Chapter 6 - The Ghost from ManhattanIt happened on a bitter Saturday morning two weeks before Christmas.
I was at the large butcher-block island in the kitchen, rolling out a massive batch of gingerbread dough for the kids, when the heavy front knocker echoed through the manor.
Maya looked up from her coloring book, frowning. "Are we expecting guests?"
"I don't think so, sweetie," I said, wiping flour from my hands. "Keep working on your gingerbread man. I'll see who it is."
I walked down the long stone hallway, pulling off my flour-dusted apron, and swung open the heavy oak front door.
The words froze in my throat.
Standing on the stone porch, shivering inside a sleek, cashmere overcoat that cost more than my first car, was Colin Avery.
His immaculate hair was slightly ruffled by the Hudson Valley wind, and his face was pale, but the arrogant, calculating gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. Beside him stood a high-end luggage bag resting on the porch step.
"Hello, Grace," Colin said, flashing the smooth, practiced smile that used to make my heart flutter before I realized it was entirely fake.
I gripped the edge of the open door so hard my knuckles turned white. My first instinct was to slam the heavy oak in his face.
"What are you doing here, Colin?" I asked, my voice dangerously cold.
"We need to talk," he said, stepping forward as if he expected me to invite him in for tea. "The flagship store launch in Manhattan had a PR disaster last week. The food critics slammed our new bakery line. They said it lacked soul, authenticity, warmth... all the things you used to bring to our kitchen."
He reached out, his manicured fingers attempting to brush a stray lock of hair from my cheek, exactly the way he used to do when he wanted to pacify me.
"I made a mistake, Grace," Colin said smoothly, laying on the charm thick enough to choke on. "I was stressed, the investors were pressuring me, and I didn't see the big picture. But I realize now that you are the missing piece of my life. I called your old apartment, tracked down your bus ticket, and drove four hours upstate to bring you home."
I stared at him in absolute, stunned disbelief. He genuinely believed that after casting me aside like damaged merchandise three days before our wedding, he could just snap his fingers, wave a corporate apology, and I would drop everything to return to his gilded cage.
Before I could open my mouth to tear him to pieces, a heavy, measured footstep echoed down the stone hallway behind me.
A large, warm hand settled gently on the small of my back, pulling me firmly back against a solid, unyielding chest.
"Is there a problem here?" Julian’s voice cut through the freezing air like a razor blade—cold, lethal, and carrying the absolute authority of a man protecting what was his.
Colin blinked, his eyes snapping up to meet Julian Vance towering over me. Even for a wealthy Manhattan executive, Julian’s imposing, rugged presence and the sheer scale of Ridge House seemed to rattle Colin’s confidence.
"And you are?" Colin asked, recovering his corporate veneer with a tight smile. "I'm Colin Avery. Grace's fiancé."
"Ex-fiancé," I corrected sharply, stepping away from Julian just enough to face Colin head-on. "You made that abundantly clear in the grocery store parking lot three months ago, Colin."
Julian’s arm remained resting protectively near my waist. His icy blue eyes swept over Colin’s cashmere coat, expensive shoes, and slicked-back hair with undisguised contempt.
"Mr. Avery," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave into a low, terrifying rumble. "You are standing on private property. You are harassing my head baker and the woman I intend to spend the rest of my life with. You have thirty seconds to get back in your foreign car and drive back to Manhattan before I feed you to the timber wolves."
Colin’s face flushed dark red with embarrassment and wounded pride. He looked from Julian’s imposing frame to me, his jaw working furiously.
"Grace, you can't possibly choose this... this backwoods lumberjack over everything we built!" Colin snapped, his polite mask finally slipping to reveal the arrogant control freak underneath. "Look at you! You're covered in flour! You're living in a stone ruin in the middle of nowhere! You belong in the city, with me, where you can live a real life!"
I took a deep, steady breath. I looked down at my flour-dusted hands, then at the heavy iron doors of Ridge House, and finally up at Julian, who was looking down at me with absolute, unconditional devotion.
"Colin," I said softly, a genuine smile touching my lips for the first time. "You spent four years trying to turn me into a trophy because you were terrified of getting your hands dirty. You thought my love of baking was a flaw, and my flour-stained sleeves were an embarrassment."
I stepped closer to Julian, sliding my hand into his large, calloused palm.
"Here, my flour-stained sleeves are a badge of honor. I am loved for exactly who I am, not how well I fit into your brand." I looked Colin dead in the eye. "So take your cashmere coat, get back in your car, and go back to your spreadsheets. I'm exactly where I belong."
For a second, Colin looked as though he wanted to argue. But one dark, lethal glare from Julian made him snap his mouth shut. Without another word, Colin turned on his heel, grabbed his luggage bag, and stormed down the cobblestone driveway toward his idling car.
As the car tires crunched over the snow and disappeared down Old King’s Road, Julian let out a long breath. He looked down at me, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.
May you like
"Never better," I whispered.
And as Julian pulled me into his arms, kissing me with a fierce, possessive hunger right there on the front porch in the freezing winter air, I knew my life's recipe had finally turned out exactly the way it was supposed to.
