Diana sat quietly beside Hazel. Her voice was soft, coaxing.
"You need to eat something."
Hazel didn't respond. She kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge the world around her.
Diana looked toward Lily, hoping for help.
"Do you have any women's dresses here?" she asked.
Lily shook her head.
"Master already ordered everything; it will come soon," she said.
"Then give me his shirt or anything," Diana replied.
Lily nodded and stepped out, leaving the room in a heavy silence.
Diana turned back to Hazel, whose face remained blank, her gaze distant. She looked like someone who had stopped expecting comfort.
Diana leaned in a little.
"If you don't eat, you can't get up."
Still, Hazel didn't move. Her silence screamed louder than any cry.
Diana hesitated, then spoke again, "I just want to say, if you need to save yourself, you have to listen to Francisco."
She took a breath, choosing her words carefully.
"He told me to feed you. So please eat something before he comes here."
Hazel swallowed, her throat tight. Even that small movement showed her pain.
"Hazel!" Diana's voice cracked slightly. "I don't want to force you."
Just then, Lily returned holding a folded shirt.
"Ma'am!" she said, handing it to Diana.
Diana took it and offered it to Hazel with a gentle hand.
"Wear it, please."
Hazel's jaw tightened. Her eyes sharpened with quiet defiance. After a pause, her voice came low and steady.
"I would be naked, but still I would not embrace his warmth."
Diana stood slowly, the shirt still in her hand. She exhaled deeply, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes darkened... not at Hazel, but at the man who had put them both in this position.
She looked away, the weight of everything pressing down on her shoulders. Then, quietly, she stepped back from the bed.
"He told me not to force you, but you also don't give me an option," Diana said, her voice tight. Her eyes flicked to Lily, silently instructing her to stay in the room.
Without another word, Diana turned and walked out. Her steps were firm, but her heart pounded. She didn't want to make the call... but she had to.
An hour later, Francisco returned. Hazel had left him no room to maneuver.
In his absence, the items he had ordered for Hazel arrived... neatly arranged in the room by the maids, just as he had instructed.
Outside the bedroom, Diana stood waiting. Her arms were crossed, her expression a mix of defeat and irritation. When Francisco approached, she didn't wait.
"I could not even feed her; you said not to force her," she said sharply. "She even denied wearing your clothes."
Francisco kept his face unreadable. One brow lifted.
"Really?"
Diana's restraint cracked. "She hates you, Francisco," she sighed, shaking her head.
Diana didn't hold back.
"Why did you do that? You had plenty of girls, but why her? You know you are playing with fire."
Her words carried a warning. She knew what Hazel could do.
Francisco remained silent, jaw clenched.
As the weight of it all settled on her, Diana pressed her lips together. The danger became painfully clear. Hazel wasn't just a victim... she was an officer. She could expose everything.
Diana exhaled sharply.
"Whatever it is, I will get her a dress."
She turned to go, but Francisco's voice cut through the air.
"No!"
Diana froze. She turned back, eyes narrowing.
"No? What do you mean by no?"
Francisco's reply was low, cold.
"She has to feel my warmth first."
The words sent a chill down Diana's spine. Her face drained of color.
"Francisco!" she gasped.
But he didn't stop. He stepped past her, opened the door, and looked directly at Hazel. His eyes never left her.
"Lily, out," he said, his voice firm.
Lily hesitated, then stepped out of the room. Francisco closed the door behind her. The lock clicked into place with a sharp finality.
Diana stood outside, frozen, her hands clenched at her sides.
'Francisco, why are you doing this?' she thought, her expression tight with dread.
Hazel's gaze stayed locked on a distant point as Francisco asked casually, "Don't want to eat?"
Tossing his coat onto the bed, he added, "I heard you don't like my warmth, my scent."
Hazel didn't respond. She simply closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if bracing herself to tolerate the presence of the man who had become her tormentor.
Francisco ignored her silence.
"Come on, eat."
He picked up a bowl of soup from the table, blew on it gently to cool it, then sat beside her. Scooping a spoonful, he held it out.
"It's not hot; you can eat."
Hazel clenched her jaw, her body stiff with refusal. With a sudden swipe, she knocked his hand away. The soup splashed across his shirt.
He glanced down at the stain, then back at her. Hazel sat up on the bed, wrapping the blanket tighter around her chest. Her eyes burned with silent defiance.
Francisco wiped the soup from his shirt.
Then he stripped the shirt off, revealing reddened skin where the soup had spilled.
Hazel's breath came faster, but she stayed silent.
Francisco picked up the bowl again and stepped closer with quiet confidence.
"You are problematic," he said, a strange glint in his eyes.
"But I like problematic."
He took a sip from the bowl... then, without warning, grabbed Hazel by the hair and forced her face toward his.
Before she could react, he pressed his lips against hers, pushing the soup into her mouth.
Hazel struggled, hands pressing against his chest, trying to push him away... but he was too strong.
When he finally pulled back, he leaned in again, licking the trail of soup from her chin.
Hazel, trapped and trembling, could only endure. Her face flushed with anger, shame, and helplessness.
After a tense encounter, Francisco gave Hazel's head a light push. Their eyes locked... hers sharp with fury, his cold and unreadable.
Hazel clutched the blanket tighter, her knuckles white. She glared at him, her eyes blazing.
"Fuck you, bastard!" she spat, her voice shaking with rage.
Francisco only chuckled, clearly entertained by her anger.
"Really?"
He knelt on the bed, reached toward the blanket, and brushed it with his fingers, taunting her.
"That means you don't have a problem with my warmth."
In one swift motion, he yanked the blanket away, leaving Hazel exposed.
"Stop it!" Hazel shouted, panicked, throwing her arms over herself.
Francisco grabbed her wrist and yanked her closer.
"I like to dress you up with my warmth, Hazel," he said, his voice filled with disturbing possessiveness.
Hazel's eyes filled with tears, but there was no fear in them... only burning hatred.
Francisco noticed her struggling and suddenly paused, staring at her forehead.
"What happened to your forehead?"
"Did you hit yourself?"