Rhea's life is a picture of quiet bliss-working in her cozy bakery, surrounded by the sweet smells of fresh pastries, and living a life full of sunlight and simple pleasures. But there's one person who disturbs her peace every day: Keane, the enigma...
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The warm, intoxicating scent of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries lingered in the air of Rhea's bakery, mingling with the morning light that spilled through the windows, casting soft shadows on the flour-dusted countertops. She hummed to herself, adjusting a tray of golden croissants with a practiced hand, her thick curly hair bouncing around her shoulders like a halo. Her smile was effortless, contagious, and genuine, as it always was when she worked. She loved this place, the scent of sugar in the air, the sound of the oven timer, the satisfied murmurs of customers as they bit into her creations. She was happy. Content.
But, more than anything, she loved the mornings when he came in.
Keane.
She didn't have to see him walk through the door to know it was him. The atmosphere shifted when he arrived, thickening with something she couldn't quite name—though she had a hunch. His presence was suffocating, but in the best way. There was something magnetic about him, something dangerous that drew her in without her even knowing it. She would never admit to herself how much she looked forward to seeing him, how her heart fluttered in her chest when his shadow fell across the threshold of the bakery.
His footsteps were deliberate, confident—he never rushed, not for anything.
"Morning, Rhea." His voice, always calm, always composed, broke through the delicate clinking of plates and cups, sending a shiver down her spine. She turned from the counter, her smile widening as she caught sight of him.
Keane stood at the door like he always did, his dark, sculpted figure framed by the sunlight. His face—oh, his face. It was carved from stone, strong and unyielding, a perfect contrast to the warmth of her little bakery. He was like something out of a myth, an ideal that could never truly exist, but there he was, standing right in front of her.
His thick black hair was combed back today, sleek and shiny, the strands falling effortlessly into place like they were designed to do so. His skin, pale as if touched by moonlight, contrasted sharply with his hooded eyes—eyes that seemed to bore into her very soul, dark pools of unreadable emotion.
"Morning, Keane," she replied, her voice light, happy, despite the tremor in her chest. "The usual?"
Keane's lips curled into a slight, almost imperceptible smile—if one could even call it that. He never smiled fully, not with his eyes, at least. But there was something in the way he looked at her that made her feel like the world stood still. He was watching her, and she didn't mind. Not really.
"The usual," he said, his deep voice like velvet. "Red velvet cupcakes, as always."
Rhea moved toward the display case, her fingers brushing against the smooth glass as she reached for the familiar red boxes. The cupcakes were her favorite—she'd told him that once, months ago. The fact that he remembered, that he cared enough to know, made something in her chest tighten. She handed him the box, meeting his gaze for a split second, her heart hammering a little harder than before.
"Thank you," he said, his voice low. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He always left quickly, like he had somewhere important to be. She watched as he turned and exited the bakery, the door chiming behind him. The sense of relief that washed over her was always brief, as fleeting as the moment when he was still in the shop. She would continue working, smiling at the next customer, but her thoughts would inevitably return to him.
It was the same routine every day. He came in. He bought the same cupcakes. He left.
What she didn't know, what she could never know, was that Keane was always watching.
It was a game to him, but it wasn't one she could ever win.
Keane sat in his sleek black car, parked just outside the bakery, the windows tinted enough to hide his presence from the people inside. His gaze never left Rhea's shop, never left her. He didn't just observe her when she was there; he tracked her every move—when she opened the bakery, when she closed, when she walked to her car, when she stepped out with friends. The cameras he had installed around her house, around the bakery—he called it keeping tabs on her. But really, it was more than that.
He wanted to know her. Every little thing about her.
She was perfect. His perfect.
Rhea had no idea how deep his obsession ran, no clue just how much Keane would go to keep her for himself. He had never let a woman get under his skin the way she had. But something about her smile, her laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she saw him—it was as if the universe had conspired to make her the one thing he couldn't control, couldn't possess fully.
Not yet, anyway.
His hand rested on the steering wheel, the box of cupcakes he had bought for her resting on the seat beside him. She would never know, but she had been the first person he'd ever let close. And he would make sure she stayed close.
No one would touch her. No one would look at her the wrong way. Not while he was breathing.
Keane's eyes narrowed as he thought about the other men in the bakery, the ones who looked at her a little too long, smiled a little too broadly. He'd dealt with them before. With his connections, with his influence—no one could touch what was his.
His lips parted in a cold, quiet smile.
"Tomorrow, Rhea," he whispered under his breath. "Tomorrow, you'll be even more mine."
Inside the bakery, Rhea finished serving the last of her customers, her thoughts still wrapped around the man who had just walked out. She had always been drawn to him, ever since the first time he came in. There was something about him, something mysterious, something that made her heart race.
But today, as she locked the door and prepared to close up for the night, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed.
Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered a little longer than usual. Or maybe it was just the way he always seemed to know exactly what she needed before she even knew it herself.
Rhea sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She was falling for him, hard. And she wasn't sure if that was a good thing—or if it would destroy her.
But there was no turning back now.
She was already too deep.
And Keane? He was watching, always. And nothing, not even her love for him, would stop him from getting what he wanted.
