Chapter 05

It had been a week since the interview, yet Hazel still couldn’t get his voice out of her head. Diego Ronan Blake’s calm tone, the way he paused mid-sentence as if he knew exactly when a word needed to be left hanging—it all clung to her mind like traces of perfume that refused to fade.

The interview transcript had gone through three major revisions, two minor ones, and one complete… return to the original draft. Hazel knew Diego did it on purpose. Whether it was to test her professionalism, or simply to play a little game to see how far she could hold herself together—Hazel didn’t want to assume, but the thought still made her heartbeat stumble.

She wasn’t angry, really. Just tired. Her eyes were puffy, her shoulders stiff, and caffeine had stopped being useful two days ago. Yet still, when she looked at the final page of the article, Hazel couldn’t stop a faint smile from tugging at her lips.

The piece felt alive. As if every word carried the soft pulse of a conversation that had been too intimate to call formal.

And now, one day before the Herlington Daily Buzz went to print, Hazel stared at her laptop screen with a mix of relief and dread. She’d finished it. But the flutter in her chest had only grown harder to ignore.

Tomorrow the article would be read by thousands. And among all the names and quotes that would be published, only Hazel knew that behind that interview… there was something left unwritten.

Something she still didn’t dare to name.

She shut her laptop, exhaled long and slow, then glanced at the dress hanging on her closet door—the dress she had prepared for tonight’s gala premiere. She was scared. Opportunities like this almost never came to a low-ranking reporter like her.

Hazel, who usually hid behind oversized blazers and rubber-soled shoes, now stood before the mirror with her shoulders bare. The olive-gold gown she had rented draped over her body, soft and fluid along her waist and hips like the curves of hills and valleys in the earth.

The fabric didn’t sparkle outrageously, but under the warm glow of her room’s light, it reflected a golden warmth—like sunlight falling on wet soil after rain.

Hazel stared at herself for a long moment. The gown wasn’t just clothing; it felt as if the earth itself were touching her skin—soothing, yet reminding her that something inside her had shifted.

Her hair was styled in a low bun, with a few loose strands framing her face—a simple look, but giving her a quiet, natural wildness. Her makeup was light: soft brown on her eyelids, a nude shade on her lips, making them look warm and alive.

“Earth Elemental,” she murmured at her reflection. “I hope I don’t look like a dried branch among all those expensive flowers.”

The young art-school student acting as her amateur makeup artist giggled.

“No, Kak. You look like the elegant version of spring just waking up.”

Hazel laughed softly, though something inside her thudded—not just nerves about the gala, but something deeper, more elusive. Why am I trying this hard to look perfect? Is it for myself, the company, or… don’t tell me… to get Diego’s attention?

Hazel shook her head quickly, banishing the foolish thought.

Martin was waiting outside her apartment building in the company’s black car. Normally Hazel arrived first and Martin would wait, annoyed, but tonight was different.

The man’s gaze froze on the woman walking toward him under the warm glow of the streetlight.

Hazel.

The olive-gold gown made her skin look warmer, shimmering faintly with each step. Her low bun exposed the curve of her neck—simple, yet lethally beautiful in a way she didn’t seem aware of.

Martin went speechless for a moment.

“Hazel?” His voice came out soft, almost a whisper.

Hazel turned, offering a small smile. “I’m late, aren’t I?”

Martin shook his head quickly. “No… I just… didn’t think you’d come looking this mature.” He cleared his throat, covering his slip of admiration. “You look… on theme.”

Hazel raised a brow. “Earth theme?”

“Earth, but the kind you… can’t walk away from,” he muttered, then hurriedly opened the car door for her to hide his embarrassment.

Hazel tried not to laugh, though a warm feeling spread in her chest. Maybe because tonight, for the first time, someone actually saw her—not just as a tough reporter, but as a woman.

The car glided through the city streets. Outside, neon boards and shop lights flickered past, but Hazel stared through the window without really seeing.

In the glass’s reflection, she caught glimpses of herself—soft gown, natural lips, and eyes that looked… different.

She breathed in deeply, not just because of nerves. Tonight… she would meet again the man whose voice still lingered even in her sleep.

Diego Ronan Blake.

She wondered what would happen. Unconsciously, her mind drifted to him again.

Music filled the hall from a small orchestra in the corner, while camera flashes erupted each time an important guest arrived. The scent of wine, fresh flowers, and expensive perfumes mixed into one suffocatingly luxurious atmosphere.

Hazel stood beside Martin, keeping a safe distance from the cluster of celebrities and business elites. She tried to look calm, but her heart beat too fast for someone who was supposedly just covering an event.

Until a low, deep voice cut through the noise.

“Earth Elemental.”

Hazel turned.

Diego stood not far from her—dressed in black, with a moss-green tie that seemed to blend with the event’s palette. His gaze swept over her from her hair to the hem of her gown, then lingered—too long, too deliberate.

Hazel knew she should look away, keep things professional. But instead, she froze. Diego’s faint smile appeared—subtle, but dangerous.

“Now I see why they chose you for the interview,” he said quietly, his voice enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Hazel swallowed hard.

Martin lit up beside her; rare guests like Diego rarely approached anyone directly. Many people, even given the chance, were too intimidated by him—whether because of his charm or the sharpness that lay behind it.

“I assigned Hazel because she’s competent,” Martin chimed in.

Diego glanced at him briefly, then returned his attention to Hazel. His soft laugh was low, almost a breath. “Or maybe… because they knew I would speak more easily with someone who doesn’t realize how attractive she is.”

Martin looked confused—and suspicious. Hazel forced a stiff smile, looking away to hide the heat rising to her face.

But she could still feel Diego’s gaze on her.

Warm. Sharp. Too intent to be merely polite.

Hazel steadied her breath. “I think they chose me because… I was the only one willing to take the assignment.”

Diego dipped his head slightly as if stifling a laugh. A soft sound escaped him—low, intimate, lingering in the air between them. “Funny,” he murmured, “because I assumed they chose you for another reason.”

Martin stiffened slightly. Did Diego know why he had insisted Hazel be the one to go?

Hazel raised a brow, trying to sound skeptical. “Another reason?”

Diego stepped a little closer—close enough for Hazel to catch the faint scent of his cologne: wood, blackcurrant, and something warm, like campfire smoke.

“Because they knew I’d find it easier to talk to someone with many faces,” he said softly, his tone dropping lower at the end, as if the words were meant only for her.

Blood rushed through Hazel’s entire body. She turned away, pretending to look at the drink table.

“Professional,” she whispered in her mind, “stay professional, Hazel…”

Martin tried to occupy himself with a nearby conversation but kept glancing at them—protective, wary.

Hazel inhaled slowly. Even as she looked down, she could feel Diego’s gaze tracing her, lingering, studying. A gaze too focused, too warm, too deliberate.

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Diego. I only have one face. This one.”

“You pretend not to be interested… you reject me, yet tonight you try to catch my attention,” Diego murmured.

Hazel forced a stiff smile. This man truly left her speechless.

She grasped for words. “I… I’m just trying to respect the event’s theme.”

“And you did,” Diego replied instantly. “So well, in fact, that I’m having trouble looking at anything else.”

“Fitting,” he added softly. "The color makes you look… real. Not like them.”

He nodded toward the celebrities posing under bright lights. “Most of them try too hard to be stars. You, on the other hand… look like a part of the night sky itself.”

Hazel almost laughed—but didn’t get the chance. Diego looked at her again, this time without a smile. Only those eyes—gray-green, calm yet dangerous. Something in them stole her breath.

Hazel fought the urge to step back. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on your film, Mr. Diego—not on a small reporter like me?”

Diego’s lips curved—barely. Not a warm smile, but one far more lethal. “You know what? I think… I’m interested in you.”