At the office, Hazel kept her distance from Francisco, doing her best to stay professional. He noticed but said nothing, letting the silence between them speak.
By evening, Hazel saw Francisco leave earlier than usual. She stayed behind, organizing files and making sure everything was in order. As the workday ended, she gathered her things and headed for the exit.
Outside the building, Hazel waited to hail a taxi. But just as she stepped toward the curb, Francisco's car rolled up. The guard opened the gate without a word. Francisco sat behind the wheel, staring ahead, lost in thought.
Hazel hesitated, then approached the car and leaned in.
"Mr. Francisco," she said softly. "I can go home on my own tonight."
Francisco turned to her, his expression unreadable.
"I thought we'd have dinner together," he said casually.
The unexpected offer threw Hazel off, but she gave a polite, if awkward, smile and got into the car.
Later, they pulled up in front of her apartment. As they stepped out, neither noticed the car parked nearby—someone watching quietly from the shadows.
Inside, Hazel gestured toward the living room.
"Please, sir, have a seat," she said with a smile. "I'll be back after I change."
As Hazel stepped out to freshen up, Francisco stayed seated, his eyes trailing her as she walked away.
He glanced around the dining room with quiet focus, taking in every detail. Then he moved to the window, pulled back the curtain, and peeked outside before adjusting his sleeves.
Hazel quickly changed into shorts and a crop top, expecting to find Francisco back in the dining area. But when she returned, the room was empty.
What?
Did he leave?
Just as worry began to rise, a delicious smell drifted through the air. It led her to the kitchen... and what she saw stopped her in her tracks.
Francisco stood at the stove, apron tied neatly around his waist, stirring a pan of colorful vegetables. The sizzling sound filled the room.
Hazel blinked in surprise. "Mr. Francisco, what are you doing?"
Without looking up, he replied calmly, "I'm trying to cook."
Hazel stood frozen for a beat, completely thrown off by the sight of her boss in her kitchen.
"You don't need to do this," she said, flustered. "You're my guest."
Francisco, holding a pan handle with one hand and wearing an apron that somehow made him look even more attractive, turned his intense blue eyes to Hazel. Ignoring her protest, he dipped a finger into the simmering curry and held it out to her.
"Taste it," he said, his tone firm.
Hazel froze, startled by the unexpected move. But his steady gaze told her he wasn't backing down. Slowly, she leaned forward and touched her tongue to his finger.
"It's good," she said with a small, nervous smile.
A sly smirk curved his lips. Then, without breaking eye contact, Francisco brought that same finger to his mouth and sucked it slowly... savoring both the taste and the moment.
Hazel's cheeks flushed. She quickly turned away, grabbing an onion and a knife to focus on something... anything... else.
Francisco tasted the curry again. "Not bad," he muttered.
Hazel, trying to shift the mood, offered a light smile. "I didn't know you could cook, Mr. Francisco. That's… surprising."
He glanced at her, a flicker of mystery in his eyes. "You'll be more surprised the more you get to know me."
Curious, Hazel tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
Francisco met her eyes. "I'm looking forward to tasting your cooking, Hazel."
She laughed softly. "I'm not much of a cook. I just eat whatever I throw together."
Still focused on stirring the dish, Francisco asked, "Then why don't you stay with your parents?"
"My papa's busy with work, so it's hard for him to visit. I figured I'd stay here alone."
Francisco raised an eyebrow. "You said you shared this place with friends. Where are they?"
As he flipped a pancake in the pan with practiced ease, Hazel paused, then replied, "They went back to their hometowns. I've been living alone for a few days now."
Francisco turned off the stove, signaling the end of their little cooking session. He glanced at Hazel, who was now focused on tasting her curry. Just as she reached for a spoonful, he gently grabbed her hand.
Hazel froze, startled, her eyes wide as Francisco held her gaze. Then, without a word, he lifted her index finger... coated with curry... and placed it in his mouth.
A sharp shiver ran down her spine. Her heartbeat kicked up as she instinctively tried to pull her hand away. But he didn't let go. His mouth lingered, slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on hers.
"Mr. Francisco… I..." Hazel's voice came out in a whisper
He finally released her finger and said calmly, "It tastes good."
Caught off guard, Hazel blinked and tried to recover. "Ah… thanks. Let's eat."
Without waiting for a response, she quickly grabbed the tray. Francisco followed behind her, that unreadable smile still on his face as they moved toward the dining table.
After dinner, it was time for Francisco to leave. Standing at the door, coat in hand, he looked at Hazel.
"Thank you for dining with me, Mr. Francisco," she said with a warm smile.
He gave a small nod. "Good night, Hazel. Be careful."
As she opened the door for him, he paused and added with a faint smile, "And lock the door and windows before you sleep."
Hazel smiled back. "I will."
She slowly closed the door, unaware that Francisco remained outside, waiting. Only after hearing the click of the lock did he turn away.
His expression changed as he stepped into the quiet night. Pulling out a cigarette, he lit it, the flame briefly illuminating the shadowed look on his face.
Bringing Hazel to the party had put her on the radar. He knew it. And now, he had to be more careful.
As Francisco approached his car, something unusual caught his eye on a nearby car. He narrowed his gaze, suspicion rising.
Back in her apartment, Hazel sat on her bed, replaying the evening in her mind. She exhaled slowly, scanning the room.
I need to be more careful.
Just as she moved to lock the window, a sudden crash startled her. A man in black burst through the glass, lunging into her space. Hazel let out a sharp gasp as he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her onto the bed.
"What the hell?" she shouted.
But Hazel didn't panic. Acting fast, she caught his arms and twisted, flipping him onto the bed. She straddled him, reached under her pillow, and pulled out a knife, pressing it against his throat.
The intruder wore all black, his face hidden behind a mask. Hazel's chest rose and fell as she demanded, "Who are you?"
Hands trembling, she pulled off the mask.
Her breath caught.
"You?"