Chapter 02

Hazel stared at her reflection in the small mirror on the corner of her desk.

A face without makeup, pale skin, and brown eyes that were painfully honest in a world that wasn’t. She pulled her hair back, adjusting her simple white blouse and oversized gray blazer. Nothing special. But strangely, her heart beat faster than usual.

Hazel gently patted her chest, trying to calm herself.

As she closed her laptop and hurried toward the door, she glanced out the office window. The sky in Herlington was cloudy, but the sun pierced through the clouds, as though shining directly on her — as if the world knew that today would change everything.

As usual, the sky in Herlington that afternoon was gray, as if the city was holding its breath along with Hazel Quinn. The black tabloid office car stopped in front of the Grand Bellagio Hotel, the towering glass building with its reflective surface seeming to mirror a world too expensive for a small-time tabloid journalist to enter.

Hazel stood on the sidewalk, staring at the revolving glass doors for a long moment. Her hand gripped a folder and a small recorder, her heart pounding like a war drum.

It reminded her of the first time she met a source.

“Calm down, it’s just an interview,” she whispered to herself.

But even she knew that the lie was too thin to be believed.

As soon as she stepped inside, the scent of white lilies and sandalwood immediately filled her senses. The marble floor gleamed, crystal chandeliers softly lit the room, and everyone passing by looked like they had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Hazel swallowed hard — her blazer jacket felt even bigger.

A receptionist escorted her upstairs to a private suite that had been reserved for the interview.

Hazel wasn’t prepared when the door opened.

Her heart raced, more frightening than when she first started working in this field.

The room was large, with large windows overlooking the city, and in the center stood a figure who made time seem to stop.

Diego Ronan Blake.

Wow! He was even more handsome than on screen. His exotic skin and his body posture… Hazel was completely captivated. Bewitched by his good looks.

Hazel, focus… focus… she reminded herself.

Diego wore a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the veins on his hands, emphasizing the maturity of a man. The afternoon light fell on his face — a strong jawline, deep gray-green eyes that seemed to stare right into her soul.

Hazel froze.

In an instant, the air in her lungs was gone.

His dominant aura paralyzed her nerves, overwhelming her sense of awareness. But Hazel had to stay professional.

A wild flash crossed her mind, the gleam of his sweaty skin, his lips trailing down her neck, heavy breath whispering in her ear.

Fragments of last night's dream came crashing in like a storm — too fast, too hot, until she had to look down, hiding the flush on her cheeks.

“Miss Quinn?” Diego’s voice was low and hoarse, exactly the same as in the dream.

Hazel almost bit her tongue to make sure she was truly awake.

“Yes, I’m… from Herlington Daily Buzz,” she said nervously. “Thank you for taking the time.”

Diego gave a faint smile. “I don’t have much time, so let’s begin.”

Of course, you don’t have much time, Mr. Blake!

His tone was polite but cold, like someone used to keeping the world at a distance. He sat on a leather sofa by the window, legs crossed, exuding an undeniable charisma. Hazel turned on the recorder, trying to push the image of his body beneath hers from her mind, a body that had screamed and surrendered to him in her dream.

But just as she asked her first question, Diego stared at her longer than necessary.

The gaze — sharp, deep, and strangely… familiar.

Hazel could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, just like in the dream when the man had stared at her before pulling her into his embrace.

“How long have you worked at that tabloid?” he suddenly asked.

Hazel tried to stay focused. “Four years. I started as an intern during college.”

“Four years,” Diego repeated slowly, as if recalling something. “Still young to be writing about other people’s lives.”

Silence hung in the air. Hazel swallowed hard, every second that passed felt like a strange déjà vu.

Then Diego leaned in slightly. “Have we… met before?”

Hazel smiled, Yes, but in a dream, she answered quickly, but only in her head.

Because honestly, that question hit Hazel like an electric shock.

She looked at him, and behind his cold stare, she seemed to see a reflection of the dream — her tense back beneath his grip, the hoarse voice calling her name.

Hazel’s gaze unconsciously fell on Diego’s hands, clasped in his lap. Those long fingers looked calm, but for some reason, Hazel’s body still remembered exactly what it felt like to be touched by such large, hot hands — even though it should have just been a dream.

Hazel forced her lips to move. “I… I’m not sure.”

Her voice trembled, but she gave a faint smile, trying to keep the distance between them that was starting to dissolve.

She wanted to admit that she was just a small-time journalist who usually interviewed mid-level celebrities, but clearly, that would be unethical and would ruin the tabloid’s reputation for sending a lowly reporter to interview a Diego Ronan Blake.

Diego stared at her for a long time, too long. “Funny,” he said slowly. “Because it feels like I’ve… been close to you before.”

Hazel forced a small laugh to ease her nerves, staring at the recorder on the table. “Maybe I’ve covered one of your events. I often cover gala locations.”

“Yeah,” Diego said, his eyes still fixed on her, “maybe.”

But the vibration in his voice didn’t sound certain.

And Hazel knew, behind that stare, there was something trying to emerge from beneath the surface, something she couldn’t admit without sounding crazy: that they might have really met, but not in the same world.

The interview session felt strange, every formal question turning into an aimless conversation. Diego occasionally answered, but more often than not, he stayed silent, observing her.

Outside, the sky grew darker. The twilight light filtered through the curtains, falling on Hazel’s face, highlighting her brown eyes that trembled between nervousness and curiosity.

And in that moment, Diego looked at her with an intensity that made her want to look away, but she couldn’t.

That gaze was not that of a celebrity being interviewed.

It was the gaze of someone who remembered.

Hazel swallowed, and for a moment, she felt as though last night’s dream hadn’t ended.

Maybe, she thought with a mix of dread and temptation, that dream was just beginning to become real.

There was something in the way Diego looked at her — calm, but deep, as if he knew something that should have only been in his mind.

Hazel awkwardly smiled, trying to maintain a safe distance, but the faint smile on the man in front of her felt like it was swallowing her whole.

Or... maybe it was just how she felt?

For some reason, that feeling lingered longer than it should have, like the remnants of a dream refusing to disappear, even after she had truly woken up.