Chapter 3: Offer You Can’t Refuse

Anya didn’t come to the city to get married.

She came to save her bakery.

Her grandmother’s legacy. Her childhood haven. The only thing she had left after her parents passed and the debts piled high.

Sweet Crumbs wasn’t just a shop—it was her heart. And lately, that heart had been slowly caving in.

Rent increases. Expired ovens. Fewer customers.

Now, after spilling cinnamon latte on a man who looked like he could buy the entire building and still consider it a bad investment, she might’ve just made things worse.

The delivery contract she’d landed for Yllanes Tower was supposed to save her for at least a few more months.

Now it was gone.

Because of him.

She was still wiping tears off her cheeks when her phone rang.

Unknown number.

She hesitated, then answered, her voice a tired whisper.

“H-Hello?”

“Basement parking. Service elevator. Five minutes. Alone.”

Click.

She stared at the phone.

Was that—?

No. It couldn’t be.

But something told her it was.

A loanshark..

Five minutes later, Anya stepped into the cold, gray basement of the tower, goosebumps running down her arms as the chill crept in. She was still wearing her sugar-dusted apron, her curls tied messily back, and the faint smell of cinnamon clinging to her skin.

No loanshark but there someone here.

Zayden Yllanes stood beside a sleek black car, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Clean suit. Hair combed. Same steel eyes.

As if her earlier coffee disaster had never happened.

“I—uh…” Anya looked around. “Should I be worried that you’re calling me to parking lots now? Or is this where you dump the bodies?”

He didn’t laugh. Of course, he didn’t.

“Get in the car.”

“I—what?”

“You want your bakery saved, don’t you?”

Anya hesitated. Her heart thumped.

She slid into the passenger seat.

The doors sealed with a soft click.

Zayden didn’t look at her as he spoke.

“A year.”

“…What?”

“One year. That’s all I need.”

“For what? I’m not catering again, if that’s—”

He finally turned to face her. And something in his voice dropped—low, firm, final.

“To be my wife.”

Anya blinked.

Laughed.

Waited for a punchline.

There wasn’t one.

“…You want me to—be your wife?”

He nodded once.

“Are you—are you insane?” she blurted.

“No.”

“Then why would you—why me?”

Zayden's jaw ticked. “A business partner backed out of a billion-peso deal. He values ‘family men.’ Wants proof of stability. I don’t have time for courtship or games. I need someone believable.”

“And I’m believable?”

“You’re forgettable,” he said flatly.

She flinched.

“But you’re also real. Local. You blush in front of cameras. You’ve got a bakery people love. You’re the kind of story the media eats up.”

Her lips parted in disbelief. “You’re trying to spin this like a PR fairytale?”

“I’m offering you win win situation.”

“No, you’re offering me a cage.”

He leaned closer. “It’s a deal. Nothing more.”

“…What’s in it for me?”

“Your bakery’s rent. Your grandmother’s debt. New equipment. A second branch if you behave.”

Anya stared at him, blood pounding in her ears.

“And if I say no?”

“Then your contract with my building remains canceled. I can’t promise the surrounding businesses will continue working with you either.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“That’s blackmail.”

“That’s negotiation.”

She turned away, heart racing. “You can’t just control people like that.”

“I can,” he said simply. “And I do.”

Silence filled the car.

She should say no. She should run. She should call a lawyer or scream or throw cinnamon in his face.

But then she remembered the cracked tiles in her kitchen. The bills stacked on her counter. The photo of her grandmother holding a ribbon on opening day, smiling so proudly.

One year.

It wasn’t forever.

“You won’t touch me,” she whispered.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t kiss me. No—no real wedding night stuff.”

Zayden’s lips quirked into something that could’ve been a smirk—or a warning.

“Not unless you beg.”

She glared. “I won’t.”

“Then it won’t be a problem.”

Anya looked at her hands. Trembling. Flour still dusted her nails.

“I want everything in writing. I want to keep my last name. I get to leave after a year without strings. And I swear, if you ever humiliate me in public, I will burn your empire to the ground with buttercream.”

Zayden nodded once.

“Deal.”

That night, Anya went home with a signed contract.

And Zayden?

He went home with something more dangerous:

A fake wife who smelled like cinnamon…

…and a plan that had just gotten complicated.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***