Chapter 04

Hazel let out a relieved breath as soon as she stepped out of the hotel.

The late-afternoon air greeted her with humidity and wind, but to her it felt as if a heavy weight had just been lifted off her shoulders.

Yes… Diego was handsome.

Very handsome. Even compared to the younger stars, he was far more striking. Hazel rarely complimented anyone. But Diego was an exception. Too handsome, even. But not the kind of man she ever imagined, much less wanted.

Let alone Diego Ronan Blake—the actor and tycoon whose face decorated every billboard in Herlington—Hazel couldn’t even manage to catch the attention of her own Editor-in-Chief, a widower.

She chuckled softly, mocking herself.

“Oh God, Hazel,” she muttered, flipping her hair, “you’re not even the type for lonely middle-aged men.”

Hazel smiled as she pictured Martin with his slicked-back hair. He was handsome, sure, but nowhere close to Diego. Still, he was the beloved idol of the female employees in the office.

Even so, Diego’s image flashed again in her mind—the way he looked at her, the tone of his voice, the way he said her name as if he’d known her forever. Thinking about it sent a sudden shiver over Hazel’s skin. Something in Diego’s gestures and words earlier had made her blood thrum in a strange way.

He wasn’t like the man she saw on screen or in the media. Beneath that cold and dominant persona, there was something else.

Something… frightening.

Hazel bit her lower lip, trying to chase away the thoughts that slipped in without permission.

“He must’ve tasted plenty of pretty reporters,” she thought bitterly, yet the very image made her heartbeat quicken.

“Oh my God, Hazel, you’re insane!”

She hurried her pace, trying not to look like a woman who had just lost control of her own mind.

Once the door of her small apartment closed behind her, Hazel peeled off her oversized blazer and dropped onto the two-seater sofa in the living room.

“Finally…” she exhaled deeply.

She emptied an entire bottle of mineral water in one go, the coldness soothing the strange heat in her throat.

It wasn’t the outside air that made her feel warm—it was something else, something clinging to her ever since that meeting.

Hazel had barely turned on her laptop when her phone rang.

Martin’s name appeared on the screen—her Editor-in-Chief, the widower who had also once been her lecturer in college. A man in his forties, childless, strict but fairly reasonable.

“Hazel,” Martin’s rough voice came through, “I just got news from Diego’s manager. Apparently, he… liked his interview with you.”

Hazel nearly choked. “S—sorry, sir? Liked?”

“Yes. He said you were different,” Martin repeated in a tone of disbelief. “Whatever that means. But he even asked you to come to his film’s gala premiere tomorrow night.”

Hazel suddenly sat upright. “Me?!”

“Yes, you. Don’t be shocked; this is a rare chance. But Hazel…” his tone lowered, half-joking, half-warning, “don’t embarrass us. The theme is Earth Elemental. Wear something nice. And don’t you dare show up again in those oversized blazers and your rubber shoes.”

“I’m going with you, right? I—”

“Yeah. You’ll come with me. The gala premiere is held next week, but your exclusive interview article needs to be published beforehand since they’re separate events. Tomorrow, I need the transcript on my desk.”

Hazel huffed. She was still being pressured with assignments everyone else avoided. Yet suddenly, Hazel caught her own reflection in the window—messy hair, loose shirt, bare face.

Funny, she thought. The world really has a strange sense of humor.

She hung up the call and sat still for a moment.

Her hands were trembling slightly as she reached for her cup. Whether from excitement, nerves, or…

Why am I even feeling this? Come on, Hazel, get a grip!

Hazel closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing.

But Diego’s gaze—gray-green, sharp but warm at the edges—appeared again, uninvited.

And this time, she couldn’t deny the lingering curiosity and anticipation she felt for the upcoming gala premiere.

The night in Hazel’s apartment was quiet. Only the soft drizzle outside the window and the faint hum of her old fridge broke the silence.

Hazel sat in front of her laptop, the blank white document staring back at her like a mirror.

Usually, writing a client’s script—especially one with erotica themes—had never been difficult. She knew the formula: gentle descriptions, slow pacing, a hint of seduction.

But tonight… her fingers couldn’t stay still.

Every time she tried to type, Diego’s face appeared in her mind.

His hawk-like eyes that held mysteries yet made her feel lost at the same time.

His deep voice dragging each word like an illicit secret.

The way he’d stared at her for just a moment too long, as if he knew exactly what she hid behind her professional smile.

Hazel swallowed hard, trying to focus.

She typed the first sentence.

‘His hand brushed her skin slowly, unhurried. Not because he was unsure, but because he knew every touch would leave a mark.’

Hazel paused. Her chest rose and fell.

Her fingers moved again.

‘His breath was heavy, almost like a whisper in her ear. “Relax,” he said. But she couldn’t relax. Not after feeling a gaze that stripped away every inch of her.’

She stared at the screen for a long moment. The words flowed too easily—because everything felt real, as if the woman in the story was her.

And she realized that every word she typed, every gesture of the man in the story—was Diego.

She and Diego inside that scene.

Hazel covered her mouth, almost embarrassed. But her fingers kept dancing across the keyboard, writing until the page was filled with descriptions far more honest than they should’ve been.

When she finally stopped, her breath hitched.

The text on the screen felt like an accidental confession.

She glanced at the clock—almost midnight.

With slightly trembling hands, she hit send and forwarded the script to her client.

A few minutes later, an email notification popped up.

Hazel opened it and skimmed through.

“The script is amazing. The emotions feel so alive. Can you make the next scene more detailed, Hazel? Readers will love it. I’ll be waiting! If this becomes a bestseller again, I’ll give you a nice bonus.”

Hazel froze, staring at the screen.

“More detailed?” she muttered. “What kind of scene does she want more detailed?”

She bit her lip, holding herself back. Her body reacted faster than her thoughts.

Diego’s image appeared again—this time without his suit, without a shirt, only tanned skin and the muscles of his chest catching the light.

The hawk-like gaze was still there—dominant, calm, but burning.

Hazel squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it out. But her body reacted as if it had a mind of its own, a faint throbbing between her thighs making her breath falter.

“Enough, Hazel! Don’t be cheap!” she whispered to herself.

She shut her laptop, pressing the power button as if she could erase the image along with the screen.

But what remained was a strange warmth that refused to fade even after the room fell back into darkness.

Hazel leaned back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

The night felt long.

Before sleep finally took her, the last image that drifted through her mind wasn’t the laptop screen or the unfinished script—

but a pair of gray-green eyes watching her with a faint, knowing smile.

Hazel, don’t catch feelings, okay? Diego Ronan Blake would never like someone like you—not even as a plaything.

Hazel reminded herself.