Semua Bab Beg, Because I won't Let You Go!: Bab 31 - Bab 40

By late morning, sunlight flooded the penthouse living room through the giant glass walls. Hazel sat in a minimalist chair, legs crossed, facing her old laptop perched on a low table. Her gaze occasionally drifted to the magnificent view of Herlington sprawling below. She had to admit: this place offered a level of comfort that was almost absurd. If only it were hers. If only she were here for a different reason. If only… The rapid clicking of her keyboard was cut short by a voice that immediately made her spine tingle. “I ordered you to take the day off. Still working?” The voice was deep, flat, and far too close. Hazel held her breath. She hadn’t heard his footsteps at all.&

Slowly, Hazel felt Diego’s large hand creep along her waistline. Her stomach tightened—not out of rejection, but because every nerve in her body responded wildly to his touch. Diego’s fingers moved with an agonizing slowness, tracing the curves of her body through the thin silk that offered no real barrier. His movements weren't a grab, but an adoration—each touch felt like an acknowledgment of what he possessed and a claim on what he desired. Then, his hand moved up. With a certainty that made Hazel’s breath hitch, his broad palm found the full softness of her breast. He didn't attack; he occupied. Diego squeezed with perfect pressure—enough to make a low moan escape Hazel’s throat, enough to make her nipple harden and strain against the silk that was now drenched in the heat of the moment.

Diego pressed Hazel’s limp, small body against the glass surface. The window was now fogged over, blurred by the frantic, hot breaths they exhaled against each other. One of his hands gripped her waist tightly, holding her in place, because she had completely lost the strength to support herself—or perhaps, she had lost the will to fight. A logical question hung in the air: Hazel should have been hitting him, scratching him, attacking the man who was so freely dominating her body and soul. The reality? She just surrendered. More than that—she was enjoying it. And Diego, with his sharp predatory instinct, knew it exactly. He read every subtle tremor, every stifled moan, and the way her body curved to seek out his pressure. "Hatred," Diego whispered into her

The next morning, Hazel’s body woke with memories embedded deep within her muscles and nerves. There was a different kind of ache—a deep exhaustion and a silent admission: her body had begun to adapt to Diego’s presence. It had adapted to his wild rhythm, his touches that were simultaneously rough and seductive, and the way he filled every empty space, both physically and psychologically. She opened her eyes. The room was bathed in the golden morning sun filtering through sheer curtains. And there, standing by the window as a sharp silhouette against the light, was Diego. He was already dressed in a bespoke charcoal-grey three-piece suit, perfect in every stitch. His jet-black hair was neatly styled, and his sharp, perfectly structured face looked as if it had been carved from marble by the gods. The morning sun emb

The text from his mother contained only one sentence "Come home. There is something we need to discuss." Diego didn't need to guess. The tone and timing were clear enough. Cassandra had returned, and the gears of the machine called "family duty" were turning again, whether he was ready or not. The drive to the main Blake estate was conducted in silence. His Maybach glided smoothly through the automatically opening wrought-iron gates, traveling along a finely paved road flanked by rows of towering sequoia trees. The garden lights were on, illuminating every corner of the flawless landscape—it looked like a film set too beautiful to be real. Diego felt that nothing had changed. Not the view, nor his feelings. There was only a long-standing hollowness, a cold acceptance that his life was a series of boxes to be checked. The "brill