Better Late, But Never His Again novel Chapter 47

She was genuinely worried he had crossed the wrong kind of people and didn't want him lingering around here to draw trouble, which was why she suggested a hotel.

Besides, considering he didn't charge a dime to restore the professor's priceless painting, she figured he wasn't exactly hurting for cash.

Zachary shot her one icy, dismissive look, picked up his belongings, and headed straight for the door without uttering a single word.

Hazel stared at his retreating back, unable to stop herself from muttering, "Not even a 'thank you' this time. Unbelievable."

Zachary's footsteps hitched for a fraction of a second, but then he yanked the front door open and vanished.

Hazel let out a long sigh. The man was as warm as a brick wall.

She walked out of the guest room to find Queenie already up, hovering near the kitchen entrance and peering down the hall. "Hazel, where did Zachary go?"

"He left," Hazel said, walking past her to start prepping breakfast. "He said he was feeling well enough to move."

Queenie still looked incredibly anxious, her brows tightly knit. "Should we report this to the police? That wound..."

"Queenie," Hazel cut her off smoothly, keeping her tone completely level. "We really shouldn't drag ourselves into whatever mess that was."

Queenie looked at her, fell silent for a few seconds, and nodded in agreement. "Alright, whatever you think is best."

Hazel pulled some fresh ingredients from the fridge and started boiling a pot of chicken soup.

Queenie sat at the dining table, watching the young woman expertly maneuver around the kitchen. Out of nowhere, she murmured, "When Charles was still alive, his absolute favorite was your homemade soup."

Hazel's hands instantly froze. The soup bubbled fiercely on the stove, the thick steam rising to blur her vision.

She vividly remembered those mornings. Every time she cooked, her mentor would stand right where Queenie was, beaming as he'd say, 'Hazel's making soup again? Well, I'm definitely having seconds.'

Now, Charles was gone.

Julian leaned in close, softly tucking a stray strand of windblown hair behind her ear before smoothing down the collar of her jacket. The gesture was so incredibly natural and intimate, they looked exactly like two people deeply in love.

Hazel watched the scene unfold, feeling a phantom prick against her ribs. She coldly withdrew her gaze, quickened her pace, and walked straight toward the entrance.

"Hazel."

Julian's voice rang out from behind her.

She stopped and slowly turned around. Julian had already closed the distance. He cast a quick glance around the busy courtyard before lowering his voice. "Come here for a second."

Hazel followed him a few steps into a quieter alcove, staring at him with a deadpan expression. "What?"

"Come home tonight," Julian stated casually, as if delivering an order.