Kazaf turned back toward the door, curiosity piqued by the audacity of whoever had entered his room uninvited.
There in front of him, a woman stepped boldly inside, moving as though the space belonged to her.
She was striking—so striking that even Kazaf, who had seen more than his fair share of beautiful women, paused for a second look.
Her cheeks were puffed with indignation, her damp black hair clung to her fair skin as though she had just stepped out of the shower.
Her eyes were bright and clear, except for the dark pupils that caught the light in a mesmerizing way.
A pointed nose, lips slightly parted in outrage that only heightened her allure, the proud swell of her bosom, the graceful curve of her round hips, and the long line of her legs made her look as if fate itself had sculpted her to test a man's resolve.
Kazaf's lips curved into a half-smile.
"Well, good afternoon, Rosebud. I didn't realize the Grand Victoria Hotel provided this kind of… facility as well.
What a service. By the way—" He gave her a playful bow, his voice dripping with mockery and charm.
"—I'm Kazaf."
From the first glance, Kazaf had already identified her as the woman from the CCTV footage back at the airport—the one who had accidentally swapped his suitcase—but he still wanted to mess with her.
Jasmine's brows knitted tighter. Her voice snapped like a whip at his words.
Did he actually think she was an escort, coming here to keep him company?
"I don't care what your name is. I just want my suitcase back. Right now."
Kazaf raised a brow, unbothered by her tone.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute… has anyone ever told you that you have fascinating eyes?"
She was taken aback by his comment, then her irritation flared instantly.
"What nonsense are you spouting? Give me back my suitcase this instant—or I swear I'll call security for theft!"
Jasmine marched toward the small table by the wall, reaching for the phone.
She had already realized this man was trouble and didn't want to waste another second here with him.
Kazaf shrugged off his coat with deliberate slowness, resting it over his shoulder as he began walking toward her, his other hand slowly unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt, showing his bare chest.
His movements were unhurried, feline, each step calculated to test her nerves.
"What are you doing? Don't you dare come closer! Stay right there—I said don't come any closer!"
She pointed a finger at him like a weapon, retreating step by step until the back of her legs brushed against the bedframe.
Kazaf stopped, tilting his head slightly, his amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Madam, let's set the record straight first. You're the thief here."
Jasmine's jaw dropped.
"What did you just say?"
"You left the airport before me after taking my suitcase.
I had to stay at the Lost and Found for nearly an hour trying to sort out the mess you caused. Meanwhile, you were busy prying into my personal life through my belongings."
Her indignation faltered.
"That's not true—I didn't—" She stammered, words catching in her throat.
"Don't tell me you didn't open it. How else would you know it wasn't yours? I'm sure you went through my things.
People always do. Curiosity is irresistible… especially for someone with eyes like yours."
Jasmine's lips parted, but no retort came. Realization struck her. He was right.
She had grabbed the suitcase at the carousel without checking carefully, while this man had been stuck at the airport sorting through the confusion.
Kazaf's eyes glinted, his voice smooth as velvet.
"So if anyone's the thief here… it's you."
"Stop saying that, I am not a thief!" Jasmine's voice rose, her chest heaving with emotion.
She took a step forward, as though proximity might strengthen her point.
"I just… I didn't realize it wasn't mine."
"Oh?" Kazaf's smirk deepened.
"So when I call you a thief, you protest. But you didn't hesitate to throw that word at me moments ago.
Seems a little unfair, don't you think?"
Jasmine bristled, raising her chin in defiance.
"But I didn't steal it! Well… I'm sorry," she added in a low voice, barely a whisper.
Kazaf chuckled, low and unhurried.
"No, no, no need to apologize. The airport staff already told me—things like this happen sometimes, especially with identical luggage."
He stepped closer and closer, and instinctively she backed away.
Their movements mirrored one another, like a dance of predator and prey.
"But if you really want to make up for your mistake…"
His voice dropped lower, playful yet edged with suggestion. In one smooth motion, he caught her wrist and guided her down onto the bed. His grip was firm but not painful.
"You could stay here for the night."
Jasmine's eyes blazed with fury.
"What?! You bastard!"
She jerked free with surprising strength and sprang up from the bed as though his touch had burned her.
Her cheeks flushed with anger and shame—though something else stirred beneath it.
She hated that she had felt guilty for accusing him just a moment ago, only now to realize he wasn't innocent at all—rather, a wolf waiting for the right chance to strike his next prey.
"Stay away from me!"
Kazaf leaned back, unruffled, watching her with amused detachment.
"Feisty. I like that."
Jasmine's pulse quickened despite herself. Shaking off the thought, she bolted toward the door, her heart hammering.
Behind her, Kazaf's laugh echoed—rich and amused.
"What about the suitcase swap then?" he called after her.
"I'll wait for you in the hallway!" she snapped back, fumbling for the handle and slipping out before he could say another word.
Kazaf's laughter followed her.
"But you didn't tell me your name!" he shouted, entertained by his own provocation.
"Go to hell!" Jasmine's voice rang from the hallway as she slammed the door behind her.
The lock clicked, sealing her escape.
She pressed her back against the cool wall, her pulse racing, cheeks still hot.
One thing was certain—staying in that room with Kazaf any longer would have been asking for her death… or something dangerously close to it.