve had on hold for the past hour is still connected.
“Did you hear that?” I ask quietly.
“Hmmm.” Jasper’s voice is tight with barely controlled anger. “Is this right?”
I lean back in my chair, watching Scarlett’s figure disappear into the elevator through my office window. She looks defeated. At a loss, and confused.
“Virginia has gone silent,” I say, keeping my voice low even though my office is soundproofed. “I fear she and whoever is behind her are nning something big. This is the only way to beat the snake out of its hole.”
“By destroying Scarlett’s confidence?”
“By forcing her into making a reckless move.” I stand, pacing to the window. “We need her to act. We need her to make a mistake we can catch. And Virginia’s intense jealousy towards Scarlett is our chance.”
Jasper is quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know. This doesn’t feel right to me.”
“Everything about this situation is wrong.” I turn away from the window. “But we can’t just sit around and wait anymore. I’m more concerned about James and ir not knowing Virginia’s true face than I am about whoever’s supporting her in the shadows.”
“What do <i>you </i>mean?”
“Think about it, Jasper. Virginia has direct ess to the Stones. She lives in their house, has their trust, their love. If she decides to use them to harm Lily and Scarlett…”
I don’t need to finish the sentence. We both know what Virginia is capable of.
“So we have no choice but to take the initiative. Now go, and do your part,” I say, already reaching for my coat.
I disconnect the call before Jasper can respond. There’s no time for doubt now. We’remitted to this path, and the only way out is pushing forward.
<b>(</b><b>Scarlett’s </b><b>POV</b>)
I sit in my car outside Dorian’s building for twenty minutes, staring at nothing. His words
:
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echo in my head, mixing with Andrew’s justifications and the bitter taste of those industrial bread rolls.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am being unrealistic, clinging to methods that don’t make business sense. Maybepromise is just another word for growing up.
But when I close my eyes, I see Emma’s face the first time she bit into one of my bunny rolls. The wonder, the pure joy. Would she have felt the same way about Andrew’s factory–molded
version?
My phone buzzes. Jasper’s name shes on the screen.
I almost don’t answer. I’m not sure I can handle another conversation about what I should do, how I should change, why my methods are wrong.
But recalling today is Saturday, I swipe to ept the call.
“Scarlett?” Jasper’s voice is warm, concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” I say, though I’m anything but fine.
“Where are you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I have all the equipment ready.”
“What equipment?”
“For the orphanage. The baking lessons we talked about?”
Ah, I’d almost forgotten. With everything happening at the mall location, the orphanage project had slipped from my mind entirely.
“I don’t know if I’m the right person to teach them anymore,” I say quietly. “I can’t even run my own business properly.”
‘Come on, Scar. Those kids don’t need industrial efficiency. They need someone who will teach them the skill to stand on their own.”
Something loosens in my chest at his words. “When?”
“Now, if you’re free. I can pick you up.”
“I need to get Lily from Chloe first.”
“Perfect. I’ll swing by and get you.”
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An hourter, I’m standing outside my apartment building with Lily bouncing excitedly beside me when Jasper’s SUV pulls up. But when the doors open, it’s not just Jasper who gets out.
James and ir emerge from the backseat, both wearing casual clothes and nervous
smiles.
“Surprise?” ir smiles, fidgeting with her hands. “We hope you don’t mind we decided to join. When Jasper told us about the baking lesson, we thought maybe…”
“We wanted to spend time with Lily,” James adds. “And with you, if you’ll let us.”
I want to say no. The wounds from their past betrayal still hurts whenever I see them, and I’m not sure I have the energy for family drama on top of everything that’s <i>going </i>on in my life. right now.
But Lily runs straight to them, wrapping her small arms around ir’s legs.
“Grandma ir! Are you going to bake with us too?”
ir’s eyes fill with tears as she lifts Lily into her arms. “If your mama allows it.”
Three pairs of eyes look at me expectantly. I want to refuse, to protect myself from more hurt. But seeing Lily’s excitement, seeing how much happier she’s be since having her grandparents in her life…
“Okay,” I hear myself say. “But we focus on the kids. This isn’t about us.”
“Of course,” James says quickly. “We just want to help however we can.” <fn8d0f> For original chapters go to f?i?n?d?n?o?v?e?l?</fn8d0f>
The drive to the orphanage is awkward at first. ir sits in the back with Lily, asking gentle questions about school and friends. James makes polite conversation about the weather. Jasper keeps ncing at me in the rearview mirror, checking to make sure I’m okay.
I’m not okay. But sitting here with my daughter giggling in the backseat, heading toward children who need something I can give them, I feel more like myself than I have in weeks.
Sister Margaret greets us at the door with her usual warmth, though her eyes widen when she sees James and ir.
“How wonderful! A full family baking lesson.” She ps her hands together. “The children are going to be beside themselves with joy.”
The kitchen we donated equipment to looks transformed. Professional mixers sit beside child–height work stations. New ovens gleam alongside carefully organized ingredient stations. It’s everything I could think of and more.
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“Look what we built for you,” Marcus says, pulling me toward a small station covered with measuring cups and wooden spoons. “Sister Margaret said this one is special for the teacher.”
Twenty–three children ranging in age from six to sixteen gather around the central ind. Their faces shine with excitement, hands already reaching for ingredients.
“Okay, everyone,” I say, finding my voice. “Today we’re going to learn the most important thing about baking.”
“What’s that?” calls out Jessica, now bouncing on her toes.
I look around at these children who have so little but give <i>so </i>much love. At my daughter, wide–eyed and eager to learn. At Sister Margaret, beaming with pride. Even at James and ir, who hover uncertainly at the edge of the group.
“That the secret ingredient isn’t in any recipe book,” I say, my voice growing stronger. “The secret ingredient is love. And today, we’re going to put so much love into our bread that everyone who tastes it will feel it.”
I move to the flour station, my hands steady for the first time in days. “First, we’re going to learn how to feel the ingredients. Not just measure them, but really understand them.”
As I demonstrate how to test flour between my fingers, how to know when it’s the right texture just by touch, I see Andrew’s efficiency–driven methods for what they really are. Shortcuts that skip the soul.
“Baking isn’t about speed,” I tell the children, who hang on every word. “It’s about patience. About taking time to do things right.”
Emma, now ten and still shy, raises her hand. “Mom Scarlett, will you teach us to make the bunny bread?”
I smile, feeling something settle back into ce inside my chest. “That’s exactly what we’re going to make. And each bunny is going to be different, because we’re making them with our hands, not with machines.”
As we work, I watch Lily help a younger boy measure ingredients. James assists with heavy mixing bowls while ir reads recipe cards to kids who can’t read yet. Jasper moves between stations, offering encouragement and cleaning up spills.
<b>This </b>is what family looks like. Not perfect, not withoutplications, but real.
And as I guide small hands through the process of shaping dough into whimsical rabbits, each one unique and imperfect and beautiful, I remember why I started baking in the first