Bound by the Past, Locked by the Heart novel Chapter 89

After her absolute break with Randal, Willa buried herself entirely in the Legacy Brands project.

She left the house at seven every morning and didn't return until ten at night.

Between interviews, photoshoots, research, and writing, she worked herself to the bone until she was so exhausted she would pass out the second her head hit the pillow. She simply didn't have the mental capacity left to dwell on complicated relationships.

One day, she arrived at Sweetbrier Pastry in the southern district for a scheduled interview. It was a traditional shop that had been passed down through four generations.

The storefront was small, nestled in a historic alleyway.

As Willa pushed the door open, the warm aroma of sesame and osmanthus washed over her.

An elderly man in his sixties stood behind the counter, wearing a faded apron as he pressed dough into wooden molds.

"Hello, I'm Willa Vance, the journalist who made an appointment."

The old man looked up with a gentle smile. "Ah, Ms. Vance. Have a seat. Let me just finish this batch."

Willa sat on a wooden stool nearby, taking in the small shop.

The walls were decorated with yellowing photographs—an older man in traditional robes, a middle-aged man with glasses, alongside several framed awards and newspaper clippings.

Once the old man finished his work, he washed his hands and brought over two cups of tea.

"Try this. It's our own jasmine blend. You won't find this flavor anywhere else."

Willa took the cup, took a sip, and thanked him.

The interview proceeded smoothly.

The man, Mr. Cavanaugh, was the fourth-generation owner of Sweetbrier Pastry. He had started learning the trade from his father as a teenager and had been making pastries for nearly fifty years.

"Young people just don't care for these old traditions anymore," Mr. Cavanaugh sighed, pointing to the delicate treats in the display case. "They think modern desserts look prettier and Western pastries are more fashionable. Nobody values our traditional craft anymore."

Seeing the melancholy in his eyes, Willa felt a sudden pang of sadness.

But a few days later, Iris abruptly called her into the office.

"Sit." Iris pointed at the chair, her expression grim.

Willa sat down, a rising sense of unease settling in her stomach.

Iris slid a document across the desk.

It was an official government notice—*Announcement Regarding Property Expropriation for the Southern District Urban Redevelopment Project*.

Willa scanned down the page, her eyes stopping dead on the section listing the affected zones.

The name of the alley where Sweetbrier Pastry was located was printed plain as day.

Willa looked up at Iris. "When did this happen?"

"The official mandate came down yesterday. Demolition starts next month."