Billionaire's Passionate love

A huge smile played on my lips as I watched a couple enjoying their meal, my grin widening even further at the sight of a mother helping her one-year-old eat. The scene brought a profound warmth to my heart.

Please, don't mistake me for a café owner or some prestigious restaurant chef. I am merely a baker in a small café tucked away in the side streets of Paris. I have always been one of those shy girls who loves to hide behind the counter, watching from the safety of the kitchen as people enjoy their meals. Nothing makes me happier than hearing people praise the food I've cooked, especially when they leave a generous tip for my efforts.

"Chocolate soufflé at table number nine," Nina, one of our servers, called out. I flashed her a smile and immediately set to work on the order.

I smile; I always smile. People might think I'm weird, believing that no one could possibly keep smiling after everything I have endured. Yet, I continue to smile, even after losing everything over these last seven years. Those who are aware of the miseries of my life likely view me as a fool who simply keeps grinning. However, my psychologist taught me that the solution to every problem is to smile. So, I do-hiding my pains and fears in the silent depths of my heart.

"Chocolate soufflé is ready!" I announced once the dessert was perfect. I garnished the tray and pushed it out toward Nina before immediately pivoting to the evening special-an experimental dish I've been perfecting.

"What are you baking, sweetie?" Betty asked as she entered the kitchen. She inhaled the aroma with delight, and I knew right then that my dish had passed its first exam. Betty can tell with a single breath whether my experiments are a success or a failure.

Betty has been a mother figure to me, the woman who supported me when I was running from my own demons. She was the one who gave me shelter. She personally taught me how to cook and bake, providing me with this job while understanding my fragile mental state at the time. Back then, I wasn't in any condition to meet strangers, so she gave me my own specialized baking unit where I rarely had to contact anyone.

She was the one who pushed me toward the psychologist who changed my life, molding me into the woman I am today. She was the one who stood by my side at the time of... I shook my head, refusing to go back to that part of my past again. I completed the dish and served a portion to Betty.

"Now, give me your critic's review, Master Chef," I said, placing the plate in front of her with a wide smile.

Betty returned the smile, tasting the dish. A look of joy appeared on her lips before she pushed a spoonful into my mouth. I moaned in delight; my experiment was a certified hit.

"What's special today?" my best friend, Saphia, asked as she came in, caught by the scent of the dessert.

Betty chuckled at Saphia before handing her the plate and leaving the two of us alone. Saphia was the first person in the café to truly break the ice with me. She is a girl who lives for fresh air and new experiences. She has a habit of hopping from one job to another, but she works for Betty part-time. In her own words, she 'can't leave Betty as long as I'm working here because she's addicted to my desserts.'

Saphia is a part-time server, and as for her unique name-an astrologer once predicted that the letter 'O' was unlucky for her. Consequently, she changed her name from Sophia to Saphia. She is the type of person who can leave anything and change everything, except for her love of my desserts and her childhood boyfriend, David.

"Saphia, to table number five, now!" Betty ordered, noticing the café filling up with the evening crowd. Saphia finished her plate in a hurry and ran out to work, while I began baking the rest of the evening orders.

"Ouch!" Hot oil suddenly splashed, landing on my skin and turning it a bright red. Seven years ago, I would have thrown a tantrum over a simple burn, but that Olivia no longer exists. I simply blew air on the burn before getting back to work.

I kept baking through the peak evening hours, the time when employees who don't want to eat at home come rushing in. Sometimes the café is completely empty late at night, but most of the time, families come in groups to enjoy the cuisine we serve.

"Finally, the shift is over. There was such a rush today," Saphia breathed heavily once we reached the employees' room.

"Right. The rush was good today, and most of the orders were for desserts. I'm exhausted now," I admitted, yawning as I stretched my body and sat on the bench beside her.

Saphia handed me a bottle of water, which I finished in a single gulp. "We should go home. It's very late," I pointed out.

"Yes," Saphia agreed, standing up and heading to the changing room. I walked to my locker, removed my apron, and grabbed my handbag. I waited at the exit for Saphia, who arrived shortly after changing.

"Let's go," we said as we walked toward the exit. "Need a lift?"

As always, I shook my head. My apartment is only two blocks from the café, and I prefer the walk. Since Saphia's house is in the opposite direction, I never want to take a lift and waste her time.

"I know it's a waste of time to argue with you," she said, shaking her head. "Okay, ciao! See you tomorrow." With a wave of her hand, she left me alone on the street, and I began the walk home.

Suddenly, anxiety and fear flooded my nerves-a creepy sensation that someone was following me. I turned around to find no one, but my sixth sense screamed otherwise. I increased my speed, almost running toward my building, only to hear the distinct sound of footsteps following me. I knew then that I wasn't alone.

My heart squeezed in terror as I imagined him following me. What if my demon had found me? If it was him, he would surely kill me this time after fulfilling his ruthless demands. My heart beat frantically at the thought of him being the one in the shadows.

Sweat formed on my forehead as I sprinted the final few yards. Reaching my apartment, I fumbled in my bag for my keys, my hands shaking so hard I could barely hold them. That was when I felt a shadow fall over me from behind, making my heart skip a beat in pure terror.

"Don't let it be him," I prayed to God, drenched in sweat. "Please, don't let it be him."

Murmuring the same prayer over and over, I slowly turned around to look at the person standing there.