Page 107 of The Contract

Nina’s voice filters in through the haze of my spiraling thoughts. “We’ll keep looking, okay? There are plenty of properties. I know this one was special, but?—”

But it won’t be the same.

She doesn’t say it, but we both know it.

Nothing will be the same.

This wasn’t just any building—it was the building. The one where I had worked, where I had been saved when I had nothing else.

The place that made me believe in more for myself.

The bakery where I had planned to build my future, to finally create something that belonged to me.

Another property won’t replace that.

Nina gives me another gentle look, squeezing my shoulder. “I really am sorry, Elena.”

I nod, but I don’t respond. Because if I do, I might break.

She checks her watch. “I have another appointment, but I’ll call you as soon as I have any updates, okay?”

I barely register her words before she turns to leave, heels clicking against the polished tile floor as she disappears into the elevator.

The lobby is quiet now, too empty, too hollow.

Like something was just ripped out of me, leaving nothing but an aching, gaping hole behind.

I step outside, needing air, but it does nothing to clear the fog pressing against my ribs.

The driver looks at me expectantly, waiting for my next instructions, but I shake my head.

“I just want to walk for a moment,” I murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods and stays put as I take a few steps down the sidewalk.

The sounds of the city swirl around me—cars honking, people chatting, the distant hum of a street performer’s saxophone—but it all feels muted.

My head is too full. My chest too tight.

I was so close.

I had a plan. The money was coming. I was ready.

It was supposed to be mine.

But it’s not.

Someone else owns it now.

The weight of that realization sinks deep, wrapping around my ribs and pulling tighter, like a cruel, invisible vice.

I saw it. I imagined every detail—the display case that would showcase my cheesecakes, the espresso machine steaming behind the counter, the laughter of customers filling the air.

I pictured my name on the awning. My hands locking the doors at the end of the night, turning off the lights, knowing I had built something for myself.

I was ready to put down roots.

To have something stable, lasting.

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