~Jennie’s~

“Do you really expect me to eat this beige mess and pretend it’s breakfast?” I glare at the sad little tray on my lap like it personally offended me.

Leo smirks from the windowsill. His sleeves are rolled up. His tie is off. He’s got bedhead, and I realize he probably didn’t sleep at all. Again.

“Hospital gourmet,” he shrugs, folding his arms. “Five-star soggy toast, one Michelin-star rubber egg, and a fruit cup that expired in 2017.”

I let out a small laugh—just a breath—but even that makes my ribs hurt. My chest still feels tight. My head pounds every few minutes. And my belly… my belly is...