In the heart of New York City, Sadira Kingston is the proud owner and head baker of "Sweets," a charming bakery renowned for its delectable treats and warm atmosphere. Her life takes an unexpected turn when Davis Maclean, a brooding lawyer with a re...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sadira stood behind the counter, still wiping down the polished marble surface with slow, deliberate strokes. Her mind, however, was miles away.
Davis Maclean's voice had echoed in her head ever since he mentioned court—ever since he handed her those papers. Her hands trembled slightly, but she steadied herself, taking a breath.
She glanced at the stack of documents he had placed on the counter, the crisp white pages now staring back at her.
She couldn't shake the sense of unease that crept into her bones. A court appearance? For what? She had nothing to do with the drug exchange that had gone down in front of her bakery.
Her gaze dropped to the top page, her fingers tracing the edges of the papers. The name Tariq St. Patrick leaped out at her, bold and unsettling. Tariq St. Patrick? It wasn't the first time she'd heard that name.
Whispers had spread around the neighborhood about him—some said he was dangerous, others weren't so sure. But what was clear was that Tariq was tangled up in something dark, something that had apparently spilled over into her world.
Her heart raced, a feeling of dread settling over her. She remembered the incident that Davis had spoken of—the drug exchange.
That night had been chaotic, the distant sound of sirens wailing, growing closer, until they became an eerie soundtrack to the scene outside.
From inside her bakery, she'd seen shadows moving in the street, and people lurking near her shop. She hadn't thought much of it then, chalking it up to the usual street activity, but now it was clear something far worse had unfolded right on her doorstep.
The professor's death. The rumors about Tariq. The drug exchange has gone wrong. Her bakery—the one place she felt safe—was now tied to all of this. And why was she being dragged into it?
The sense of responsibility weighed on her suddenly, and her chest tightened. She wasn't a part of their world. She just owned a bakery, worked hard, made her treats, and went about her life. But now, it felt like everything was unraveling, inch by inch.
Why me? Why now? Sadira's thoughts circled, trying to make sense of it all. Her hands gripped the counter, steadying herself as the room seemed to close in.
Her bakery felt smaller, less like the sanctuary it had been and more like a cage closing in on her.
She had seen his name before, scribbled in the corners of the neighborhood gossip, whispered on street corners, sometimes in relation to violent incidents.
There was something about the professor's death a while back—people had started pointing fingers, some saying Tariq was involved.
Now, it seemed like those whispers were gaining substance, creeping into her life in ways she hadn't anticipated.
Why had Davis handed her these papers? Why did he offer his help so readily, as if he had a personal interest in this case? What wasn't he telling her?
Sadira's eyes flicked back to the name Tariq St. Patrick, heart pounding in her chest. She thought of the people who had been outside that night, the ones lingering near the alley, the subtle movements she had glimpsed out of the corner of her eye.
She'd dismissed it all at the time—too focused on closing up, too tired to care. But now it felt like a puzzle she couldn't solve, the pieces slowly falling into place, though the picture remained unclear.
Her thoughts spun faster, but she knew one thing for certain—if this case involved Tariq St. Patrick, things were far more dangerous than she had imagined.
"Ms. Kingston." Davis's voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. She blinked, pulling herself back to the present, her eyes lifting to meet his.
He was watching her closely, his dark eyes sharp, like he could sense the turmoil she was in.
She wasn't sure what to say. How could she respond when her life had just been turned upside down? But she had to say something, had to regain some sense of control.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked, her voice sounding smaller than she intended.
Davis's lips pressed into a thin line. "Because you're the owner. This incident happened on your doorstep, and it's going to come back to you in some way.
I'm here to make sure it doesn't ruin you." His voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—something unsaid.
Sadira swallowed, glancing back at the papers. Ruin me?
He hadn't mentioned Tariq directly, but his name was there, a shadow hanging over everything.
She felt like she was being pulled into a game she didn't even know she was a part of. And as much as she wanted to push Davis away, to deny his help, she couldn't afford to. Not now. Not with her bakery on the line.
