Blood on polished marble had never made Jonah Pierce lose his appetite. For fifteen years, men had whispered his name across New York like a warning.

Six months later.

Spring had arrived in New York City. The dark rain of October had given way to warm sunlight, blooming cherry blossoms in Central Park, and clear blue skies.

In a quiet, tree-lined street in Greenwich Village, a charming two-story bakery had just opened its doors. The wooden sign hanging above the window read in elegant gold lettering: Stella’s Sweet Provisions.

Inside, the air smelled wonderfully of fresh cinnamon, melting butter, and roasted coffee beans. Stella stood behind the glass counter wearing a crisp white apron over a pastel yellow dress. The dark bruises on her skin were long gone, replaced by a healthy, radiant glow. Her hair was styled neatly, and a bright, genuine smile lit up her face as she served a steady stream of morning customers.

With Jonah’s financial backing and legal team clearing her mother’s old medical debts, Stella had been able to pursue her lifelong dream of opening her own bakery. She wasn't living in Jonah’s penthouse anymore out of fear; she had her own sunlit apartment upstairs, and Jonah visited every single day.

Around 11:00 AM, the brass bell above the front door chimed softly.

Stella looked up from the register, her smile instantly widening.

Jonah Pierce stepped inside. He wore a sharp grey three-piece suit, looking every bit the powerful businessman, but the moment his eyes locked onto Stella, his stern expression melted into warmth. Behind him, Wyatt stood near the entrance, holding a large bouquet of fresh white roses.

“Morning, Boss,” Stella teased gently, resting her elbows on the glass counter. “You’re late for your coffee.”

“I was delayed by a meeting uptown,” Jonah smiled softly, stepping up to the counter. He took the bouquet of white roses from Wyatt and handed them across to her. “Happy six-month anniversary of the bakery’s permit approval.”

Stella took the roses, leaning over to smell their sweet fragrance. “You bring me flowers every week, Jonah. You’re going to spoil me.”

“That’s the goal,” Jonah replied smoothly, reaching across to lightly touch her hand. “How’s business today?”

“We sold out of the morning almond croissants in twenty minutes,” she said proudly. “I saved two for you in the back.”

Jonah smiled, looking around the bustling bakery. Watching her flourish—watching her transform from a terrified, starving girl hiding bruised ribs beneath a wet sweater into a confident, independent business owner—was the proudest achievement of his entire life.

“Join me for lunch?” Jonah asked gently. “I reserved a quiet table at Aurelia for two.”