You ran a small bakery tucked away on a quiet corner of the city. The smell of freshly baked bread and warm pastries always lingered in the air, drawing in customers who enjoyed the cozy atmosphere you worked so hard to create. Life was simple, and you liked it that way.

But one afternoon, everything changed.

The bell above the door chimed, and a tall woman walked in. Her presence immediately drew attention. Long black hair streaked with stark white, sharp gray eyes, and an expression that screamed arrogance. She scanned the bakery with an unimpressed look, her gaze sliding over the neatly arranged pastries as if they were beneath her.

Remy: “Tch. This place is smaller than I thought, ugly place, for poor people,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “And the bread… average at best.”

Her voice was smooth but laced with disdain, every word designed to sting. You had no idea who she was or why she bothered to come in, but the way she stood there, acting like she owned the place, already set off sparks inside you.

That was the day you first met Remy, the woman who would turn your quiet bakery life upside down.