Chapter 5: A Fragile Peace

Hailey POV

I feel like shit.

I must have complained endlessly—though mostly to myself, not out loud. Apparently, that’s what I do best: silently drown in thoughts while pretending I’m fine.

She kept talking, but her words drifted into the background, muffled by the fog in my head.

“I want to blame you,” she said finally, voice steady and sharp, “but I can’t. I would not. I understand—or at least I think I do. It would’ve gone better if you had said something. Although…” she paused, eyes narrowing, “…I like the outcome of this one. Not just for you. Regardless, his blood would’ve flown if that’s what you wanted.”

Her tone was firm, filled with a heat that sounded like it had been brewing long before I even brought him up.

My lips twitched to the left, fighting the urge to say what we both already knew—she hated him.

“I need to get the hell out of here,” I muttered, shifting on the bed. “Call the doctor.”

“The f**k you are.”

I froze.

She rolled her eyes, exhaled, then burst out, “I’ll call the doctor, yes—but not to get you out.”

I frowned, confused. “I’ve been here for a week.”

A week. Seven long days of IV drips, stale air, and too many questions I still didn’t want to answer. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard echoes of his voice, the distant screams—too loud, too close.

“Yes,” she nodded, bending to pick up a package I hadn’t noticed on the floor. “And you’ll need another week. Lay down and eat.”

“What’s that?” I asked, trying to keep my tone flat, but the growl of my stomach betrayed me. The smell hit me first—savoury, warm, familiar. My mouth watered before I even saw it.

I stretched my neck to get a peek, immediately regretting it. Pain shot through me like lightning. I groaned softly and rubbed the back of my neck. When I looked up, she was staring at me.

“You eat tube food,” she said, grinning. “Come on. Dive in.”

•••••••••

Days blurred into each other until the scent of antiseptic faded and was replaced by Zoey’s vanilla candles—or at least what I thought was vanilla. I wasn’t in the hospital anymore. I knew that the moment the silence started to feel safe.

I looked around, trying to make sense of the dim light creeping through the blinds. The faint glow painted the room in soft gold, catching on the pale curtains.

I shuffled out of bed, already regretting my decision. My curiosity always got me in trouble. My survival instinct? Buried somewhere below hell.

The marble floor was cold against my bare feet.

Where am I?

The creak of a door opening and closing made me freeze mid-step—one foot on the floor, the other suspended in the air. I held my breath, listening.

Nothing.

Weird.

A grumbling stomach broke the silence, betraying me again. Perfect.

“Lee?”

The sound of light footsteps drew closer to me. The door, which had been slightly ajar, pushed open to reveal Zoey—sleepy-eyed, messy bun perched on top of her head, holding a cup that I’d bet my life was filled with coffee. She was addicted, though she’d never admit it. According to her, caffeine kept her “sharp and alive.” I wondered who needed to be that alive at three in the morning.

The darkness swallowed everything—except her.

“Huh?” My brain finally caught up, and my body relaxed.

“I said you’re hungry,” she mumbled, rubbing one eye. “That was loud as hell.”

“Yeah, embarrass me, Zo.”

I got up, stretching carefully, and walked past her, recognising the familiar layout of her house. The scent of her lavender detergent clung to the walls.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a chuckle.

I narrowed my eyes at her, even though she probably couldn’t see me in the dim light.

“What are you even doing awake at this time? It’s late.”

She slurped her drink and set the mug down on the counter. “It’s fifteen minutes past three in the morning. I’m up for work.” She gave me a pointed look. “I could ask you the same—but your body already told me. Sugar’s in the pantry, to your left.”

She didn’t even glance up from her MacBook, fingers flying across the keys. She just knew.

I mumbled a thanks, reaching for the sugar jar, stirring it into my tea.

“Work?” I asked, setting the cup down and walking closer.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I’ve got a defence coming up. Been working on it for weeks. Then you—” she looked up, lips folding into a small pout that made her look about ten years younger, “—happened.”

“I’m so sorry, Zo. I’ll make—”

“Nope,” she interrupted quickly, waving her hand. “That’s not what we’re doing. Actually, you helped me. I needed a break, and your… situation forced me to take one. It’s helping.” She gave me a tired smile. “So yeah, you paid me back.”

I exhaled, my shoulders slumping.

I shouldn’t be alive. That much was clear from the way Zoey sometimes looked at me—like she was scared I might disappear again if she blinked.

I loved her for that. But it also made me feel indebted.

I needed something to do—anything to keep from sinking into the quiet dread that followed me like a shadow.

I picked up my cup, letting the warmth soak into my palms—a small, fragile comfort.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

She shook her head. “No sulking. You’re staying with me for a while.”

She smiled knowingly before I could protest. “It’s final. The doctor said so.”

She patted my shoulder as she walked past me.

“So what am I supposed to do?” I asked. “I can’t just stay here doing nothing. I don’t have a job. I don’t even think I’m fit for one right now.”

“That’s why I’m here.” She grinned over her shoulder. “You rest until the doctor clears you. And if you’re desperate to work, you can be my PA.”

I scoffed. “You’re kidding.”

“Sadly, no. You’re good at making pasta. I set kitchens on fire. Pick your role.”

“Oh wow,” I said, wiggling my fingers dramatically. “Zo’s letting me do something. The world must be ending.”

“You’re indisposed at the moment,” she said primly, pouring more coffee. “Once you’re back on your feet, we’ll see how quickly the roles reverse.”

I laughed, genuinely this time.

“So what, I make pasta forever?”

“If I could make that happen, yes.” She grinned. “My PA job comes with perks, you know.”

“Like what?” I asked, turning the gas on and putting a pan to boil.

“Well,” she said, pretending to count her fingers, “you get paid handsomely. You work remotely. You stay with me. And—” she took a long sip “—you get to listen to my sparkling humour.”

I raised a brow. “A million dollars, then.”

She smirked. “And I’ll throw in a trip to the Maldives.”

We looked at each other, then burst into laughter so loud it almost sent the pasta flying off the stove.

When we finally calmed down, I started the sauce—oil, chopped onions, and bell peppers. The sizzling sound filled the kitchen, blending with Zoey’s humming.

I added my secret ingredient, stirring slowly, letting the aroma rise.

Zoey poured orange juice into two glasses, adding ice cubes that clinked softly.

“Dig in,” I said, setting the plates down. “I’ll join you.”

She smiled but paused to pull out a bottle of wine.

“What’s the wine for?” I asked, half amused, half suspicious.

“Live a little, babe. Pour it in your cup.”

I shook my head, but I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. I knew she needed this—the normalcy, the laughter. Maybe I did too.

Minutes into our meal, she broke the silence.

“We’re going out,” she said suddenly, pointing her fork at me. “Alcohol and all. You need to loosen up.”

“What?” My fork froze halfway to my mouth. “Zoey, the doctor—”

“She doesn’t have to know.”

She winked.

But I wasn't sure if I was ready to see the world—or let it see me.