CHAPTER 171: THIS CHAPTER IS SWEET!

Airport — 10:00 PM

The airport corridor buzzed softly with announcements and the hum of wheels dragging over marble floors.

Miles walked through it calmly, his coat draped over one arm, the city lights from outside glinting off his silver cufflinks.

His phone vibrated. The caller ID made him smile.

He answered, voice soft, "Hey mom."

Elena’s warm tone came through, gentle even with the faint static. "Where are you, son?"

Miles stepped aside as a few travelers passed. "Mom, I’m at the airport. I’ll reach Star Harbor in the morning."

"Oh, good to know," Elena said with a sigh of relief. "I thought you were busy again."

Miles chuckled. "Mom, I already promised you I’ll be there by Sunday."

"Alright, alright," she said with that motherly tone that carried both pride and worry. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes, I have eaten."

"Good. Come back soon, okay?"

"Alright, mom," Miles said softly.

The call ended, and for a moment he stood there—just smiling faintly to himself.

Then the automatic glass doors parted, and the cool night air touched his face.

The truth was... he was already in Star Harbor.

The city shimmered under the blanket of neon and moonlight. It was the weekend—streets alive with laughter, bars glowing, music spilling out into the air.

Miles reached his car parked in the VIP lot, tossed his bag into the back seat, and slid behind the wheel.

The engine started with a smooth growl, and he drove into the rhythm of the city.

After a few minutes, he stopped at Star Central Mall, The valet at the Reserved gate bowed as he handed over the keys. "Good evening, Boss."

Miles nodded, his usual quiet acknowledgment, and walked inside.

First stop: his regular salon.

The manager straightened up the moment he saw him. "Welcome, Mr. Sterling. Everything’s ready for you."

A while later, Miles stepped out—hair neat, sharp edges framing a face that drew eyes without effort.

He looked composed, refreshed, and polished.

Next, he stopped by a boutique.

A new suit—charcoal black with a slight silver sheen, perfectly tailored. He changed right there in the fitting room, adjusted his tie in the mirror, and exhaled.

Sleek. Elegant. Every line of his reflection sharp enough to draw whispers.

And whispers did follow him as he walked back through the mall—soft murmurs, curious glances.

"Hey, who is him?"

"He looks like someone famous..."

"He’s from this city, right?"

He ignored it all with a faint smile, the kind that carried quiet confidence and a little distance.

He stopped by a few more stores, picked up a few things—gifts, maybe—and then walked out.

His car was already waiting near the entrance.

The valet handed the keys back with a respectful bow. "Good night, boss."

Miles nodded. "Good night."

The car rolled through the sleeping lanes of Star Harbor, the city lights sliding across the windshield like slow waves.

After a few blocks, he stopped at a small bakery tucked at the corner of the street—Baker’s Crust, written in soft golden letters.

It was one of those warm, quiet places that smelled like sugar, cream, and nostalgia.

The doorbell chimed softly as he walked in.

He looked around. Empty tables, dim warm lights, not a soul behind the counter.

"Excuse me," he said, stepping closer. "Anyone here?"

There was the sound of soft footsteps, and then a woman appeared from behind the curtain—apron tied neatly, smile tired but kind.

"Hello," she said, wiping her hands on a towel. "You must be Mr. Sterling."

Miles gave a polite nod. "Right. Is the cake ready?"

"Yes, I was just waiting for you," she said with a cheerful tone. "Let me bring it out."

She disappeared into the backroom and returned a minute later, carefully carrying a beautifully decorated black forest cake—rich layers, dark chocolate shavings, and a touch of gold leaf on top.

She placed it gently on the counter.

Miles looked at it, smiling. "It looks tempting."

The woman chuckled. "Who’s this cake for, if I may ask?"

"It’s for my father," Miles said softly.

Her smile deepened. "You look like a good son. Nowadays, children don’t really care about their parents."

She handed him the card machine.

Miles swiped his card, then glanced up. "Thanks. But can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she said, curious.

Miles tilted his head slightly. "It’s a weekend. Why is the bakery empty?"

The woman paused—her smile faded just a little.

The faint ticking of the wall clock filled the space between them.

The woman adjusted her apron as she spoke, her voice carrying the kind of tired warmth that belonged to people who had seen too much time pass.

"The air in the city keeps changing," she said, glancing around the empty tables. "This place used to be filled with people... laughter, smiles. We had a lot of teenagers coming here. They’d sit for hours, talking about dreams over coffee and pastries."

She sighed, wiping the counter with a towel that looked as old as the shop itself. "But I’m getting old now. I can’t keep up with the trends anymore. Young people these days—they like crepes, parfaits, those fancy drinks with sparkles and names I can’t even pronounce."

Miles listened quietly, his hands resting in his pockets, the low hum of the city outside filtering in through the glass door.

"I still get a few regulars," she continued softly. "And I open the bakery every day for them. My son lives abroad. He keeps telling me to move there, says I’d be happier. But..." she paused, her smile bittersweet, "I can’t leave my roots. This shop was given to me by my mother-in-law. She was a kind soul. I don’t feel right abandoning what she built."

Her gaze drifted toward the small framed photograph on the wall—an older woman smiling behind a counter just like this one.

"Nowadays," she added, her voice low, "I close early. But tonight I stayed open for you. You placed the order, and I thought... well, I might as well wait."

Miles smiled faintly. "I appreciate that."

She tilted her head, curious. "By the way, who recommended this place to you?"

"Oh," Miles said after a moment, "I was passing by once with my mom. She mentioned she used to bring me here when I was a kid."

Her eyes widened with soft surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah," Miles said, his smile touched by something gentler now. "I don’t really remember. I was away from the city for a long time."

The woman smiled, a little sadly, as if she understood more than he said. "Well... looks like the city got its lights back."

Miles nodded slowly. "The cake smells amazing," he said. "Kids today are missing out."

She laughed lightly. "You talk like an old man."

Miles chuckled, glancing at her with that calm, teasing look. "Who knows," he said, "maybe I am an old man trapped in a young skin."

The woman laughed—an honest laugh, soft and full of warmth the city seemed to have forgotten.

"You’re welcome here anytime," she said.

Miles nodded, smiling. "Count me as a regular customer then. I’ll bring my siblings next time. They’ll love it."

The woman’s smile deepened. "Thank you, Mr. Sterling."

He nodded politely, picked up the cake box, and turned to leave.

As the small bell above the door chimed, the woman watched him go—his silhouette framed by the warm streetlights outside. For a moment, she felt something rare—a little piece of the old Star Harbor returning.

Miles walked to his car, the city alive around him, lights reflecting off the glass and asphalt. He placed the cake carefully in the passenger seat, glanced at it once more, and murmured to himself with a quiet smile—

"Lights, huh..."

The engine started. The car rolled forward through the sleeping streets, heading home—toward Pearl Villa, where warmth, family, and a long-awaited Sunday waited for him.

Pearl Villa — 11:57 PM

The night was quiet, the kind of calm that only came after long weeks of chaos.

Miles eased the car through the gates of Pearl Villa, headlights dimmed. The iron gate creaked open by the guards just enough for him to roll in.

He parked the car silently, careful not to wake anyone.

When he stepped out, the cool night air brushed past his face—and that’s when he noticed two tiny figures standing by the half-open door, their eyes gleaming like mischief in the dark.

Hope whispered dramatically, her finger pressed to her lips. "Big broo, you’re just on time."

Asher tugged on Miles’s sleeve, grinning. "Come on, let’s go!"

Miles chuckled softly. "I thought you two were asleep already."

Hope puffed her cheeks. "If we sleep, how can we surprise Daddy?"

The door closed behind them as quietly as a secret.

Miles followed the two little conspirators inside, holding the cake box carefully. The faint scent of chocolate filled the living room as Hope placed the candle on top and Miles lit it, her face glowing in the flicker.

They tiptoed toward the ground-floor bedroom, the three of them moving like tiny thieves on a mission.

Miles whispered, "Ready?"

The twins nodded in perfect coordination.

Knock. Knock.

Elena stirred under the blanket. "Dear... someone’s knocking at the door."

Daniel blinked, rubbing his eyes. "Who’s outside?"

No answer came. Only another soft knock.

Elena sat up now, curious. "Maybe the guard?"

Daniel swung his legs over the bed, muttering. "Who knocks this late..."

He walked to the door and opened it—

No one.

"Who’s there?" Elena asked, now at his shoulder.

Daniel stepped out into the hallway, puzzled. "There’s no one here."

And just as he turned back—

Pop!

Colorful streamers burst in the air.

"Surprise!" the twins shouted, laughter bubbling from their tiny voices as the poppers burst around them.

Daniel froze, startled for a second—then his expression melted into a wide smile. Elena gasped, pressing her hand to her chest, and then she saw him—

Miles.

Standing there with a cake in his hands, the candlelight catching his faint grin.

Elena folded her arms, pretending to scold. "Weren’t you supposed to come in the morning?"

Miles shrugged lightly. "Well, my little brother and sister did some magic—and I got teleported."

Daniel burst out laughing. "You and your tricks."

Miles stepped forward, his tone soft and full of warmth. "Happy Birthday, Father."

"Happy Birthday, Daddy!" Hope and Asher chimed together, voices overlapping like music.

Daniel’s eyes glistened as he smiled. "Thank you, my dear children."

Elena joined in, her voice gentle. "Happy Birthday, dear."

Hope jumped a little, pointing at the cake. "Make a wish, Daddy! The candle’s melting!"

Daniel chuckled, closed his eyes, and blew out the candle.

Applause from tiny hands filled the room.

For the next hour, laughter, frosting, and crumbs took over the night. The four of them sat together, talking, teasing, tasting the sweet black forest Miles had brought.

Elena leaned back in her chair, savoring a bite. "Son, the cake is delicious... it has such a familiar taste."

Daniel nodded, enjoying his slice. "Indeed."

Miles smiled knowingly. "I got it from the shop you told me about."

Elena’s eyes lit up. "Ohh—that’s why!"

Hope tilted her head. "What shop?"

Asher echoed, "Yeah, what shop, big broo?"

Miles ruffled their hair. "I’ll take you there later."

Elena pointed at them playfully. "Enough sweets for today. Go brush your teeth before bed!"

The twins groaned in unison but ran off laughing. "Okaayyy!"

Daniel stood, patting Miles on the shoulder. "Thank you, son. This day... this day will be memorable."

Miles smiled faintly. "Oh, we’re not done yet."

He looked toward the hallway. "Little soldiers—come back! Photo time!"

Hope and Asher rushed back in with beaming faces.

Elena set up the phone, and together, under the soft glow of the chandelier, they posed—laughing, playful, warm.

The shutter clicked.

For a moment, everything was still. Miles looked at the photo afterward, smiling quietly.

Even if he’d failed in something... even if some battles were left unfinished—

He’d already won everything that mattered.

Next Day

The first light of dawn spilled softly through the bakery’s window, painting the wooden counter in a pale gold glow. The bell above the door chimed—once, twice—then again, and again.

The woman in the apron looked up, surprised.

A small group of people had just entered, chatting and laughing as they filled the quiet space.

"Good morning!" one of them said cheerfully. "Can we get three black forest slices and two vanilla muffins?"

The woman blinked in disbelief for a moment, then nodded quickly. "O–of course, please have a seat."

Before she could even box the first order, the bell rang again.

Another pair of customers stepped in. Then a family. Then a group of college students.

Within minutes, the once-silent bakery was alive—voices, laughter, and the warm scent of sugar and coffee mixing in the air like something reborn.

The woman’s hands trembled slightly as she reached for the trays. It had been so long since she’d seen her shop this full. She could barely keep up.

"Rita!" she called into the back, her voice half-laughing, half-shocked. "We’re reopening properly! Call Clara too—we need all hands today!"

Her old staff, who hadn’t stepped foot in the bakery for months, returned with smiles that matched hers. The ovens roared back to life, the scent of fresh bread and pastries filling the air.

Hours passed before she finally caught a breath.

And that’s when a woman walked up to the counter—calm, graceful, wearing a light beige coat. She smiled politely.

"Mrs. Baker?"

"Yes?" the woman said, brushing flour from her apron.

The woman placed a neat box on the counter. "My name is June. I work at Sterling Enterprises."

"Sterling...?" Baker repeated, confused.

June’s smile deepened, her tone gentle but knowing. "This is sent by my boss—for you."

Before the baker could say a word, June gave a short nod, turned, and walked out of the shop—heels clicking softly against the floor.

The bell chimed once again as the door closed behind her.

Mrs. Baker stood still for a moment, her heart curious. Then, with slightly shaky hands, she untied the ribbon on the box.

Inside was a neatly wrapped cookbook—its cover simple yet elegant.

On top lay a small folded note.

She unfolded it carefully.

Dear Mrs. Baker,

The cake was delicious. Everyone in my family was praising it.

You made the moment very happy—thank you.

Like you said, the lights are back in the city.

So why should it shine in only one place?

I’ve sent you a cookbook—these are my mom’s recipes.

They’re new desserts, popular with the younger crowd.

Believe me, you’re going to love them.

My best wishes,

Miles

Her eyes softened, the words blurring slightly as tears gathered.

Inside the box, she found the book exactly as he’d said.

She brushed her fingers over the cover—

"The Atelier: Home Desserts by Elena Keller."

She turned the first few pages, and her breath caught.

Beautifully written recipes—notes in the margins, tiny arrows, small underlined tips:

"Use less sugar—Hope says it’s too sweet!"

"Add strawberries for Asher, he likes color."

The baker closed the book for a moment, holding it to her chest.

The warmth in her eyes wasn’t just pride—it was the spark of something she thought she’d lost long ago.

She wiped her tears, smiled softly, and looked around at her bustling shop, now filled again with laughter and chatter.

"The lights really are back," she whispered to herself—

—and went back to the counter, heart full, ready to bake again.