She really was kind… and innocent.
Not the kind of false innocence or politeness he had assumed in the beginning, not an act to gain sympathy or make herself look good. No—Bella's kindness was the quiet, effortless kind that didn't need an audience. The kind that came naturally to her, without expecting anything in return.
A flicker of guilt stirred in his chest as memories slipped in uninvited—sharp moments from their past that now felt heavier than before. He remembered the way he had once snapped at her, accusing her of complaining about him to his mother when she hadn't. The way he had deliberately kept his distance, insisting she address him formally as "sir" rather than "Leo."
He had thought he was keeping boundaries, that he was protecting himself from… something. But now, sitting in the soft orange wash of the streetlight outside, he realized how unfair he'd been.
