Before I had known Roman Duca for an hour, I threw a bag of flour at him hard enough to explode across his charcoal suit.

I spent the next forty-eight hours trapped in an unbearable fog of exhaustion and fear.

I threw myself back into my routine with manic intensity. I arrived at the bakery at three a.m. on Monday, baking three times the normal volume of bread, scrubbing every stainless-steel counter until my hands were raw, refusing to let myself stop moving for even five minutes.

Because whenever I stopped moving, I saw the gun. I heard the deafening shot echoing through the ballroom. I saw the deadly, ruthless dark light in Roman’s eyes.

He didn't come to the bakery on Monday morning.

Lily didn't come either.

By Tuesday afternoon, the silence in Honey & Rye felt heavier than a mountain.

At 4:00 p.m., as I was flipping the sign on the front door to 'CLOSED', a small black car pulled up to the curb.

The door opened, and Lily stepped out, wearing her gray sweatshirt and carrying a heavy cardboard box.

I unlocked the door, letting her inside. “Lily... are you okay?”

Lily walked over to the counter, setting the box down. Inside was the emerald necklace, my silk dress carefully dry-cleaned and folded, and an official legal folder.

“I’m fine, Clare,” Lily said softly, her dark eyes filled with sadness. “Uncle Roman sent these back to you. And... he wanted me to give you this.”

She opened the legal folder, pulling out a cashier’s check made out to Honey & Rye Bakery for two hundred and forty thousand dollars.

I stared at the check. The exact amount to clear my mortgage.

“I can't take this,” I whispered, pushing the paper back toward her. “The deal was for three weeks. I ran away after three hours.”

“You didn't run away,” Lily said quietly, taking a seat on one of the wooden stools. “You reacted like a normal person who almost got shot by a psycho from Detroit. Uncle Roman knows that. He hasn't slept in two days, Clare. He stays in his office looking at a photo of you sitting at the pastry counter.”

My throat tightened, a painful knot forming in my chest. “Lily... his life is dangerous. I’m just a baker. I can't live in a world where people bring guns into ballrooms.”

“He ended it, Clare,” Lily revealed softly.

I blinked. “What?”

“After you left the gala, Uncle Roman went to the family council,” Lily explained, her voice trembling with emotion. “He used his authority to wipe out all of my dad’s old debts completely. He turned over the Detroit shipping contracts to Aunt Sophia and retired from the active council. He handed the executive leadership to his cousin.”

I stared at her in utter shock. “He did what?”

“He stepped down,” Lily wept quietly, a tear rolling down her cheek. “He told Aunt Sophia that if his position threatened the people he loved, he didn't want the title anymore. The family court granted him my full, permanent legal guardianship this morning. I get to stay in Chicago, Clare. I get to stay home.”