Chapter 3 Cinnamon and Steel

The smell of cinnamon rolled through the mansion like an old memory coming back to life.

It started in the kitchen ,rich, sweet, spiced-and crept under doors, into hallways, and across polished floors that had only ever known silence and surface. It didn't match the clean, cold architecture. It didn't belong in this house full of glass, chrome, and marble.

But it stayed.

Emery Vale was barefoot in the kitchen, standing at the massive marble island with flour smudged on her cheek and her sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hair was tied in a loose knot at the base of her neck, a few strands falling in front of her face as she worked quietly, rolling dough with a kind of rhythm that said: this is where I'm comfortable. This is mine.

Across the counter, perched on one of the high stools, was Leo Thorne.

He hadn't spoken a single word since she moved into the mansion three days ago. But he came to the kitchen every morning at the same time, like clockwork, and sat just where he was now-watching her, never speaking, always listening.

This morning, he'd done something new.

He'd reached for the cinnamon.

"Good instincts," Emery said, sliding the small glass bowl toward him. "Think you can help me make the swirl filling?"

He looked at her. Just a glance. Then he nodded.

She let him measure the brown sugar. He tapped the sides of the measuring cup carefully, like he was scared to make a mess.

"You can be messy in here," she said softly. "That's the whole point of baking. It's allowed."

Leo's hand slowed, then steadied.

Emery kept talking. Not too much, just enough to let the silence feel safe instead of hollow. She told him about the time she and Nina had ruined a whole batch of croissants by accidentally using salt instead of sugar. About a customer who once burst into tears after eating one of her chocolate chip cookies because it tasted like their grandmother's.

Leo didn't laugh, but something loosened in his posture. He was sitting taller now. A little closer.

She slid the rolled dough toward him and handed him the pastry brush.

"You can brush on the butter. Not too heavy. Just enough to give the sugar something to stick to."

He brushed slowly. Carefully. Deliberately.

"You're a natural," she said. "I'm gonna have to give you a job."

Leo didn't respond. But his hand didn't shake anymore.

When the rolls were in the oven, she set a timer and leaned back against the counter, breathing in the warm spice filling the room.

"I used to bake with my mom," she said quietly. "Mostly when I was little. Before things got complicated. She used to say baking was magic, because even if the day was a mess, you could still end it with something warm and sweet."

Leo blinked slowly. His eyes stayed on her, not the floor.

"Your dad probably doesn't get that," Emery added with a smirk. "He strikes me as more of a protein shake and power bar kind of guy."

A flash of amusement crossed Leo's face.

It was the closest thing to a smile he'd shown her yet.

Progress.

Upstairs, Jaxon Thorne sat in his home office, pretending to review quarterly projections.

His laptop screen glared numbers and charts at him, but his eyes kept flicking toward the hallway. The scent had reached him ten minutes ago-cinnamon, butter, sugar-and he hadn't smelled anything like it in years. Not since.

He shut the thought down before it formed.

He couldn't afford nostalgia. Nostalgia was a luxury. It opened doors to grief, to softness, to mistakes. Things he had no use for.

But he still stood. Still walked to the hallway. Still followed the scent like it had a grip on his chest.

He reached the kitchen doorway without a sound.

And what he saw stopped him.

His son, his guarded, silent, unreachable son, was frosting cinnamon rolls with both hands covered in sticky sugar. Emery stood beside him, grinning like it was the most natural thing in the world, coaching him through spirals and smears like it was art instead of food.

Leo was focused. Content. Peaceful.

And smiling.

It wasn't big. It wasn't loud.

But it was real.

Jaxon couldn't breathe.

It had been two years since Leo had looked like that.

And she'd done it in three days.

He stepped into the kitchen before he could second-guess it.

Emery glanced up, her expression shifting-surprised, but not startled. "You're up early."

"Didn't sleep."

She poured him coffee without asking. No fancy machine. Just a kettle, a filter, and a mug.

He took it. Sipped. It was too perfect.

Leo watched him quietly.

Emery leaned on the counter. "We've got cinnamon rolls. Leo did the frosting."

Leo beamed-just a flicker-but didn't look away.

Jaxon's throat was tight. "He helped?"

"He led." She gave Leo a wink. "I'm pretty sure he's going to replace me at the bakery."

Jaxon looked at his son. "Thank you."

Leo nodded.

Then he did something unthinkable.

He picked up a roll and handed it to his father.

Not placed it on a plate. Not pushed it across the counter.

Handed it to him.

Jaxon froze.

This wasn't just an offering. It was trust. It was his son saying I see you, and I'm okay with you being here.

And it came not because of him-but because of her.

He took the roll, fingers brushing Leo's.

"Thanks," he said, softer now. "It looks great."

Leo stepped back, satisfied.

Emery pulled a tray from the oven. "Fresh batch'll cool in ten. Want one?"

He looked at her. Really looked.

She was in his house. In his kitchen. His son trusted her. Laughed with her.

This woman had slipped through walls no one else had cracked.

"I need to talk to you," he said suddenly.

Her brows lifted. "Now?"

"Privately."

She gave Leo a quick glance. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Leo nodded and returned to his frosting.

Jaxon led her down the hall to the empty dining room-massive table, unused crystal, and no one to fill it.

He turned to face her.

"You're getting too close."

Emery folded her arms. "To who? Your son? Isn't that the point of a nanny?"

"I didn't mean emotionally."

She blinked. "So I'm allowed to feed him. Dress him. Tuck him in. But not actually care?"

He stepped closer. "He's fragile. If you walk out-if you fail-he'll break again."

"So don't let me fail," she snapped. "You brought me into his life, Jaxon. You offered me this job. You pushed me into your fortress of a home because you saw something in the way he looked at me."

"I made a judgment," he said coldly. "I can unmake it."

Her jaw tightened. "He trusts me."

"I don't."

They were close now. Too close. The air between them buzzed.

"Then maybe you should spend more time worrying about your company and less about scaring off the only person he's opened up to in years."

His eyes darkened. "You think I don't know how alone he is?"

"I think you're so afraid of loving him wrong that you've stopped loving him at all."

That landed like a slap.

He grabbed her wrist-not hard, just enough to hold.

She didn't flinch.

"I don't want you to fall for this house," he said, voice low. "It will never be your home."

She looked up at him, stubborn and soft. "I'm not here for your home. I'm here for his."

Footsteps echoed in the hallway.

They turned-

-and found Leo standing in the doorway, his eyes wide.

Jaxon dropped her wrist instantly.

"Leo-"

But Leo wasn't looking at him.

He was looking past his father. At the wide glass wall behind them.

Where a red laser dot had appeared on the floor.

And then another.

And another.

Bang.

Glass shattered.

Jaxon tackled Emery just as Leo screamed.