Semua Bab Beg, Because I won't Let You Go!: Bab 21 - Bab 30

Hazel sighed softly. She was too tired to explain or correct something that she didn't even understand herself. Inside that room, Diego Ronan Blake was still asleep—peaceful—like a man who had secured something precious… without needing to ask if it was willing or not. Hazel glanced at the clock on the wall. After finishing a glass of milk, she headed straight to the office. She had different working hours; she had to arrive earlier because of her special assignments. At 7:55 AM, the office was still quiet. Hazel arrived at the same time as the office boys (OB) who worked the early shift. “Miss Quinn, you’re early?” one of the OBs greeted her warmly. “Want me to make you a coffee?” They were always kind; they knew how Hazel ha

“You’re coming home with me!” Diego commanded. His voice was flat but absolute, cutting through the twilight atmosphere of the nearly empty workspace. Hazel had just closed her laptop, her fingers still feeling the day's fatigue. She wanted to argue, to say she had other plans—even though she had none. But before a single word could escape, Diego stepped closer, his gaze sharp as if he were reading every wave of rejection in her mind. “I want us to go somewhere,” Diego said, his voice lower this time, yet even more undeniable. Hazel swallowed. The energy to fight had been drained since their debate at the café earlier that afternoon. Now, all that remained was exhaustion and a strange kind of resignation that made her feel weak yet&

That night, Diego’s penthouse was swallowed in silence. In truth, it wasn't much different from before. However, Hazel’s presence in the corner of his room bothered him slightly. He had expected her to be awkward, fearful, and weak—the traits he usually enjoyed seeing in her. Hazel stood by the window, her back to the massive bed she was supposed to sleep in—Diego’s bed. The lights of Herlington shimmered behind the glass like a cold, heartless sea of stars. She didn't start a conversation. She didn't ask questions. She didn't seek permission. She just was. Diego watched her through the reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Usually, women would be awkward, restless, or try to bait a reaction. Not Hazel. She moved only as much as necessary—gra

Hazel held her breath. "I’m not yours to protect." "Wrong," Diego whispered, lowering his head. This time, his lips didn't search for her mouth. Instead, he pressed them against the exact spot where her pulse was racing—the soft curve between her neck and shoulder. Hazel’s skin shivered under the contact. "You’ve been mine since the moment you didn't run out of that elevator." Then, he kissed her. It wasn’t just a kiss, but a warm, lingering touch. His tongue brushed her skin lightly, tasting the saltiness and the simple scent of her soap. Hazel let out a small sound—an involuntary whimper, half-shocked, half-surrender. Diego smiled against her skin, savoring that small victory. His hand, which had been supporting his weight, began to move

At the end of the long marble dining table sat a woman. She was beautiful in a way that was breathtaking yet slightly terrifying. Her platinum blonde hair was swept into a neat bun, revealing a slender neck adorned with pearls. Her cream-colored dress was simple in design but clearly made from expensive, bespoke fabric. A small handbag with a logo Hazel recognized—a legendary French fashion house—lay beside her. Her slim legs were crossed gracefully, her high heels perfect without a speck of dust. The staff—usually calm and efficient—moved around her with a respect that bordered on fear. They poured tea into porcelain cups and served perfectly sliced fruit, all with an attitude very different from how they served Diego. The woman was looking at a tablet in her hand, her slender fingers with perfectly polished