Camila’s POV

The smell of cinnamon rolls drifted through the bakery, warm and sweet, clinging to the air like comfort. Hazel & Crumb wasn’t packed, but today there were actually customers. That was a miracle.

I stood behind the counter, slipping a croissant into a paper bag for a young man who smiled shyly before handing me a few crumpled bills. My chest lightened. Money was money, no matter how little. At least I could keep the lights on a few more hours.

“Thank you for coming,” I said, forcing a cheerful tone as I handed him his change.

When the door closed behind him, I let myself smile. For the first time in days, I felt a small spark of hope. Maybe things weren’t as hopeless as they seemed.

“Looks like today’s better than yesterday,” Rosa said, brushing flour off her apron as she came out from the kitchen. She was my best friend, my only real help here, and always tried to keep things positive. But the way she bit her lip told me she was holding something back.

“What is it?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

She hesitated. “The landlord called again.”

My stomach twisted. “What did he say this time?”

Her face fell. “He’s on his way here, Camila. He said he’s done waiting for rent. He’s coming with movers… to take everything.”

The paper bag in my hand slipped, the croissant tumbling to the floor. “No, no, he can’t. Rosa, tell me you’re joking.”

Her silence told me everything.

My throat closed up as panic clawed its way into my chest. This bakery wasn’t just a building. It was my dream, my blood, sweat, and tears. I had poured everything into Hazel & Crumb. I had nothing else.

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket. I fumbled it out, my mother’s name flashing on the screen.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced my voice steady as I answered. “Hi, Mama.”

“Camila, querida, how are you?” her gentle voice asked, carrying all the warmth of home.

I looked around at the bakery, the peeling paint, the cracked counter, the bills stacked under the register, and lied through my teeth. “I’m fine, Mama. Everything’s good here.”

“Are you sure? You sound tired.”

“I’m fine, really.” My eyes burned as I watched Rosa pacing, peeking nervously out the window. “How’s Papa? Is he taking his medicine?”

“Yes, yes, don’t worry about us. Just take care of yourself.”

I wanted to laugh. Take care of myself? How, when my whole world was about to be ripped away?

Before I could answer, the screech of heavy tires tore through the quiet street outside. Rosa’s face paled.

“Camila,” she whispered, “they’re here.”

I froze. My hand tightened around the phone. Through the bakery window, I saw them, two large trucks pulling up to the curb, engines rumbling like thunder.

“Who’s there, Camila?” Mama’s voice asked on the other end, but I could barely hear her.

“Nothing, Mama,” I said quickly, my throat tight. “I have to go.”

I ended the call before she could ask more, pressing the phone to my chest as though it could stop my heart from breaking.

The bakery door slammed open.

Mr. Alvarez, my landlord, marched in with two men behind him. His face was smug, his eyes sharp with victory. “Time’s up, Camila. I told you what would happen if you didn’t pay.”

“Please,” I begged, rushing forward. “Just give me more time. I’ll get the money. I swear I will.”

He waved a hand, dismissing me like I was nothing. “Take everything of value,” he barked at the men. “Chairs, ovens, display cases. Outside.”

“No!” My voice cracked as the men shoved past me. One of them lifted the glass display case I had scrubbed clean just this morning, while another began dragging chairs toward the door.

“Stop!” I tried to block them, but one shoved me aside like I was weightless. My knees hit the floor.

“Camila!” Rosa rushed to help me up, wrapping an arm around me. “Don’t. You’ll get hurt.”

I clung to her, my chest heaving as I watched strangers dismantle the only thing I had left. My pastries, still warm, were dumped onto trays and thrown outside. Flour dust swirled through the air, mixing with my tears.

“Please,” I whispered, turning to the landlord again. “This bakery is all I have. Just a little more time. Please.”

Mr. Alvarez sneered. “Time? I gave you months. You promised payment every week, and every week it’s the same excuse. Enough.”

“I’m not lying!” I cried. “I’ve been trying. Customers are coming back. Just look around, there are people again.”

“Not enough people,” he snapped. “This place is a sinking ship, Camila, and I won’t let it drag me down with it.”

Rosa stepped forward, her fists clenched. “You can’t just throw her out like this. She’s built everything with her own hands.”

The landlord laughed coldly. “Hands don’t pay bills. Money does. Do you have it?”

Rosa faltered, her voice breaking. “We… we will.”

“Then until you do,” he said, waving at the men again, “everything in here is mine.”

“No!” I screamed, lunging toward the ovens. “Please, not those. They’re all I have left.”

One of the movers looked at me with pity. “Sorry, miss. Orders are orders.”

“Orders?” My voice shook. “This isn’t just equipment. This is my life. My father taught me to bake with these recipes. This bakery is…” My words choked off.

The landlord rolled his eyes. “Save your sob story, Camila. Dreams don’t pay rent. Business is business.”

“You’re heartless,” Rosa spat, stepping between me and him.

“Realistic,” he corrected, smirking. “She’s young. She’ll bounce back. Maybe get a real job instead of playing baker.”

My body trembled with rage. “This is a real job! Do you know how many nights I stayed up, working until dawn just to keep this place alive? How many bills I skipped paying so I could pay you instead?”

His smirk didn’t fade. “Not my problem. You knew the terms of the lease. And now you’re out.”

The sound of shattering glass echoed as one of the men dropped a tray. My heart cracked with it.

I staggered, clutching Rosa’s arm as though it were the only thing keeping me upright. “Please,” I whispered again, but softer now, almost broken. “Please don’t do this.”

“Begging won’t change the numbers,” he said coldly. “Your time is up.”

And then, just as the chaos reached its peak, the roar of another engine filled the street. Deep, powerful, impossible to ignore.

I turned toward the window, wiping tears with the back of my hand.

A sleek black Mustang pulled up, its polished surface catching the light like a predator.

The driver’s door opened slowly. A tall figure stepped out, every movement deliberate, commanding.

My breath caught. My body went cold.

Damien Wolfe.

The man who had once loved me. The man who had once broken me and the man who should never have been here.