Young Master Dale is the acting CEO of the Blackmoor's empire for four years now...
He's been engaged to Miss Octavia before he became the CEO...
They're practically childhood sweethearts. Everyone expects their marriage to be the social event of the decade...
Hazel's body trembled slightly as she recalled what Sophie said about Dale.
She hadn't spoken since. Not when the world–renowned designer Mozzarella arrived with racks of limited-edition gowns and velvet boxes of diamonds. Or even now as she stood before the towering double doors of the master's suite in the mansion.
Nothing made sense.
She felt like she had fallen into a nightmare stitched together by a cruel god with a twisted sense of humor.
Dale.
CEO?
Her Dale?
The same Dale she supported financially, emotionally, and blindly, while he built his dreams?
Dale had nothing!
She remembered transferring money into his account, clearing his debts so creditors would stop harassing him, and buying his tailored suits so he wouldn't look embarrassed standing beside her.
He even cursed at wealthy elites and powerful families who stepped on ordinary people like him.
Hazel's hands curled into fists.
How can he be the third gen heir of the most influential family in New Midnight City and the CEO of the Blackmoor's empire?!
What she found even more absurd was the famous model he was engaged to long before she ever met him.
If he was already heir to a billion-dollar empire, and had a glamorous fiancée, why would he deceive her?
Why would he go through the trouble of pursuing her, make her fall in love, accept her support, and get engaged to her?!
She'd been thinking all day, but the more she thought about it, the humiliation burned hotter.
And the worst part was Sophie's explanation gave a terrifyingly reasonable answer as to why Dale could be here.
There was no other valid reason why her deadbeat fiancé could be in one of the most influential family in New Midnight City's residence and be that daring.
Her mind wandered to the girl from before.
Was she the childhood sweetheart Sophie talked about?
No!
Hazel shook her head for the one-thousandth time still refusing to believe it. It was too cruel and heartbreaking.
She was meant to get an explanation from Dale. Earlier, she'd marched out of the mansion in search of him, but Sophie had stopped her, afraid she'd wander into the wrong place again.
Hazel had been forced to surrender, but one way or the other, she had to talk to Dale.
"Mrs. Avril, it's time for you to go in. We can't keep standing here." Sophie's gentle voice pulled her back.
Hazel blinked, then frowned slightly.
Sophie said something about why she should spend the night in this suite, but she couldn't remember because she wasn't paying attention. She'd been too occupied with Dale to focus on anything else.
"Okay."
Sophie studied her for a moment before stepping aside. "If you need anything, just ring for me."
Hazel pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The suite was breathtaking.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the night skyline like a painting, and soft golden lights reflected on the marble floors and dark mahogany furniture.
It was practically a luxurious mini-apartment with its customized basic functional rooms — a living room, a sleek, modern kitchen, a dining island carved from black stone...
Hazel's gaze drifted toward the door by the far left, already guessing it was the bedroom.
Exhaling softly, she took a few slow steps forward, still admiring the place when—
"Stop shuffling."
She froze at the deep familiar voice.
Very slowly, she turned towards the sound and nearly forgot how to breathe.
It was the same man from earlier.
Alastair Blackmoor.
He stood bare in the kitchen. Well, almost.
A pair of low-slung joggers hung dangerously on his waist. The drawstring was loose and the fabric rested just enough to be decent. His torso was completely exposed—broad shoulders, defined chest, ridges of muscle sculpted like something out of a forbidden fantasy.
The soft kitchen light traced every line of him and this time, it was impossible not to admire him.
He looked indecently effortless.
Hazel blinked.
Why is he always naked when I see him?
The thought came uninvited.
The first time, he had been completely naked. Earlier, only half-dressed. And now? Same.
Was this man allergic to clothing?
And how had she not heard him?
The room had been so quiet when she walked in. Oppressively quiet. So naturally, she assumed no one was here.
But here he was, casually leaning against the marble counter, eating from a plate.
Sophie never said a word about having company.
Her brows crumbled when she remembered what Sophie had said about this man being her husband.
The more Hazel thought about it, the more she realized there was a huge gap of information that was kept from her.
She decided right then not to trust Sophie until she recovered her memories. She also couldn't let anyone else find out about her situation until she figured out what to do.
"I— I didn't k-know you were h-here." Hazel bit her bottom lips immediately after, mortified by how much she stuttered.
Alastair didn't look up at first. He took another bite of his meal, chewed slowly and swallowed.
"Decent manners wouldn't hurt, would they?"
"Manners?"
He finally lifted his gaze to her slowly. His eyes swept over her face, then her neck and collarbone, before returning to his plate.
"Though I suppose it would be unreasonable to expect someone to offer what they don't possess."
Hazel frowned even more. She didn't like his attitude.
"What are you implying?"
Alastair went back to his meal, chewing slower than before, slow enough for Hazel to feel irritation crawl up her spine.
This man had a talent for making people feel insignificant, and she hated it.
He finally swallowed. "How did the meeting go?"
She nearly scoffed. "You're not going to answer my question?"
"No."
The bluntness of his answer almost made her laugh.
"You just insulted me."
"I made an observation."
"And now you're ignoring it."
"I'm prioritizing."
She stared at him, incredulous. "You're unbelievable."
"So I've been told." He dropped the fork. "Well?"
She hesitated. Annoyance bubbled in her chest but she surpressed it. Now wasn't a good time to let her emotions take over.
His eyes lifted sharply to hers again. The intensity in them made her uneasy.
A knot formed in her stomach as she thought about what meeting he spoke about. Was it the meeting with the old woman?
"She invited me for breakfast," she said slowly, taking her chance with the old woman. "That's all."
"And?"
Hazel nearly heaved in relief. "She asked questions."
"What kind?"
"Personal ones."
Alastair raised a brow. "Are you withholding information from me? You realize that will attract a fine for breach of contract."
Hazel froze.
Contract?
What contract? Was there some kind of agreement between them?
A thousand questions rushed through her head, but she noticed the suspicion that flickered faintly in his dark eyes, and she forced a small breath through her nose, pretending to consider his question rather than the bomb he'd just dropped.
"I'm not withholding anything," she said carefully.
His gaze didn't soften. "Why then are you hesitating?"
She shrugged lightly, trying to appear casual despite the tension knotting her stomach.
"I was deciding how much detail you actually wanted."
"That's not up for you to decide. You forfeited that privilege the moment you signed those papers," he said flatly.
She frowned. What exactly had she agreed to?
"She mostly talked about an event taking place tomorrow. Said something about the whole family attending."
His expression remained unreadable.
"She also mentioned I should be by Alastair's side—" She paused mid-sentence, then corrected herself, "—your side," remembering he was the Alastair the old woman talked about.
A full minute's silence passed with Alastair's dark eyes fixed on her.
"Is that all?"
She nodded. "Yes."
His eyes narrowed slightly. There was something different about her tonight that tugged at his instincts.
Hazel noticed the way he stared at her, and her heartbeat quickened.
Had she slipped?
Before she could chase the thought further, Alastair pushed away from the counter and started walking toward her slowly.
She instinctively moved back until the back of her legs brushed the edge of the couch.
She stopped but Alastair only halted when he stood directly in front of her, towering over her.
For reasons she couldn't quite explain, panic flickered through her chest. She couldn't tell if it was because of the unfair height difference, or the terrifying thought that she had exposed herself without realizing it.
Alastair leaned closer, studying her face.
"Are you sure that's all?"
She swallowed. "Yes."
"Hmm," He hummed, then took a step back. The sudden space between them again made her lungs expand. She almost sighed in relief.
"When do you plan to talk about Dale then?"
Her blood ran cold.
How did he know about Dale?!