Better Late, But Never His Again novel Chapter 135

When Hazel received that message, she shot straight up in bed.

She stared at the conditions glowing on the screen, her fingers trembling slightly.

Resigning was easy. She could march into Apex Holdings and handle it tomorrow morning. As long as she could get her mentor's letter back, she'd agree to anything.

But that relied entirely on Evelyn keeping her word.

She set her phone on the nightstand, lay back down, and stared at the ceiling until her eyes burned, finally letting her heavy eyelids slide shut.

She barely slept a wink that night.

By seven in the morning, she was already up.

The injury on her leg still pulsed with a dull ache, and the skin beneath the bandages felt itchy—a sign the wound was healing.

She gripped the handrail and slowly limped downstairs. Just as she reached the living room, Julian walked through the front door, carrying breakfast bags.

"Sweetheart." He raised the bags with a smile. "I bought your favorite fresh pastries. Come sit and eat."

Hazel walked over and sat down at the dining table.

Julian arranged the croissants and hot coffee in front of her, then headed to the kitchen to grab plates and silverware.

That same gentle smile was plastered across his face, acting as though last night's argument had never happened. He sat across from her, his expression slowly shifting into a perfectly practiced look of solemnity.

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart," his voice dropped lower. "There's still no news from the sanitation crews."

Hazel picked up her fork, cut a piece of pastry, and took a bite, scoffing internally.

Of course there wouldn't be any news. Evelyn hadn't thrown the letter away to begin with; it was impossible to find.

And even if she had thrown it out, the city dump was massive—it would have been incinerated by now.

She didn't bother looking up at him. "Okay. I understand."

Julian was visibly caught off guard.

His brow relaxed. He had expected her to be devastated, to throw a fit and accuse him of covering for Evelyn again. Instead, her face was a mask of total indifference.

"You're not upset anymore?" he asked, pouring her a glass of water.

Hazel took another bite, her tone entirely flat. "It already happened. What's the point of crying over it?"

Julian reached out and patted her head. "Good. That's my good wife."

The moment his fingers brushed her hair, her phone vibrated on the table.

A bank notification chimed loudly in the quiet living room—a twenty-thousand-dollar transfer had just hit her account. The sound was piercingly crisp.

Hazel didn't even bat an eye, continuing to chew her food.

"Sweetheart, don't be sad anymore. Go buy yourself something nice today. Consider it a gift from your husband."

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