Chapter 343: Sarra’s Bakery
**Voici le texte traduit en anglais et formaté avec des paragraphes bien équilibrés (sens intact) :**
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Victoria’s rising popularity hit Hector’s villa like a bomb.
Monique was pacing back and forth in front of the bay window. She held her glass of wine without drinking it, just turning it between her fingers, nervously.
"Look at this," she said, pointing at the screen with a sharp tilt of her chin. "Three days. It’s been three days and it’s everywhere. The people from the lower districts are sharing that photo like it’s a holy image."
Hector, sitting behind his desk, didn’t answer right away. He was staring at the screen, fingers crossed in front of his mouth, motionless.
"I can read, Monique," he finally said, his voice low and controlled. "I don’t need a summary."
"Then do something. You’re the boss. You’re the one who wanted us to let her do her thing, and now look!" She stopped dead, planting her eyes into his. "Every day that passes, she becomes a little more untouchable. And in the meantime, we’re wasting time fattening the girls instead of destroying them."
Hector stood up slowly from his armchair, without rushing, as if Monique’s remark had no hold on him at all. He walked to the bay window, stopping next to her, hands clasped behind his back.
"Watch your tone, Monique," he said, still in that low voice. "I don’t answer to anyone for my decisions. Least of all to you."
Monique froze for a second, aware she had gone too far. She lowered her eyes slightly, setting her glass back on the window ledge with more care this time.
"Forgive me, Sir," she said, her voice softening. "I’m just... frustrated seeing that photo loop endlessly without us responding."
Hector said nothing for a moment, watching the lights of the Spires in the distance.
"Patience, Monique," he finally said, "is what separates a predator from a barking dog." He turned his head slightly toward her. "We already have a card in hand. Saya is in place. She thinks she’s acting alone, and she’s leading us straight to Blaze without even realizing it. That’s exactly the kind of patience that ends up paying off."
"I know, Sir." Monique nodded, but her eyes stayed fixed on the screen where Victoria’s image kept spinning, worshipped by thousands. "But with all due respect... this Victoria Mania is growing faster than we anticipated. Every day the street loves her a little more. If we wait too long for that rat to progress at her own pace, she might already be too untouchable by the time we finally decide to strike."
Hector turned completely, fixing her with his green eyes.
"What exactly are you proposing?"
Monique hesitated for a second, choosing her words carefully. She knew Hector well enough to know that a poorly presented suggestion could backfire on her.
"We accelerate Saya’s schedule," she said. "Not force her, no. But give her a little push. Faster access to the parlors, maybe through one of the Midnight Rest girls we could discreetly convince. Less waiting, more results. If she finds something compromising before Victoria becomes completely sacred in the eyes of the street, we keep a step ahead."
Hector remained silent for a moment, weighing the proposal. His fingers began tapping lightly against his arm.
"You want to burn the stages," he said finally.
"I want us not to get overtaken, Sir." Monique crossed her arms, but kept her head slightly tilted, respectful despite the firmness of her tone. "That’s all."
A heavy silence settled between them. Hector turned back to the window, once again observing the distant lights of the city, his face as impassive as usual.
"Very well," he said at last. "Speed things up. But discreetly, Monique. I want no trace leading back to us." He looked at her one last time over his shoulder. "And if Saya fails, or if she produces nothing... she goes up. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Sir."
Monique inclined her head slightly, then picked up her glass of wine again, this time taking a sip, a discreet, satisfied smile forming on her lips as she already pulled out her phone.
Far from that tension, Nia was walking ahead, hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt, glancing around like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
"This is weird," she finally said. "Like, really weird."
"What is?" Alicia asked, walking next to her with an ice cream cone in her hand.
"The silence." Nia stopped for a moment, listening. "There are no shouts. No fights at the street corner. No one yelling to sell drugs."
Jaz, behind them, nodded slowly, hands clasped behind her back.
"It’s almost as calm as a movie," she said. "Like a quiet little town in Japan or something."
It was true. Sector 4 had changed face in just a few days — or rather weeks if you counted from the start of the projects. The streets were clean. People walked without rushing, without looking over their shoulders. Someone had planted flower pots in front of a clothing shop. The smell floating in the air was no longer smoke and garbage, but warm bread and freshly ground coffee.
Alicia stopped, licking her ice cream, eyes wide.
"This is crazy," she said. "There aren’t even cops hanging around looking for trouble anymore."
"They don’t need to," Nia answered with a small smile. "The neighborhood watches itself now. No more easy credits."
They kept walking until they arrived in front of a brand-new storefront with a huge golden sign above the door: *La Douceur de Sarra*. Inside, shelves were already filled with cakes, pies, and sweet breads, everything perfectly arranged.
Lina was making her rounds between the counters, a list in hand, giving instructions to the employees.
"The croissants need to be in front, not in the back," she told a young girl in an apron. "People want to see that first when they walk in. It makes their mouths water."
She checked the display cases one by one, discreetly tasted a piece of chocolate cake that was lying around — twice, actually, the second time just for the pleasure — nodded in satisfaction, then looked around.
"Alright," she said out loud, tapping her list against her palm. "Everything’s ready. We can open." She searched with her eyes, frowning. "Where’s Sarra? She should be freaking out in a corner right now. That’s her usual thing."
No one answered right away. One of the employees finally shrugged.
"The boss went up to her office half an hour ago, Ma’am," he said. "She wanted to talk with Mr. Blaze, I think."
Lina stopped dead. A smile formed on her face — the kind of smile that always meant trouble for someone, someone who currently measured 198 cm so he could better lift Jaz.
"Oh really?" she repeated, her voice suddenly full of interest. "All alone with Nash, in an office that locks?"
She threw her list on the counter without even putting it away and headed for the wooden staircase, taking the steps two at a time, her steps light but fast, determined not to miss the show.
And just as she thought, the show had already started.
In the small director’s office at the back, Sarra was straddling Nash’s lap on the office chair. What had started as a grateful kiss after he handed her the final keys had slipped, the way things always slipped around him.
His passives were lethal, and Sarra’s long-standing hunger for affection had done the rest.
She kissed him like she was trying to memorize every possible version of it.
Soft closed-mouth presses first, almost shy. Then slower, deeper ones where her lips parted and she tasted him properly.
She tilted her head and dragged the tip of her tongue along his lower lip before sucking it gently between hers. When he answered, she moaned quietly into his mouth and rolled her hips once, just enough to feel him.
One of her hands stayed on his jaw while the other slid into his hair, keeping him exactly pressed against her face. The kisses grew wetter, more open, strings of saliva stretching whenever they pulled apart for half a second before diving back in.
Lina stayed planted on the doorway, arms crossed, savoring the scene for a few more seconds before making her presence known.
"Well damn," she finally said. "I just came to say everything’s ready downstairs. But I see someone else already started her own little private opening."
Sarra jumped, straightening up all at once, hands pressed against her burning cheeks.
"L-Lina!" she cried, her voice high with embarrassment. "It’s not — I mean — I just wanted to —"
"Don’t worry," Lina said, laughing, without moving from the door, eyes shining. "I’m not judging. Honestly, I’m even applauding the initiative." She tilted her head, looking at Nash with a sideways smile. "Go ahead, take your time. I can easily come back later if you want. Like in ten minutes. Or an hour. I’ve got patience when it’s worth it."
"No!" Sarra hurriedly climbed off Nash’s lap, adjusting her apron and her hair with a quick, nervous gesture, carefully avoiding Lina’s gaze. "We’re going. We’re opening now. Right now."
Lina let out a small laugh and finally stepped into the room, pointing a finger at Sarra in a teasing way.
"You’re way too easy to make blush, Softie," she said. "One day you’re going to explode just from looking at him the wrong way."
Nash stood up calmly, a small quiet smile on his lips, completely unbothered by the situation.
"She’s right," he said, an amused glance sliding toward Lina. "It’s her big day."
"Yeah, yeah," Lina answered, raising her hands in a falsely resigned surrender. "Business before pleasure, fine." She approached Nash, rising onto her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, loud enough for Sarra to still hear, "But I’m keeping my place on the waiting list, okay? You still owe me a ’private opening’ too, and both of my mouths are very hungry today."
Sarra, still a little out of breath, rolled her eyes despite her still-red cheeks, then nodded, gradually recovering her calm.
She took a deep breath, as if to give herself courage, then grabbed Nash with one arm and Lina with the other, pulling both of them toward the door with a determination that completely contrasted with her usual shyness.
"Come on, we’re going down," she said. "I don’t want to do this without you two. It’s... it’s thanks to you that all of this exists."
Lina let herself be pulled without resisting, a different smile on her face this time — less mocking, more touched that her friend held her in such high regard. She glanced at Sarra walking ahead of them, back straight, clearly trying to look more confident than she really felt.
"Look at her," Lina murmured to Nash, her voice low, almost tender. "A year ago this girl couldn’t even order a coffee if I didn’t do it for her. Now she has her own shop, and she wants us there to watch her open it."
Nash said nothing, simply nodding slightly. He didn’t need big words. His presence alone, solid and calm, was enough to reassure the two women hanging onto his arms.
They went down the stairs together, Sarra still in front, not letting go of either of them.
Downstairs, the agitation was already in full swing. Employees were running between the counters, adjusting the last display cases, while outside, through the large windows, the line of people stretched all the way down the street, patient and noisy.
Sarra stopped dead in front of the entrance door, her face suddenly going pale.
"I’m... I’m a little scared," she admitted, her voice becoming tiny again. "What if no one likes it? What if —"
"Sarra." Nash’s voice cut her off cleanly. She looked up at him. "Look outside."
She turned her head toward the window. The line kept growing, people talking among themselves, some already showing pictures of the pastries on their phones, impatient.
"They didn’t come for me," she said softly, almost to herself.
"Yes, they did," Nash answered. "They came because you created something good. The rest was just giving them the chance to discover it."
Lina, on the other side, tightened her grip on Sarra’s arm, resting her head against her shoulder for a moment in a rare gesture of support, without a single ounce of teasing.
"He’s right, Softie," she said softly. "It’s your name on the sign. Not his, not mine. Yours."
Sarra felt her eyes grow wet, but she clenched her teeth, refusing to cry before even opening the door. She took one last trembling breath, looking at Nash and then Lina in turn, drawing from their presence a strength she never would have found alone.
"Okay," she murmured. "Okay. Let’s go."
She grabbed the door handle, her hand trembling slightly, then pulled it wide open.
The noise of the crowd exploded immediately: applause, shouts of joy, people politely pushing to be the first to enter.
Sarra stayed frozen on the threshold for a moment, overwhelmed by the welcome, before an immense, almost disbelieving smile lit up her entire face.
Nash stayed slightly back, observing the scene. Lina, next to him, was almost bouncing in place, clapping loudly and shouting encouragements through the crowd.
"Go Sarra!" she yelled, hands cupped around her mouth. "Show them what you’ve got!"
Sarra, red with happiness and emotion, finally stepped into her own shop, greeting her first customers with trembling hands but a smile that never left her face.
Service began right away, fluid and joyful. Employees ran between the counters, filling orders, wrapping cakes. Sarra, despite her slight stress, smiled nonstop, going from one customer to the next, thanking each one personally.
Nash sat at a table. Nia, Jaz and Alicia soon joined him, each with a pastry in hand.
"She came a long way, huh," Alicia said, mouth full of cake.
"Yeah," Nash answered simply, a discreet smile on his face. "And she completely deserves it."
Meanwhile, in the large living room of the Spires villa, Victoria was completely slumped on the couch, head tilted back, eyes closed. Dahlia sat next to her with an open file on her lap, while Rei, settled in an armchair a little farther away, thoughtfully turned her cup of tea between her hands.
"I’m exhausted," Victoria sighed, without even opening her eyes. "Completely exhausted."
"It’s the price of success," Dahlia said, turning a page of her file.
"No, it’s the price of becoming everyone’s shield," Victoria answered, sitting up slightly to look at her friend. "He’s putting everything on me. Every decision, every gesture, everything is signed in my name. I spend my days smiling in front of cameras and shaking hands with crying strangers."
"It’s flattering, isn’t it?" Rei asked, raising an eyebrow.
"It’s flattering," Victoria admitted, "but it’s also dizzying. I’m starting to no longer know where the character ends and where I begin."
Dahlia put her file down, turning a serious look toward her.
"You know what I think," she said. "That boy... that man, is the best thing that ever happened to us. To you, to me, to everyone here. Look what he did for Sector 4. Look how many lives he changed in a few days. Everything he touches turns to gold, Victoria."
Rei nodded slowly, eyes narrowed, thoughtful.
"What I don’t understand," she said, "is why he does this. Not that it’s abnormal. Just... it intrigues me. He’s just... too much."
"Perfect?" offered a voice from the entrance of the living room.
All three of them turned. Zayela had just arrived, calm and composed, a tray with three glasses of juice in her hands. She had that quiet smile she always kept, as if nothing could really bother her.
"That’s exactly the word," Zayela continued, setting the tray on the coffee table. "He’s generous."
At the pastry shop, Nash was sitting with Alicia tucked under one arm and Jaz under the other. Both girls leaned into his body like it was the most natural place in the world. A second later, Nia slipped down and disappeared under the table in front of him.
"He has a pure heart," Zayela continued, smiling faintly.
Nash’s hands moved without hurry. One slid into the back of Jaz’s shorts, the other into Alicia’s. His fingers found warm skin and began to move slowly. Both girls’ breaths caught at the same time; soft, stifled moans left their lips as they stayed pressed against him, pretending nothing was happening.
"And the people around him become undeniably better," Zayela finished.
Under the table, Nia stayed on her knees a moment longer. When she finally rose, her lips were glossy and her mouth still held a thick white load. She calmly picked up her milkshake, tilted her head, and let the cum slide from her tongue into the cold drink before stirring it with the straw and taking a slow sip.
Victoria took the glass Zayela held out to her, observing her for a moment before bringing it to her lips.
"You know," Zayela said, settling comfortably on the couch, "he’s done so much for all of us. The only thing I want is to help him a little in return. But it’s hard to help a real man like him." She crossed her hands on her knees. "That’s why, as women, we have to do our part. Take care of him, and of those who are dear to him, in the places where he can’t help himself."
Victoria took a long sip of juice, then sighed deeply, eyes fixed on the liquid in her glass.
"You know what I hate most about this life," she murmured. "Feeling like I’m forcing myself to wear a mask to be the Boss. This guy is tearing my nature out of me."
Zayela raised an eyebrow, an amused smile appearing on her face. She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly.
"Well well," she said. "Did I finally touch a chord?"
Victoria let out a small laugh, shaking her head.
"You touched it so well," she answered, "that I’m going to buy an even bigger villa. For all the next girls who will surely join our happy little band."
Zayela burst out laughing, softly clapping her hands.
"Deal," she said with a big smile. "I accept the challenge."
Rei had remained silent throughout the exchange, observing Zayela, Victoria and Dahlia from her armchair, a slight smile on her lips. She liked these moments, even if she would never have admitted it out loud.
This light atmosphere, these friendly jabs, this complicity that had reigned in the villa since Nash turned all their lives upside down.
She lowered her eyes to her glass of juice, gently turning the liquid between her fingers, thoughtful.
Before, she probably would have gritted her teeth at a scene like this. All this adoration directed at a man, this almost religious devotion. She would have called it weakness. She would have said these women were losing themselves by attaching so strongly to someone.
But now, watching Zayela laugh with Victoria, seeing Dahlia defend Nash with that sincere fervor in her voice, something inside her twisted softly. Not disgust. Something else. Something closer to envy, maybe.
She thought back to that night in the locker room, after Baby-Boom’s crushing defeat. The stupid bet they had made. She had expected Nash to take her like the others, almost resigned to the idea of offering her body just to get a little of his attention, a little recognition. That was how she had learned to function with men. Give them what they wanted to keep some semblance of control over the situation.
But he had refused. He had explained to her, calmly, that he didn’t want her like that. Not by force, not because of a bet, not without her really wanting it.
At the time, it had pissed her off. Today, sitting in this living room, watching Victoria joke about buying a bigger villa for future harem girls, Rei caught herself wondering if she really wanted to keep being seen only as an ally. A respected rival. A captain people owed help to.
Maybe she wanted... something else. Not as just another ally, not as a teammate to put on a match sheet. Just to be noticed. Really noticed. The way Victoria was. The way Zayela was, with that quiet confidence and the obvious place she occupied in Nash’s life.
Rei pressed her lips together slightly, almost annoyed at herself for having that thought. She wasn’t supposed to want that. She was supposed to be the girl who hated men, who needed no one, least of all—
Her phone suddenly vibrated on the coffee table, the soft buzz cutting the thread of her thoughts clean. She reached out, glancing at the screen, a light smile returning to her lips, probably expecting a message from Miko or Aiko.
Then she froze.
She inhaled sharply, eyes wide, staring at the screen without moving.
Dahlia noticed the change immediately and leaned toward her.
"Rei?" she asked. "What is it?"
Rei’s hands were trembling slightly as she held the phone out toward Dahlia, unable to say a word.
On the screen, a message had just appeared.
From Monique.