Chapter 4

A week later, Dorian ended up pawning several valuables from the mansion to get her a small shop near the center of the capital. It wasn't elegant or remotely famous — just an old storefront with worn walls, a narrow kitchen, and a front window large enough to display the pastries.

When Priscilla saw it for the first time, she went quiet for several seconds.

The place was empty.

Completely empty.

But she still felt something warm inside her chest.

"Well... at least the ceiling isn't falling down," she said, looking around.

Lara glanced up.

"Don't say that too loud. I feel like you're tempting it."

Dorian let out a small laugh behind them.

"The owner wanted to sell it fast. Nobody's used it for months."

Priscilla turned to him immediately.

"How much did you pay for this?"

"Enough for you to stop asking me."

"Father."

"Priscilla."

She narrowed her eyes.

"You sold something again, didn't you?"

Dorian pretended to adjust his gloves.

"I had too many watches."

"You only had two."

"Exactly. Absolute excess."

Priscilla looked around the shop slowly. There was dust on the shelves and the curtains were old, but she could picture it perfectly — full of freshly baked bread, customers coming through the door.

And that was enough to move her. The baron's support hit her so deeply that she hugged him without thinking.

"Thank you. I promise I won't let you down."

He held her warmly.

"I know you won't."

The first days were exhausting. They cleaned every corner of the place, repaired old furniture, and reused everything they could to save money. Lara handled the front counter, the old cook helped in the kitchen, and Priscilla practically lived covered in flour from morning to night.

Even so, opening the shop turned out to be much harder than she'd imagined.

On opening morning, only three people walked in.

And one of them just wanted directions.

Priscilla tried to keep her spirits up as she arranged pastries in the display case.

"Maybe everyone's waiting to get hungrier before coming in."

Lara surveyed the empty street.

"Or maybe the nobility already ruined our reputation before we opened."

And honestly, she had a point.

Several people recognized Priscilla the moment they passed by.

The whispers started right away.

"That's the baron's daughter."

"The fiancee who abandoned Duke Hall."

"Poor duke."

Lara was furious.

"I want to hit someone with a baguette."

"The bread cost too much money to turn into a weapon," Priscilla replied, still decorating a tart.

She tried to joke about it, but it did hurt to hear certain things.

Because she was genuinely trying.

She wasn't the Priscilla they knew anymore, but explaining that would be pointless. So she simply kept working.

The hours dragged by until a little girl stopped in front of the display window with her mother.

The girl practically had her nose pressed against the glass.

"Mama... I want that one."

The woman looked up and recognized Priscilla immediately. The discomfort was so obvious that even Lara rolled her eyes discreetly.

But the girl kept staring at the pastries like they were treasure.

Priscilla picked up a small one and came around the counter.

"You can try it for free."

The woman reacted quickly.

"Oh, that's not necessary."

"Really, it's fine. I need honest opinions — my assistant here just eats for free and then lies to me."

Lara's mouth fell open in offense.

The girl let out a small laugh before accepting the pastry. She took an enormous bite and her eyes went wide immediately.

"It's good..."

Priscilla barely smiled.

The mother ended up buying two small boxes before leaving, and even though it seemed like a small thing, that moment changed the atmosphere of the shop.

Another person came in after.

Then another.

It didn't happen all at once, but people started coming back little by little because the pastries really were good. There was something comforting about them — simple flavors, soft, made with care.

Customers started remembering the place.

An old man bought sweet bread every morning at exactly the same time and got annoyed if Lara tried to serve him too quickly.

"Young lady, I'm seventy years old. I don't need you throwing bread at me."

"I'm sorry, you walk so slowly it makes me nervous."

Two little sisters showed up every afternoon asking if more strawberry tarts were ready, and an elegant woman pretended to buy for her children when she clearly ate half before getting home.

"Today I came for something light," she said with dignity.

Lara eyed the eight boxes stacked in her arms.

"Yes, the effort shows."

Even some nobles began appearing out of curiosity after hearing talk about "the strange pastry shop run by the ruined baron's daughter."

And while several walked in expecting to criticize, many ended up staying longer than planned.

Priscilla talked to everyone naturally, smiled far more than the old Priscilla ever would have, and always remembered the regular customers' favorite orders.

That made a difference.

The earnings were still small, but already enough to buy better ingredients and ease the mansion's expenses a little.

Dorian seemed happy watching it all.

Or at least he tried to appear that way.

Because Priscilla started noticing things as the days went by — the exhaustion on his face, his hands trembling slightly when he thought nobody was looking, and that dry cough appearing more and more often.

At first he managed to hide it.

Then he started doing a worse job of it.

One night, Priscilla came home late from the shop with Lara, both of them carrying empty boxes.

"If another tray breaks tomorrow, I'm going to cry," Lara muttered.

"If you burn the sugar again tomorrow, I'm going to fire you."

"You can't. You're already used to me."

They walked into the mansion still bickering, but Priscilla stopped the moment she noticed something odd.

The dining table was already set.

But Dorian wasn't there.

She frowned slightly.

"Is my father still working?"

A maid adjusted the silverware too quickly.

"The baron is resting tonight."

The answer sounded strange.

Very strange.

Priscilla set the boxes down slowly on a chair.

"What happened?"

"Nothing important, Lady Priscilla."

She looked at the maid.

The girl avoided her eyes immediately, and that was enough to worry her.

"Flore."

"Lady Priscilla..."

"What's wrong with my father?"

There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence before the maid spoke more quietly.

"The doctor came again this afternoon."

Priscilla's chest went tight immediately.

"Why?"

Flore hesitated.

And when she finally answered, her voice came out almost in a whisper.

"Because the baron coughed up blood again."

The world seemed to stop for a second.

Priscilla felt the same horrible chill she remembered from the hospital — that heavy feeling that appeared right before hearing bad news.

Without waiting another moment, she walked quickly toward the study.

The door was half open.

And inside, she heard coughing.

Heavy coughing.

Painful.

Priscilla pushed the door open without thinking.

Dorian sat on the sofa with a handkerchief covering his mouth while the doctor packed several bottles into his bag.

Both of them looked up immediately.

The baron tried to smile the moment he saw her.

"Priscilla, you're still awake."

She stared at the red stain on the handkerchief and her stomach sank.

Because she knew that exhausted expression far too well.

She knew that way of faking calm so others wouldn't worry.

She knew it too well.

"How long has this been going on?" she asked quietly.

Dorian lowered the handkerchief calmly.

"It's not that serious."

Priscilla looked him straight in the eye.

And this time her voice came out more fragile than she wanted.

"Don't lie to me about something like this."

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