Hazel didn't eavesdrop.
She told herself that multiple times as she stood just outside the living room, clutching her coffee like it could anchor her spinning mind. She wasn't the jealous type. She didn't do insecurities. She was Hazel Graze—cute, chaotic, and impossible to replace.
But damn, Ava Langford was intimidating.
Inside, Michael sat stiffly across from his ex, the air between them electric in a way Hazel didn't like. Ava crossed her legs like she owned the world. Her voice was honey-slick and controlled.
"I was in town for business," Ava said. "And I saw your name in the news—Graze Industries expanding again. I thought… maybe it was time to check in."
Michael's expression didn't shift. "There's nothing to check in on."
"You really married her?" Ava asked, lips twitching. "An arranged marriage, Michael? That's not you."
"You stopped knowing what was 'me' a long time ago," he said coolly.
Ava's voice dropped an octave. "You're really going to pretend like we didn't have something real?"
Michael's jaw flexed. "We did. Then you chose your career. You left."
"I didn't leave you, Michael. I left your expectations."
He stood abruptly. "This isn't a conversation we're having anymore. I'm married. I'm building something new."
"With her?"
That was Hazel's cue.
She stepped in, letting the balcony door slam a little louder than necessary. Both heads turned.
Hazel strolled in barefoot, her robe loose, hair messy and kissable.
"Morning, sunshine," she said to Michael, sauntering over and pressing a kiss to his jaw—deliberate, slow. "Miss me?"
Michael blinked, stunned by her sudden closeness. But when Hazel wrapped her arms around his waist, he caught on quickly. His hand slid instinctively to her hip. "Every second."
Hazel turned to Ava, her smile sharp. "Still here?"
Ava stood, her composure cracking just slightly. "Enjoy your fairytale, Hazel. But don't forget—men like Michael don't change."
Hazel tilted her head. "No. But sometimes, they fall. Hard. And when they do, it's never for someone who walks away."
Ava's eyes flared before she stormed out, heels echoing down the hall.
Hazel waited until the door clicked shut.
Then stepped back.
Michael turned to her, searching her face. "Are you okay?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"I was never going to let her back in."
Hazel nodded. "Good. Because I was this close to throwing hands."
He chuckled, then fell quiet. "You were jealous."
"Just a little." She shrugged. "She's tall, terrifying, and talks like a Bond villain. I'm human."
Michael stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "You didn't have to do that. Step in. Play the part."
Hazel looked up at him, voice soft. "I wasn't playing."
Silence. Heavy. Tense.
Then—he kissed her.
Not out of obligation. Not because they were pretending.
Because he wanted to.
It started slow. Testing. But the moment her fingers curled into his shirt, something ignited. Michael deepened the kiss, pulling her flush against him. Hazel gasped against his lips, heart pounding.
For once, neither of them needed words.
Because in that moment, their war turned into fire.
And fire never asked for permission.