The next morning, Bella stood outside Hazel's penthouse, a basket of fresh pastries in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other. She'd texted ahead, and Hazel had said to come anytime.
The door opened before she could knock.
Hazel stood there, dressed casually—dark jeans, a soft gray sweater, her hair loose and falling over the scarred side of her face. She looked tired, like she hadn't slept much either.
"You brought food," Hazel said, her lips curving.
"I brought breakfast," Bella said, stepping inside.
The penthouse was beautiful—clean lines, large windows, a view of the city sprawling below. Morning light flooded the living room, making everything look warm and golden. It was hard to believe that just hours ago, someone had been shooting at them in a garden.
Bella set the pastries on the coffee table and looked around. "Where's Dom? Still sleeping?"
Hazel nodded toward the hallway. "Guest room. He was up late."
"Up late doing what?"
