Hazel's playful question lingered in the air, "Are you a human or a vampire?"
The music in the background heightened the seductive atmosphere, a symphony that seemed to underscore the clandestine dance unfolding in the room.
In response to Hazel's inquiry, Francisco, his patience waning, seized her hair and pulled her towards him. A soft whimper escaped her lips, blending with the seductive rhythm echoing from the background. The room swirled with an intoxicating blend of music and tension.
"You really annoyed me, Hazel."
Francisco declared, his voice resonating with a veiled frustration. Hazel, her eyes barely able to open, registered his words amidst the blurred surroundings. The enticing melody seemed to cloud her senses, creating an ethereal realm where reality and desire intertwined.
As Francisco spoke, Hazel felt his hot breath against her neck. A shiver traversed her spine as a sharp pain pierced her collarbone.
She let out a low groan, the boundary between pleasure and pain blurring in the enchanting ambiance.
Before consciousness slipped away, she uttered Rafael's name in a soft moan.
"Rafael!"
The name lingered in the air, a whispered plea that resonated with an inexplicable longing. Hazel's voice, muffled by the intoxicating atmosphere, echoed softly once more.
Two piercing blue eyes rose, locking onto Hazel, but the lips remained pressed against her skin.
"Rafael!"
Francisco's heavy voice echoed.
Francisco, a storm of conflicting emotions in his gaze, looked down at Hazel, her eyes closed in a peaceful slumber. Gripping her tightly, he leaned over her, his lips dangerously close to hers.
"Why do you keep calling his name?"
Francisco questioned, his frustration palpable in the tense air. Resolute, he picked her up, placing her gently on the bed.
Leaning over Hazel's sleepy face, Francisco's stern expression remained. He smashed her lips with his thumb, disrupting the perfection of her lip gloss. His words cut through the quietude, "Do you really know him, or is it just sudden?"
Francisco, grappling with the demons of his own emotions, rubbed Hazel's lips for a moment.
His frustration erupted in a raw confession, "I hate it when you call out that bastard's name, Hazel."
His face remained stern as he stood beside her, a silent battle raging within.
Tugging at his hair in a display of frustration, he aggressively loosened his tie. Summoning a maid with an imperious gesture, he sought to divert his turbulent emotions.
As Francisco heard the insistent knock on the door, he rose from the couch, clapping once. The door, responding to the signal, slid open automatically, revealing a maid standing in the doorway.
"Change her dress," Francisco ordered, his tone authoritative and unwavering.
"Yes, master," the maid replied, bowing her head respectfully.
"You have 2 minutes," Francisco added, setting a brisk pace toward the corridor. He retrieved his phone, dialing the number of a trusted man, Liam, whom Francisco had sent on an important mission.
Upon Liam's response, Francisco issued his instructions, "I am sending you a mail. Check it out. Find out if she is related to that man."
The voice from the other end affirmed, "Yes, master."
Francisco disconnected the call and swiftly sent a mail, attaching pictures of both Hazel and Rafael. The images, frozen moments captured in pixels, held the potential to unravel the threads of the enigmatic connection between the two individuals.
Francisco, glancing at his wristwatch, noted the passage of time. As the two minutes approached, he made his way back to the room. Upon opening the door, he found the maid adjusting the blanket on Hazel's peaceful form.
The maid turned to him, a gesture of completion in her submissive demeanor.
"It's done, master," she reported, head lowered.
"Hmm."
Francisco responded, acknowledging her statement. The maid exited the room, leaving Francisco alone with Hazel. He locked the door behind her departure, the click echoing in the room.
Moving toward the bed, Francisco placed his wristwatch on the table.
The contrast between her tranquil slumber and the complexities that surrounded her intrigued Francisco.
His cold fingers lightly touched her skin, a gentle caress that betrayed the turbulence within. Francisco, gazing at Hazel with a mixture of fascination and possession, whispered words into the quiet room.
"I want to cage you," he admitted, his tone a reflection of an inner conflict.
"But I somehow like to see the free bird fly, until the bird deceives me."
Hazel appeared as a metaphorical free bird to Francisco.
"But," he continued, his thoughts vocalized in the hushed room, "until the bird deceives me."
"You are a free bird," he mused, his jaw tightening with an underlying tension.
"I hope you won't do anything that breaks my trust."
**
Max lay on the couch, a stoic figure, as Diana meticulously bandaged his hand.
Diana, focused on her task, spoke in a calm tone after completing the bandaging, "You should leave now. I am done with my work."
Max, feeling the weight of her words, released a heavy sigh. Diana, her gaze fixed on her task, remained composed and unfazed by his response. Max shifted on the couch, moving his hand away from his head to observe her.
Breaking the quietness, he proposed, "Let's go home, or Francisco will ask me questions."
Diana, still not turning to meet his gaze, continued her work.
"No, he won't."
"I know him. He gives me the permission to do whatever I want, and he knows about the apartment. So, you don't have to make an excuse about it," she asserted.
"I am not making an excuse. There is no security. Anything could happen to you; I can't take the risk," Max asserted, his words laced with a protective concern.
Diana, however, responded with an annoying sigh, her hand touching her forehead in a gesture of exasperation.
"We have a lot of enemies, and you know that too," Max added, the softness in his tone carrying the weight of their shared history.
Diana stood up, holding the medicine box.
"I will be fine."
"You can leave me alone," she declared, her words final and resolute.
As Diana moved away, a sense of weariness emanated from her. She gave a lot of time to Max, but it seemed he would not give her the support that she wanted. At that point she needed one whom she could move on.
Diana, determined to put distance between herself and Max, advanced toward her bedroom.
However, just as she was about to retreat, a violent crash shattered the uneasy calm.A vase slammed against the wall, mere inches from Diana. Startled, she turned sharply to find Max seated on the couch, the bandage on his hand now stained red.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Diana's voice, raised and filled with exasperation, reverberated in the room. Max, his jaw clenched, met her gaze with a gaze that held a blend of determination and defiance.
"So Ben will come here, right?"
Max's words cut through the charged air, his suspicions laid bare.
"What did you see in him?"
Max, standing on his feet, took measured steps toward Diana, paying no heed to the shattered pieces of the vase now littering the floor. Blood mingled with the wreckage, a visual testament to the escalating conflict. Diana, her eyes widening in alarm, stammered, "Don't come."
Ignoring her plea, Max continued his approach, relentless in his pursuit of answers. He halted only when he stood face to face with Diana, their eyes locking in a silent battle of wills.
"I can take thousands of lives for you."
Diana, her eyes narrowed in response to Max's declaration, didn't hesitate to assert, "That's the difference between you and him. He knows how to save lives."
Max, taking a moment to absorb her words, gazed at Diana and replied, "I can give my life for you. Can he do that?"
"You can only talk about killing people, can you stop it, Max?" Diana's sudden outburst resonated in the room, a plea for Max to reconsider his methods.
Max, unmoved by her outburst, kept his gaze fixed on her for a moment and spoke with a matter-of-fact tone, "It seems you don't help us when we torture our enemies, right?"
The weight of unspoken truths hung in the air as Diana lowered her gaze, acknowledging her role in the darker aspects of their world.
Without waiting for her response, Max turned away. Diana, looking up at him, couldn't help but ask, "Where are you going?"
"My destination."
Diana, concern etched on her face, stammered, "Your... Your feet are bleeding."
"This small cut is my everyday routine."