Our Sweet Bitter Contract

Chapter 1

Naomi

The little brass bell above the door chimes, a cheerful sound that slices through the quiet of my closing-time routine. I don’t look up. My hands are deep in a cloud of flour, shaping the last sourdough boule of the day. The scent of yeast and warm sugar hangs in the air, my own personal heaven.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” I say, my voice muffled by the concentration it takes to get the tension just right. A perfect loaf is a small, controllable victory in a world full of variables.

“Hello, Naomi.”

The voice isn’t a customer’s. It’s a ghost’s. It’s the voice I hear in dreams, the one that belonged to a boy with sun-streaked hair and a promise on his lips. My hands freeze in the dough. My heart seizes, a painful, violent clench in my chest. Slowly, I lift my head.

He stands just inside the door, a silhouette against the fading afternoon light. But this is no boy. The man is tall, broad-shouldered, and encased in a suit so black it seems to drink the light from the room. His hair is shorter, darker, and his jaw is set with a hardness I’ve never seen before. The easy smile is gone, replaced by a cool, unreadable mask. Six years have chiseled him into a stranger.

“Jacob?” The name is a breath, a prayer, a curse. It feels foreign on my tongue after so long.

He takes a step forward, his expensive leather shoes silent on my worn wooden floor. “It’s Renner now. Jacob Renner.”

His eyes, the same impossible blue I remember, sweep over my bakery. They take in the mismatched chairs, the chalkboard menu with my looping cursive, the cooling racks filled with croissants and scones. His expression is one of detached assessment, like a developer surveying a property before demolition.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is stronger now, fueled by a sudden surge of white-hot anger that burns away the shock. “How did you even find me?”

“I have resources,” he says, his tone clipped and devoid of warmth. “Finding a small bakery in a quiet town wasn’t difficult.”

“You’ve been gone six years,” I say, wiping my floured hands on my apron, a useless, trembling gesture. “Six years, Jacob. No call. No letter. Nothing. I thought you were dead.”

“Circumstances changed.” He stops at the counter, placing a sleek black briefcase on the glass that separates us. It clicks open with a sound that feels obscene in the cozy quiet of my shop. “I’m not here to reminisce.”

“Then why are you here? To see the mess you left behind?” The bitterness tastes like ash in my mouth.

He doesn’t flinch. He just looks at me with those cold, calculating eyes. “I’m here for my son.”

The world tilts. The floor drops out from under me. I grip the edge of the wooden counter to keep from collapsing. “What did you just say?”

“Leo,” he says, and the sound of my son’s name from his lips is a violation. “He’s five years old. His birthday is October twelfth. He has my eyes. And he is my son.”

“He is my son,” I whisper, the words fierce, protective. “Mine. You have no right.”

He reaches into his briefcase and slides a thick file across the counter. It’s bound in expensive leather. My name is embossed on the front in gold foil. “I have every right. Open it.”

My hands shake so badly I can barely unclip the clasp. Inside, the first page is a copy of Leo’s birth certificate. Father’s name: blank. The second is a detailed report from a private investigator, complete with pictures of me pushing Leo on the swings at the park, of us sharing an ice cream cone. My stomach churns. I’ve been watched. Hunted. The last document is a DNA analysis. A ninety-nine point nine nine nine percent probability of paternity.

“How?” I choke out, staring at the clinical, damning numbers.

“The cup he left at the park playground yesterday. Again, resources, Naomi.”

I slam the file shut. “You son of a bitch. You have no idea what you walked away from. You don’t get to show up six years later and do this.”

“I do,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. “And I will. Which brings me to the reason I’m here. I’m giving you a choice.”

“A choice?” I laugh, a hysterical, broken sound. “You don’t get to give me anything.”

“Listen very carefully,” he continues, ignoring my outburst as if I were a child having a tantrum. “There are two paths forward from this moment. In the first, you will marry me by the end of this week. We will provide a stable, two-parent home for our son. He will have my name. He will have everything.”

I stare at him, speechless. The audacity, the sheer, cold-blooded arrogance of it steals the air from my lungs. “And the second option?” I finally manage to ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

His expression darkens. “In the second option, I deploy the full weight of Renner Incorporated’s legal division to sue you for sole and exclusive custody of Leo. They are the best lawyers money can buy. They have never lost a case. You, on the other hand,” he gestures dismissively around my bakery, “run a charming but barely profitable business. You live in a small apartment above that business. A judge will look at my resources, my ability to provide for him, and they will look at yours. I will win, Naomi. I guarantee it. You will see your son on weekends, if you’re lucky.”

Every word is a hammer blow, cracking the foundations of the life I have so carefully built for my son and me. This isn’t Jacob. This is a monster wearing his face.

“You would do that?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. “You would take a child from his mother?”

“I would take my child from a situation I deem unstable and insufficient,” he corrects me, his voice like ice. “To give him the life he deserves.”

“Mommy?”

A small voice cuts through the tension. I turn, and my heart breaks all over again. Leo stands in the doorway to the back room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s clutching a crayon drawing, his little face a mixture of confusion and curiosity. He has Jacob’s eyes. Looking from one to the other is like looking at a reflection in a shattered mirror.

Jacob’s gaze locks onto him. For the first time, his cold composure cracks. I see a flicker of something in his expression, something raw and unguarded. It looks like hunger. It looks like possession. He sees a legacy, an heir, a thing to be acquired.

“Who’s that man?” Leo asks, pointing a chubby finger at Jacob.

“He’s just a customer, sweetie,” I lie, my voice trembling. “Go back and play. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Leo hesitates, his eyes wide as he stares at the imposing stranger. Then he nods and disappears back into the kitchen.

The silence he leaves behind is heavy, suffocating. Jacob’s eyes are back on me, the momentary flicker of emotion gone, the mask firmly back in place.

“He’s perfect,” Jacob says, the words low and final. “My decision is made.”

“This isn’t a business deal, Jacob! This is my life. This is our son’s life!”

“It is absolutely a business deal,” he counters smoothly. “The most important one of my life. This arrangement will, of course, require some adjustments on my part. I’ll need to dissolve my current engagement. It’s for the best. Lily was never suited to be a mother.”

He says the name, Lily, with such casual dismissal it’s chilling. He’s talking about ending an engagement to another woman as if it’s a line item on a budget, an inconvenient contract to be terminated. I am just the next contract to be signed.

“You’re engaged?” The question is stupid, irrelevant, but it escapes me anyway.

“Not for long,” he says, his focus entirely on his plan. “Once we are married, you will sell this place. It’s a nice little hobby, but you won’t have time for it anymore. Your focus will be on raising my heir.”

A hobby. He just called my passion, my livelihood, the thing I poured my broken heart into, a hobby. The insult is so profound, so dismissive, it momentarily eclipses the terror. A tiny, defiant spark ignites in the wreckage of my soul. One day, I think, I will make him eat those words.

“You can’t just buy a family, Jacob.”

“I can,” he says with absolute certainty. “I’m buying my son’s future. You are simply part of the price.” He closes his briefcase and picks it up, the meeting clearly over.

“I hate you,” I say, the words raw and true.

“Your feelings are irrelevant to the outcome,” he replies, turning to leave. He pauses at the door. “You have twenty-four hours to give my lawyer your answer. But we both know there is only one answer you can give. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Naomi. For Leo’s sake.”

The brass bell chimes as he walks out, its cheerful sound a final, mocking punctuation to the destruction of my world. I stand frozen, staring at the empty doorway, the scent of his expensive cologne lingering in the air, a poison corrupting the sweet smell of my bakery.

I look down at my hands, still coated in a thin layer of flour and dried dough. My entire life is here, in this room. My work, my independence, my safety.

“Mommy, are you crying?”

Leo is back, his drawing of two stick figures, a woman and a boy holding hands under a smiling sun, clutched in his fist. I sink to my knees and pull him into a hug, burying my face in his soft hair, breathing in his little-boy smell of crayons and milk.

He is my world. And the ghost from my past has just returned to burn it to the ground.

Chapter 2

Naomi

I hold Leo until my arms ache. I memorize the weight of him, the scent of his hair, the way his small hand fists the fabric of my shirt. This is the only thing in the world that is real. Everything else is ash and noise.

He eventually squirms out of my grasp, his five-year-old attention span exhausted by my sudden, desperate need for comfort. “Can I have a cookie, Mommy?”

“Of course, sweetie.” My voice is a thin, reedy thing. I watch him scamper over to the cookie jar, his small world still intact, still safe. It’s a world built on my back, and the foundation is cracking.

I pull out my phone. My thumb hovers over the contact for Chloe, my best friend. What would I even say? A ghost from my past came back from the dead to buy my son and me like property? She would tell me to fight. She wouldn’t understand that fighting means losing Leo.

I find the crisp, expensive business card Jacob’s lawyer left on the counter. Arthur Sterling, Esq. The letters are embossed, sharp against my fingertips. I dial the number before I can lose my nerve.

It rings once.

“Sterling.” The voice is clipped, efficient. Impatient.

“This is Naomi Foster.”

A brief pause. “Mr. Renner is pleased you’ve chosen to be reasonable. I’ll text you an address. Be there tomorrow at ten a.m. sharp.”

“What for?” The question is stupid. I know what for.

“To finalize the contract, Ms. Foster. And to ensure you become Mrs. Renner.” He says it with the same emotional investment as if he were discussing a stock purchase. The line goes dead.

The address that appears on my screen is in the financial district, a place of steel and glass towers that scrape the sky. A place I don’t belong.

The next morning, I dress Leo in his nicest shirt. I put on a simple dress that feels like a shroud. We take a taxi that feels like a tumbrel on its way to the gallows.

The law office is on the fiftieth floor. The lobby is a cathedral of marble and hushed reverence for money. Arthur Sterling meets me at the elevator. He’s a man made of sharp angles and a perfectly tailored suit. He doesn’t offer a hand, just a curt nod.

“Mr. Renner is waiting.”

He leads me into a boardroom. A mahogany table stretches for what feels like a mile, surrounded by leather chairs. At the far end, Jacob stands looking out a floor-to-ceiling window at the city spread below him like a kingdom. He owns it. He owns me.

He turns when we enter. He’s wearing another flawless suit, this one a dark grey. His eyes find mine for a second, then immediately drop to Leo, who is hiding behind my leg.

Jacob’s entire posture softens. He crouches down, bringing himself to Leo’s level. His voice, when he speaks, is gentle. It’s the voice of the boy I remember, and hearing it now is a special kind of torture.

“Hello, Leo. My name is Jacob.”

Leo peeks out. “Are you my daddy?” he whispers, the question a tiny silver arrow straight to my heart.

Jacob’s gaze flicks to me, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths, before returning to our son. “Yes. I am.”

“The paperwork, if you please,” Sterling says, gesturing to the table. He spreads a thick stack of documents across the polished surface. “If you’ll just sign here, and here… and here.”

I don’t read the words. I know what they say. They say I am his. They say Leo is his. I pick up the heavy, gold-plated pen. My hand shakes as I sign ‘Naomi Foster’ for the last time.

“Excellent,” Sterling says, gathering the pages. He produces a single, final document. “The marriage certificate.”

I sign again. My new name feels like a brand. Naomi Renner.

Jacob hasn’t moved. He’s still focused entirely on Leo, talking to him in low tones about cars and superheroes. He is building a bridge to my son while I sign away our freedom.

“It’s done,” Sterling announces. Jacob stands up, his attention finally shifting.

“Good,” he says. “My moving team will be at her apartment in one hour. Have them pack everything. I want them moved into the penthouse by tonight.”

It’s not a request. It’s an order. He walks over to us, his presence sucking all the air out of the room.

“It’s time to go home, Leo,” he says, his voice still soft, directed only at our son.

Leo looks to me for confirmation. I give a jerky nod, because my throat has closed up. He takes Jacob’s outstretched hand.

I watch them walk out of the boardroom together, my son’s small hand engulfed in his father’s. A perfect picture. A perfect lie.

I was right. It wasn’t a wedding. It was a corporate takeover. And I was the primary asset.

Just as he promised, the movers are a swarm of quiet, efficient men in identical uniforms. They descend on my small apartment above the bakery with a ruthless precision, wrapping my mismatched furniture and boxing up my life. I stand in the middle of the chaos, useless.

Leo is thrilled by the activity. He follows the men around, chattering excitedly. To him, it’s an adventure.

“Where are we going, Mommy?” he asks, his eyes bright.

I kneel down and force a smile. “To a new house, sweetie. A really big one.”

“With him?” he asks, meaning Jacob.

“Yes. With him.”

He nods, satisfied. The ease with which he accepts this is another knife in my gut. Jacob has been gone for Leo’s entire life, yet he walks back in and claims his place in an afternoon.

The penthouse is… vast. Calling it an apartment feels wrong. It occupies the top two floors of the tallest residential building in the city. The elevator opens directly into a living area with ceilings so high they make me dizzy. One entire wall is glass, offering a breathtaking, terrifying view of the city lights.

The furniture is all sharp lines and muted colors. Greys, blacks, and whites. There isn’t a single photograph, not a single book left out, not a single sign that a human being actually lives here. It’s a showroom. A museum. A cage.

“Wow,” Leo breathes, running to the window and pressing his hands against the glass. “It’s like we’re in an airplane!”

Jacob is there, standing by a floating staircase made of steel and glass. He watches Leo with that same possessive hunger I saw in the bakery.

“Your rooms are upstairs,” he says, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. He’s speaking to me now. “Leo’s is the second on the left. Yours is at the end of the hall.”

“I need to go back,” I say, my voice sounding small. “The bakery…”

“Has been taken care of,” he cuts me off. “I had my team close it down for the evening. We’ll discuss its dissolution tomorrow.”

“Its dissolution?” I repeat, the words catching in my throat. “You can’t just…”

“I can,” he says, his voice flat, leaving no room for argument. “And I have. Your focus is here now. On our son.”

He turns his attention back to Leo. He’s holding a small, exquisitely detailed model of a vintage sports car. “I thought you might like this, Leo.”

Leo’s eyes go wide. He takes the car reverently. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

I watch them, a man and a boy, silhouetted against the glittering city lights. Jacob gets down on the marble floor, showing Leo how the doors on the tiny car open. He is patient. He is gentle. He is everything a father should be, and every perfect gesture feels like a perfectly aimed blow. He isn’t just buying my compliance; he’s winning my son’s heart, brick by brick.

Later, after I’ve put a bewildered but happy Leo to bed in a room larger than my entire old apartment, I find Jacob in the vast living room. He’s standing by the window again, a glass of something dark in his hand.

“He’s asleep,” I say, my voice tight. I keep my distance, hugging my arms around myself.

“He seems to be adjusting well.”

“He’s five. Everything is an adventure. He doesn’t understand that his life was just stolen from him.”

Jacob turns to face me. The cold mask is back in place. “His life wasn’t stolen. It was upgraded. He will have access to the best schools, the best healthcare, a future without limits.”

“And a mother who is a prisoner.”

“You are not a prisoner, Naomi. You are my wife.”

I laugh, a sharp, bitter sound that gets lost in the high ceilings. “Don’t call me that. This isn’t a marriage. It’s a hostage situation. Let’s be very clear about the terms of this… arrangement.”

He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving my face. “Go on.”

“I will be a mother to my son. I will live in this house. But that is all. You will not touch me. You will not share my bed. This is a business deal, remember? I am part of the price. The deal is closed.”

He walks toward me slowly, stopping just out of arm’s reach. The air between us crackles with six years of anger and betrayal.

“Fine,” he says, his voice a low murmur. “Separate rooms. Separate lives. But in front of our son, and in front of the world, we are a family. You will play your part. Is that understood?”

“You get what you paid for,” I spit back.

A muscle feathers in his jaw. “Good. Then we have an understanding.”

He turns and walks away, leaving me alone in the sterile, silent room with nothing but the billion lights of the city staring back at me. Each one feels like the eye of a spectator, watching me in my beautiful, expensive new cage.

Chapter 3

Naomi

“Just smile.”

Jacob’s voice is a low command in my ear, his breath warm against my temple. His hand rests on the small of my back, a proprietary gesture that feels less like affection and more like ownership. It’s supposed to look like we’re a unit. It feels like he’s a guard, making sure the prisoner doesn’t bolt.

We are standing at the entrance to the grand ballroom he has rented for the occasion. It’s not in the penthouse, he explained, because that would be too intimate. This is not about intimacy. It’s about a public declaration of a merger.

I’m poured into a midnight-blue dress that his stylist delivered this morning. It’s simple, elegant, and costs more than my bakery’s profits from the last six months. It feels like a costume. My hair is swept up in a way that feels foreign, and the diamond earrings he clasped around my lobes feel like tiny, cold weights.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“Does it matter?”

A muscle in his jaw tightens. “For the next three hours, it matters a great deal. You are Mrs. Renner. Try to look like you don’t despise the position.”

He guides me into the room. It’s a glittering sea of people, all dressed in jewels and designer labels. The air hums with quiet conversation and the clinking of champagne flutes. Every head turns as we enter. I feel hundreds of eyes on me, dissecting me, judging me. I am the new acquisition being paraded for the shareholders.

Whispers follow us like the train of a gown. “That’s her?”… “Came out of nowhere.”… “The baker?”

I grip my own champagne flute so tightly I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. I take a sip, and the bubbles feel like acid in my throat.

“Relax,” Jacob murmurs, steering me toward a group of older men in perfectly tailored tuxedos.

“I’d rather be cleaning my ovens,” I murmur back, my smile fixed and painful.

He ignores me, launching into a smooth introduction. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my wife, Naomi.”

They offer polite smiles and limp handshakes. Their eyes are full of questions they’re too polite to ask. They talk about stock prices and acquisitions. I stand there, a silent, decorative accessory to his power.

Then the sea of people parts. A woman is walking toward us, and she moves with the kind of predatory grace that makes everyone else seem like prey. She is breathtakingly beautiful, with hair the color of spun gold swept into an elaborate twist, and a red dress that clings to her like a second skin. Her eyes, a cool, calculating green, are locked on Jacob.

“Jacob, darling,” she purrs, her voice like velvet wrapped around shards of glass. She glides past me as if I’m not there and places a kiss on his cheek, letting her fingers linger on his arm. “You threw a party and didn’t tell me what we were celebrating. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.”

Jacob gently detaches her hand from his sleeve. His expression is unreadable. “Lily. I wasn’t aware you were in town.”

“I came back for you, of course,” she says, her smile not reaching her eyes. It’s only then that she deigns to look at me. Her gaze travels down my body and back up, a slow, dismissive appraisal. “And who is this?”

“Lily Vanderbilt, this is my wife, Naomi Renner.” The words are a formal declaration, a cannon shot in the quiet room.

Lily’s perfectly sculpted smile falters for a fraction of a second. It’s a barely perceptible crack in a flawless facade, but I see it. I see the flash of raw fury in her green eyes before it’s replaced by a look of amused pity.

“Your… wife?” she repeats, drawing the word out as if it’s a foreign, distasteful object on her tongue. “Well, isn’t that a surprise.” She extends a hand to me, her fingers cold and limp, her grip lasting only a moment. “Lily Vanderbilt. It’s a pleasure.”

“Naomi,” I say, my voice steady despite the frantic pounding in my chest.

“Naomi,” she muses. “How sweet. Jacob always did have a soft spot for charity cases.” She turns her attention back to him, her tone dripping with false concern. “Darling, are you well? This is all so… sudden. People are talking.”

“Let them talk,” Jacob says, his voice flat.

“Oh, they are,” Lily assures him. “They’re saying all sorts of fascinating things. For instance, I heard you’ve suddenly come into possession of a… child.” She looks back at me, her eyes gleaming. “A ready-made heir. How wonderfully efficient. It’s a classic strategy, I suppose. A bit common, but you can’t argue with the results.”

My blood runs cold. She’s not even trying to veil the insult. She’s saying it right to my face, in front of Jacob, in front of anyone who can hear.

“My son is not a strategy,” I say, my voice low and shaking with a rage I didn’t know I possessed.

Lily raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Of course not, dear. He’s a happy little accident. One that landed you the most eligible bachelor in the city. You must be very proud of your… work.” She gestures dismissively towards my simple dress. “I heard you were a baker. It must be so different, trading a flour-dusted apron for couture. Do you find it terribly difficult to adjust?”

I can feel Jacob’s stillness beside me. He isn’t moving. He isn’t speaking. He’s just watching, letting this happen. He threw me to the wolves, and this is their alpha.

“Some things are more difficult to adjust to than others,” I say, meeting her gaze directly.

Her smile widens, sharp and cruel. “I’m sure. Well, I must congratulate you, Jacob. It’s a bold move. Very… rustic.” She taps a long, red nail against her champagne flute. “Enjoy it while it lasts. Novelty has a tendency to wear off.”

With a final, dismissive glance at me, she turns and glides away, disappearing back into the crowd that swallows her up, leaving a trail of expensive perfume and poison in her wake.

The silence she leaves behind is deafening. I can feel the stares, the renewed whispers. I am no longer just a mystery. I’m a scandal. A gold digger who trapped the great Jacob Renner.

I turn to Jacob. “Are you going to say anything?” I demand, my voice a furious whisper.

“There’s nothing to say,” he replies, his expression a cold, hard mask. “Lily is inconsequential.”

“She just called me a whore and my son a bargaining chip in front of half the city, and you call that inconsequential?”

“Lower your voice,” he orders, his grip tightening on my back. “You’re making a scene.”

“I’m making a scene? She just…” I trail off, shaking my head in disbelief. I feel utterly, completely alone. He brought me here to be his show pony, and he won’t even protect me from the other animals in the ring.

Before I can say anything else, he lets go of me and steps onto a small, elevated platform at the end of the room. A hush falls over the crowd. Every eye is on him.

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” he begins, his voice resonating with power and authority. He commands the room effortlessly. “I’ve gathered you here to share some personal news. As some of you have just learned, I recently married.”

He pauses, letting the murmur ripple through the guests. His eyes find mine across the room. I feel pinned by his gaze, a butterfly on a board.

“Please join me in welcoming my wife, Naomi Renner.”

A polite, hesitant round of applause breaks out. It feels thin, obligatory. Jacob raises his glass. “To my wife. And to our son, Leo. To the future of the Renner family.”

He drinks. The crowd drinks. He is celebrating. He is cementing his victory, his acquisition. He just publicly claimed me and my son, and in the same night, allowed me to be publicly humiliated. I am his queen, and I am his pawn, all at once.

Lily Vanderbilt stands near the front, her champagne flute held high. Her lips are curved into a smile, but her eyes are full of promises. Promises of war.

The party continues, but I am hollowed out. I smile when I am supposed to smile. I nod when I am spoken to. I am a perfectly functioning automaton in a beautiful dress. But inside, something has shifted. The fear that has been my constant companion for the last few days is crystallizing into something harder, something colder.

It’s not just Jacob I have to survive. It’s his entire world. And his world has teeth.