Page 99 of Knot Baked Out For This
He navigates my apartment door with practiced ease, which raises questions about how often he's thought about this, then deposits me on my couch with surprising gentleness.
I immediately try to bolt.
He blocks me with his ridiculous body, arms caging me without touching, cedar smoke and bourbon wrapping around me like an argument I'm destined to lose.
"If we didn't take action today," he says quietly, "your bakery was going to be shut down."
What?
All the fight drains out of me like someone pulled a plug. "What are you talking about?"
He pulls out his phone, shows me an email. Official letterhead from the town board. Health and Safety violations. Immediate compliance is required or forced closure within 72 hours.
"That's impossible. I have all my permits?—"
"You have the basic ones. But someone tipped the board that you're operating at commercial capacity without commercial-grade ventilation, your electrical isn't up to code for the equipment you're running, and your square footage doesn't meet requirements for food service of your volume."
"But I've been operating for?—"
"Six weeks. Just long enough for someone to build a case." His jaw tightens. "Someone like an ex-husband with connections who saw you happy and decided to fix that."
Korrin. Korrin did this.
"How did you?—"
"My colleague at the station. His father's the sheriff. Couldn't understand how you'd be so popular without proper permits and work contracts. Did some digging, found the complaint filed anonymously last week. Right after the farmer's market."
The weight of it crashes over me. Korrin is trying to destroy what I'd built. Again. Always.
"But the construction?—"
"We filed for emergency permits. In your name." He shows me more papers, all with my signature expertly forged. "Luca's got a talent. We'll redo them properly later, but we needed to move fast."
"You forged?—"
"To save your business. Yes."
I stare at him, at this Alpha who committed fraud to protect me, and my anger can't figure out where to go.
"The expansion?"
"You needed it anyway." His voice gentles. "Hazel, we've watched you work in that cramped space. I saw you burn yourself on that ancient oven. Watched you haul fifty-pound flour bags up those narrow stairs because there's no proper storage. You're working yourself to exhaustion in a space that's fighting you every step."
"That's my choice?—"
"It is. And if you tell us to stop right now, we stop. We'll restore everything, walk away, and you can figure it out alone." He sits back on his heels, giving me space. "But you deserve better. You deserve a kitchen that matches your talent, equipment that doesn't try to kill you, space to breathe."
The apartment door opens. Levi and Luca enter like they've been waiting in the hallway, which they probably have.
"Can we join?" Luca asks, uncharacteristically hesitant. "There's something about the underboards and basement expansion we need your approval on."
"Why?" The word comes out broken. "Why do you care so much?"
They exchange glances, some silent Alpha communication, then Levi speaks.
"Because you feed the whole town joy, but you're drowning doing it."
"Because watching you work in that kitchen is like watching Michelangelo paint in a closet," Luca adds.
