The Genius Empress of the Ice God

Baylee Allison POV:

The warm scent of yeast, my only comfort, filled the small space of my bakery. I slid a fresh batch of sourdough onto the cooling rack. This place was supposed to be my sanctuary.

My apron pocket buzzed aggressively with a video call.

I wiped the flour from my hands onto my jeans and pulled out the phone. My stepsister Isabell's face filled the screen, her glowing skin and delicate features framed by cascading blonde curls. She wore an expression of soft, unbearable pity.

"Baylee, sweetie!" Isabell's voice was breathy, laced with manufactured concern. "I'm so sorry to bother you while you're working hard at the bakery, but... I just couldn't bear the thought of you finding out through the news."

She sighed softly, turning the camera slightly. Sitting beside her was Declan Sharp, his eyes fixed on her with adoring eyes.

Declan. My ex-boyfriend. The man who had spent three years promising me a future while secretly siphoning away my life's work—the core code for my neural-network AI system, the very algorithm I had poured my soul into at MIT. He used my stolen legacy he had handed the fruits of my labor straight to Isabell on a silver platter.

Isabell raised a hand to lightly press against her chest, deliberately letting the blinding, custom-cut solitaire diamond ring on her finger catch the sunlight.

"Declan proposed to me last night, Baylee," Isabell whimpered softly, her eyes glistening with false tears. "I know how hard things have been for you lately, and I was so worried your heart would break. We want you to be the first to know—and of course, you must come to our wedding as my maid of honor. I can't imagine stepping into my happiness without my dear sister by my side."

Behind her, Declan rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, looking at the camera with a icy, patronizing detachment. He didn't say a word, but his posture declared everything: You're down in the dirt, Baylee. And we're up here.

"A wedding invitation," I said flatly, my face a unreadable mask. "How thoughtful of you, Isabell."

"I just know how lonely it gets in that stuffy little shop," Isabell cooed, her soft tone hiding a needle in every word. "I want you to share our joy, really. You don't have to feel embarrassed around Declan's friends—I'll make sure everyone treats you nicely."

"I'll be sure to mark my calendar," I replied, my voice smooth and devoid of emotion. "Congratulations to you both. You truly deserve each other."

Without waiting for her next performance, I ended the call and laid the phone face down on the stainless-steel counter.

I took a deep breath, but the sweet vanilla in the air felt heavy and suffocating. A cold, toxic rage burned in my throat, not out of heartbreak, but out of absolute disgust for their shamelessness.

The bell over the door chimed softly.

A woman in a crisp Prada suit stepped inside, her sharp, calculating eyes sweeping over the rustic wooden shelves before landing squarely on me.

A quiet, dangerous thrill settled in my chest.

Right on cue.

She walked directly to the counter, extending a perfectly manicured hand. "Baylee Allison? I'm Susan Price, Mr. Kade Montgomery's publicist."

I didn't take her hand, merely leaning back against the counter, giving her a slow, knowing look. Kade Montgomery. The legend of the New York Rangers, the captain, the untouchable god of the ice—and currently, a fallen hero drowning in devastating rumors about a career-ending injury.

Susan Price didn't flinch at my indifference. She pulled a heavy file from her leather portfolio and placed it onto my workspace. "A public relations contract," she said, her tone efficiently transactional. "We require a suitable 'girlfriend' to stabilize Mr. Montgomery's public image."

I glanced down at the document, then back up into her eyes. I asked, pretending I didn't know."Why me?"

A practiced, polished smile touched her lips. "Your background is clean. Your image is ordinary and relatable—a hardworking baker. Most importantly, your public history with Declan Sharp provides a narrative that will generate explosive media buzz, while offering you a path out of your current... humiliation. A mutually beneficial transaction."

My fingers brushed the cool edge of the paper. The compensation listed inside was staggering—enough to expand this shop tenfold, or to fund something infinitely more lethal.

"He's severely injured," I noted calmly.

"Which is why the media needs to see someone 'healing' him," Susan replied smoothly.

I looked at the name printed on the signature line. Kade Montgomery. A fallen titan. The ultimate pawn.

They thought they were rescuing an ordinary baker girl to use as a shield for their client. They didn't realize who they were actually inviting into Kade Montgomery's private domain.

"When does the contract take effect?" I asked, looking up into Susan's eyes.

A flash of sharp satisfaction crossed her face. "The moment you sign."

I picked up a pen from the counter and signed my name in fluid, unwavering strokes. Baylee Allison.

The click of the pen closing sounded like the slide of a bolt on a rifle.

Susan retrieved the document, her smile widening. "A car will pick you up tomorrow morning at dawn. Welcome to the team, Ms. Allison."

She turned and left, her heels clicking crisply against the floorboards before the heavy wooden door shut behind her.

The bakery returned to silence, save for the steady hum of the oven.

I picked up my phone. A text from Isabell sat on the screen: “Let me know if you need help finding a dress for the engagement party, sweetie! I know designer brands can be tricky to afford.”

A slow, icy calm settled deep into my bones.

They thought they had stripped me of my research, my dignity, and my future. They thought they had pushed me into a corner where I could only watch them flourish.

They had no idea that revenge is just like baking—it requires the exact right ingredients, a precisely calculated temperature, and absolute, unyielding patience.

And now, thanks to Kade Montgomery, I had been handed the key to the ultimate kitchen.

I stared at Isabell's message, and for the first time all day, a cold, dangerous smile spread across my face.

Enjoy your little fairy tale while you can, dear sister. I'm preparing a feast for your wedding... and it's going to ruin your appetite for the rest of your life.