The penthouse buzzed with tension like static in the air. Outside, reporters gathered in droves, cameras flashing, microphones raised, desperate for a quote. The Graze name was a wildfire — and Hazel was right at the center of it.
Connor peered out the window. "They're not leaving. City wants blood."
Michael paced by the fireplace, his phone pressed to his ear as he barked orders at his legal team, publicists, and security heads. He was all hard lines, sharp edges — the businessman at war.
Hazel, however, lounged on the sofa like she owned the world.
Wearing a silk robe, hair half-tamed, she scrolled through social media feeds on her tablet, watching clips of last night's shootout circulating with dramatic music edits and captions like:
"Michael & Hazel Graze: Love, Guns, and Vengeance."
Another post read:
"Deadliest Power Couple? Meet the city's new royalty."
She grinned, sipping her coffee. "We're trending, babe."
Michael glanced over, exasperated. "This isn't a good thing, Hazel."
She shrugged. "Why? The city's obsessed with us now. Half of them want to see me fall, the other half want to be me. It's intoxicating."
Connor chuckled. "She's not wrong."
Michael growled, running a hand down his face. "The Crowe girl is a problem."
Connor nodded. "She's vanished off-grid after dropping that note."
Hazel's smile faded. "She'll come after me."
Michael crossed the room in two strides, cupping Hazel's chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I won't let her get to you."
She smirked, eyes gleaming. "You won't have to. I'm going to handle this."
Connor snorted. "Boss, I hate to break it to you, but your wife's a little terrifying."
Hazel winked. "Thank you."
Michael sighed. "You are not confronting her alone."
Hazel tilted her head. "Watch me."
**
An hour later, Eleanor Graze stood at the penthouse entrance, supervising as her stylists and image consultants flooded the room. "If we're going to do damage control," she declared, "we do it on our terms."
Hazel resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Eleanor's assistant tried to pin her hair back. "Don't touch me."
The assistant froze.
Eleanor arched a brow. "Hazel, darling, appearances matter."
Hazel rose, walking over until she stood toe-to-toe with Michael's mother. "I don't play nice for cameras. And I don't pretend to be something I'm not."
Eleanor studied her — then, unexpectedly, smirked. "You're more dangerous than I gave you credit for."
Connor leaned in to Michael. "Kinda hot, right?"
Michael shot him a glare. "Shut up."
**
The Press Conference
At noon sharp, the doors of the Graze building opened.
Michael stood at the podium, flawless in a dark tailored suit, a practiced mask of calm and power.
Hazel, beside him, wore a blood-red dress that clung to her curves, lips painted a matching crimson. Every step she took screamed lethal elegance.
The reporters surged forward.
"Mr. Graze, did you order the hit on Leo Crane?"
"Hazel, were you armed last night?"
"Are you the new Queenpin of the city underworld?"
Michael opened his mouth to respond.
Hazel raised a hand.
The crowd fell silent.
She stepped forward, the cameras locking on her. "Let's be clear — no one controls me. Not Leo Crane. Not Michael Graze. Not the press. If someone threatens my family, I don't hesitate."
The reporters scribbled furiously.
Hazel's voice dropped, lethal and calm. "We've cleaned this city before. And we'll do it again."
Someone shouted, "What about Isabelle Crowe?"
Hazel's smile was ice. "She should start running."
Gasps.
Connor muttered, "Jesus, she's a menace."
Michael's lips twitched in a grudging smirk.
Hazel turned back to him as the conference ended and the reporters were herded out.
"See? That wasn't so bad," she teased.
Michael pulled her against him, his voice low. "You're going to drive me insane."
She grinned, tugging at his tie. "You love it."
He did.
**
Later That Night
A private message arrived.
A single text.
Unknown Number: You should've killed me when you had the chance.
A photo attached.
Of Hazel.
Taken earlier that day.
From a sniper's vantage point.
Michael's blood turned to ice.
Hazel, reading over his shoulder, merely smiled. "Looks like she wants to play."
Michael gritted his teeth. "This ends tomorrow."
Hazel stepped into his space, smirking up at him. "Dibs on pulling the trigger."
Michael growled, grabbing her by the waist and hauling her up for a kiss that was all teeth and fire.
Because if there was one thing deadlier than Isabelle Crowe…
It was Hazel Graze on a warpath....