Hazel Lane was one of those people who shone wherever she went—a presence so distinct, she stood out without even trying.
Elara Venn greeted her with a polite, practiced smile. "Miss Lane."
Hazel's gaze swept briefly over Nathan before settling on Elara. "You're back?"
There was something oddly familiar in her tone. But Elara knew better than to overinterpret a power player's casual words. She merely nodded with due respect. "Yes. Nathan seemed a bit hungry, so I brought him back for something to eat."
"He trusts you," Hazel said, reaching out—perhaps to touch her brother. But their sibling bond was tepid at best, and Hazel's overwhelming aura was enough to unnerve anyone—let alone an autistic child. Nathan flinched before she could even make contact, trembling like a leaf, visibly retreating into himself.
Hazel seemed to notice. Her hand shifted instead to Elara's shoulder.
Elara stiffened. Though she tried subtly to withdraw, Hazel's grip—surprisingly firm despite her slender fingers—held fast. Her palm was warm, almost burning through Elara's thin clothes, climbing up to her neck and cheeks like a rising fever.
Elara asked awkwardly, "Will you be dining at home tonight, Miss Lane?"
"Why, is that a problem?"
"…Of course not."
Elara forced a laugh, sensing Nathan tugging at her dress with increasing urgency. She quickly added, "But Nathan's not feeling well today—he got too much sun. I think it's best if Mrs. Lee brings his meal upstairs. He can eat when he feels ready."
"Alright." Hazel agreed without hesitation—as if dining with her brother was never on the table anyway.
The moment she said it, Nathan relaxed, loosening his grip. Elara let out a quiet sigh of relief. But then Hazel said:
"He's unwell. But you're not. So, it's just the two of us for dinner."
Elara nearly choked. She looked up, startled, meeting Hazel's unreadable gaze. Her instinct was to back away, but the pressure on her shoulder pinned her in place.
The air grew thick. Elara cleared her throat, searching for a polite deflection—until Hazel abruptly withdrew her hand and said, more seriously:
"I've been speaking with a new orthopedic specialist. He's reviewed Nathan's case and believes there's an 80% chance of full recovery. I want to discuss how we can persuade him to begin treatment."
If Nathan's legs could heal, then everything—his fate, her mission—would shift. The chances of survival would increase. Her task might even become achievable.
Her eyes lit up. "Is that true?"
Hazel raised an eyebrow. "Do you think I'd lie about something like this?"
Fair. Hazel was his biological sister. Elara was just the family-appointed therapist.
"Then yes," she replied, already forming mental contingency plans for a newly mobile Nathan escaping danger and reclaiming a future.
But she didn't notice the dark flicker in Hazel's gaze.
Later, after settling Nathan, Elara stood frozen on the second floor, unable to summon the courage to descend.
The system piped up. "You've faced CEOs and sharks before. Why are you suddenly afraid of Hazel Lane?"
Because standing before her felt like standing before a divine flame—dangerous, alluring. Elara leaned on the railing, watching Hazel's silhouette below, and sighed dramatically.
"I'm not afraid of her," she whispered. "I'm afraid I'll throw myself at her. Who the hell is designed like that? Every feature is engineered to hit my exact weakness."
She swayed. "I think my legs are giving out. Let me breathe a second."
"...Shouldn't have asked," the system muttered.
Hazel turned suddenly. Their eyes met. Sparks flew.
Elara jerked back, gripping the banister to avoid collapsing. She forced a smile and descended.
Dinner had been served. The food was fragrant, steam curling upward—but Elara barely registered it.
Hazel sat like a dignitary at a televised press conference—composed, authoritative. Elara circled the table and quietly seated herself across the diagonal, hands in her lap, eyes lowered.
For five long minutes, silence reigned.
Then Hazel spoke. "Why the delay?"
"Nathan didn't want to eat. Took a while to settle him." Elara dared not admit she'd been stalling. She had no idea this explanation would cause problems later.
Hazel gave her a strange look—half appraisal, half dissection. Elara shivered involuntarily.
"…Sorry," she murmured.
Hazel's gaze narrowed. "You changed clothes."
Elara had swapped her skirt for a simple cotton tee and black shorts—practical and more comfortable. But paired with her clean face and bunny slippers, she looked disarmingly innocent. Too innocent.
Hazel's eyes darkened, tension surging before quickly dissipating.
"That dress I wore for painting with Nathan—he likes it. But this is more comfortable at home," Elara explained, always looping the conversation back to Nathan to earn trust.
Still, the room felt colder. The air-conditioning? Or something else?
Elara sat stiffly, aware of every inch of her skin. She felt like she wasn't eating dinner—but being dinner.
Hazel's gaze was sharp, consuming. Elara's pulse raced.
How does one act like a helpless bunny under predatory attention? Asking for... personal reasons.
Hazel watched her fidget with something unreadable in her eyes. Then she said, "You're quite attentive to him."
"He's my patient. I'm here for him. It's only natural to care."
Hazel's voice dropped a note lower. "Is that so?"
"Yes." Elara smiled tightly, sipping from her water glass.
"She's staring again," Elara messaged the system. "Do you think she wants to sleep with me?"
"Do you want the polite lie or the dirty truth?"
"Tell me she does."
"Sorry, content filter activated. I don't know what you mean."
Elara sighed. Even in this economy, we're not allowed a little degeneracy.
Dinner dragged on. No fireworks. No spoon-fed romance. Not even bathwater.
Elara resigned herself to a quiet bath and a lonely scroll through her feed.