Hazel fumbled with the car door, frustration on her face. She pushed at Francisco with her hands and even her knees, but he didn't move. He sat stiffly, eyes blank, lost in thought.
"Drive home. Now," Francisco said coldly.
His sharp tone snapped through the air. The driver nodded without a word, reading his boss's mood perfectly, and stepped on the gas.
"I want to go back..." Hazel muttered. "Hey, stop the car."
The driver caught her words but didn't flinch. Francisco's glare through the rearview mirror was enough of a warning—he wasn't stopping.
Hazel kept pushing. "Let me go!"
She reached for the lock again, fumbling with the handle, trying to pry it open.
The city lights blurred past, but inside the car, the tension crackled.
Francisco grabbed her wrists and yanked her close. She struggled, but her movements were clumsy, the wine dulling her balance and sense. He held her tight, his grip like steel.
"Stop moving," he muttered, voice low and edged with anger.
Hazel fought to pull free, but he didn't loosen his hold. The more she squirmed, the tighter his hands locked around her.
"I don't want to be here!" she cried, slurring her words. "I want to dance... with handsome boys!"
Francisco's jaw tightened. His eyes didn't blink as he stared at her, anger flashing beneath the surface. Her drunken defiance cut deeper than she realized, stoking the fire inside him.
Francisco's patience snapped. Hazel's constant squirming and mention of dancing with other men finally pushed him over the edge.
With a firm shove, he pinned her back against the seat, his cold stare slicing through her drunken haze.
"You really want to dance with them?" he asked, voice low and sharp.
Hazel blinked up at him, unbothered. "Yes. Rafael was hot... and muscular. I'd love to dance with him."
She giggled, legs stretching out to rest on Francisco's thighs, clearly enjoying the chaos she was creating.
Francisco's jaw tightened. Without a word, he unbuckled his belt.
Hazel's smile faded. "What... what are you doing?"
He didn't answer. He grabbed her wrists and quickly tied them with the belt.
Hazel's eyes widened. "You're so bad! Let me go!"
Francisco's tone stayed calm, almost too calm. "You'll find out where we're going... and what I'm going to do with you."
Hazel kicked her legs in protest, acting like a defiant child. "No! I don't want to go anywhere. I want to dance all night!"
Francisco ignored her outburst. He pulled her onto his lap, keeping her there as she thrashed. Her bound hands made resistance clumsy, but she didn't stop.
"Why did you tie me?" she yelled, fuming.
Francisco stayed silent, his grip steady. He leaned forward. "Drive faster," he told the driver, who immediately pressed down on the gas.
****
After a while, the car rolled to a stop in front of a grand, towering gate. Francisco's bodyguards moved in, ready to open the door—but he beat them to it.
He pushed the door open himself. The guards instinctively stepped back, sensing the shift in his mood.
Francisco stepped out, his expression cold and unreadable. In his arms, he carried Hazel like a bride—an unexpected sight that turned heads. Her limp form and his firm grip painted a picture that left even the most seasoned guards silent.
Without acknowledging the murmurs around him, Francisco walked straight into the mansion, his steps purposeful.
Inside, the maids stole glances as he passed. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The storm on his face said enough.
When he reached his bedroom, he opened the door and stepped in. The sound of the lock clicking behind him sent a ripple of curiosity through the household.
The staff exchanged hushed whispers.
"Did he finally break up with Emily?"
Their boss had never carried anyone inside like that before.
Francisco tossed Hazel onto the bed and locked the door behind him with a sharp click. She let out a soft groan as she landed, sinking into the plush mattress. Propping herself up on one elbow, she shot him a blurry glare, her eyes full of defiance and confusion.
"How dare you?" she mumbled. "How dare you bring me here?"
Francisco loosened his tie with slow, deliberate fingers. His voice was calm but sharp.
"Are you seriously questioning me? I should be the one asking—how dare you?"
Hazel grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him. It hit his chest with a dull thud. "You didn't let me dance with him!" she cried. "I wanted to dance with Rafael. Where is he?"
She threw another pillow. Then another. Each one hit its mark, but it wasn't the pillows that stung—it was the name on her lips.
Rafael.
Francisco's jaw clenched. His eyes darkened as he stepped closer.
At the edge of the bed, he caught the last pillow mid-air and dropped it. Then he grabbed Hazel's wrists, pulling her hands toward him. With one hand, he tangled his fingers in her hair, forcing her to look at him.
Their faces were inches apart.
"Why do you keep saying his name?" he growled.
Hazel let out a low groan, caught in the heat of the moment. Her blurred gaze locked onto his. She could feel his breath on her lips.
"I don't dance with drunk women," Francisco muttered.
Hazel suddenly laughed... soft at first, then louder, carefree. Still grinning, she wrapped her arms around his neck, eyes shining with drunken amusement.
"You... you're so handsome too," she whispered, smiling up at him.