Hazel sat on the edge of the bed in her new room. It was big, beautiful, cozy and cold. Just like the house. Just like Zyran.
A soft knock on the door made her look up. It was Isabella, the maid.
"Dinner is ready. Mr. Moretti wants you at the table," she said kindly.
Hazel nodded. "Thank you."
Downstairs, the long dining table was set. Zyran was already sitting at the head of it. He didn't smile when she entered. He just looked at her.
"You're late," he said.
"It's only five minutes," Hazel answered.
"In this house, five minutes is too long," Zyran said sharply.
Hazel sat down without replying. The food looked perfect, but her stomach was too tight to eat.
After a while, Zyran spoke again. "You will follow my rules while you live here."
"What rules?" she asked.
"No leaving the house without permission. No talking to strangers. No lies. No running."
"I'm not a prisoner," she said, looking him in the eye.
His stare was like fire. "You're not free either."
Hazel's hands shook, but she didn't back down. "Why did you choose me, Zyran? Was I just part of a deal?"
He leaned closer, voice low. "Yes. At first. But now… I'm not so sure."
For a moment, silence filled the room. Something passed between them—anger, pain, maybe something else. Something dangerous.
After dinner, she walked to the garden alone. The night was quiet. She looked up at the stars and whispered, "I won't let this place change me."
Behind her, someone watched from the shadows.
Zyran.
And he was starting to see that Hazel Romano was not just any girl.
She had fire in her.
And fire could burn—or it could warm.