Alina's POV
I breathed in the rich, comforting scent of vanilla and melted sugar, finally feeling a moment of peace. Returning to my bakery shop was the only way I could get out of that suffocating house without Ilya irritating the absolute hell out of me. Here, I was in control.
"Boss?" one of my counter workers approached me, looking nervous. "There's a customer in the dining area complaining about her dessert. She's demanding to meet the owner personally."
I wiped my hands on my apron, letting out a soft sigh. "Alright. I'll handle it."
I walked out to the floor and headed toward the booth. The moment I saw the woman sitting there, a cold, mocking smirk almost broke across my face.
Emily. Of course.
"Are you not tired of coming here and repeating the exact same pattern?" I asked, crossing my arms as I stood over her table. "You come in, you complain about your dessert, you talk shit, and then you leave. You're like a broken record, Emily."
