I stared at the phone number scrawled on the back of the receipt, my thumb tracing the sharp, elegant ink.

I didn't call it. I couldn't. What would I even say? "Hello, mysterious handsome stranger, my father is holding my life hostage, can you save me?"

I tossed the paper onto the nightstand and grabbed my phone instead. I dialed the only person in this world who actually gave a damn about me.

"Eliza," I choked out the moment she picked up.

"Sephi?" Her voice was instantly alert, shifting from sleepy to protective in a nanosecond. "What’s wrong? Why are you whispering?"

I told her everything. The engagement. The ultimatum. The lease.

"That absolute bastard," Eliza hissed. I could hear the rustle of sheets as she sat up. "He can't do that! That bakery is yours! You built it!"

"He signed the papers," I whispered, tears leaking from my eyes again. "Legally, he owns it. He said if I don't agree to bake the cake by tomorrow morning, he’s selling the building."

"Okay, screw the building," Eliza snapped. "Pack a bag. Come to my place. You can sleep on the couch until we figure this out."

"And do what, Eliza? I have forty dollars in my bank account. They drained the joint fund. If I leave, I have nothing. No job. No money. No home."

"You have me," she said fiercely. "We'll figure it out. Just... don't let them win. Don't bake that cake."

"I won't," I said, a strange calm settling over me. "I’m done, El. I’m done being their puppet."

I didn't sleep.

When the sun rose, bleeding gray light through my curtains, I got dressed. I didn't put on my usual bakery uniform. I put on jeans and a black hoodie. I packed a single bag—just the essentials—and hid it under my bed.

I walked to the bakery in the cold morning mist.

I unlocked the front door, flipping the sign to OPEN out of habit, even though I knew this might be the last time I ever did it. This was my funeral march.

I started the coffee machine. The smell of roasting beans usually calmed me. Today, it tasted like ash.

I waited. My father would be here soon to demand his answer.

At 7:00 AM, a car pulled up.

My stomach dropped. But it wasn't my father’s sedan.

It was the black limousine. The same one from yesterday.

My heart hammered against my ribs. He came back?

The back door didn't open. Instead, the driver got out. He was an older man, sharp-eyed, wearing a suit that looked like it could stop a bullet. He walked into the shop, a chime announcing his arrival.

He didn't order coffee. He walked straight to the counter and placed a heavy, cream-colored envelope on the glass.

"Miss Vale," he said. His voice was polite but devoid of warmth.

"Yes?" I stammered.

"My employer, Monsieur Aurelien, was... taken with your work yesterday."

Monsieur Aurelien. Even the name sounded expensive.

"I... I'm glad he liked the pastries," I said, confused.

"He did. In fact, he is in need of a new Head Pastry Chef for his estate." The man pushed the envelope toward me. "He requested you specifically."

I stared at the envelope. "Me? But... he only met me for two minutes."

"Monsieur Aurelien has excellent instincts. He knows quality when he tastes it." The man paused, his eyes scanning the empty shop. "He is prepared to offer you a live-in position. Room and board included. Full benefits."

He named a salary figure.

My jaw dropped. It was five times what I made here. It was enough to rent my own apartment in a month. It was enough to be free.

"There is one condition," the man added. "The estate is private. Highly secure. If you accept, you must leave with me now. Today."

Leave now.

It was crazy. It was reckless. I didn't know this man. I didn't know who Lucien Aurelien was, other than a rich, arrogant Frenchman with intense eyes.

"I'll take it," I said breathless. "But... I can't leave this second. I need to pack. I need to get my things from my parents' house."

The man in the suit checked his watch. He frowned, calculating.

"Monsieur Aurelien is impatient," he said coolly. "But he understands the need to sever ties properly."

He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to me.

"Pack your bags tonight. I will come to your residence tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM sharp to collect you. Do not make us wait, Miss Vale."

"I won't," I promised, clutching the card like a lifeline.

He nodded once, turned, and walked out of the shop.

I stood there in the silence of the bakery, my heart pounding. I looked at the keys in my hand—the keys my father held over my head like a weapon.

I wasn't just going to quit. I was going to burn this bridge to the ground.

I closed the shop early. I walked home with my head held high, the secret of my escape burning in my pocket. Let them yell. Let them threaten me one last time.

It didn't matter anymore. By tomorrow morning, I would be gone.