Francisco's steady steps echoed through the mansion, drawing the attention of the household staff. Eyes widened at the bloodstain on his shirt.
"Master, you're bleeding!"
"Should we call Ms. Diana?"
Francisco raised a hand, silencing their concern. "It's fine."
"She hasn't come home yet?"
"No, Master."
"And Max?"
"He hasn't returned either."
A tense silence settled over the house. Without another word, Francisco took a deep breath and headed for the stairs.
Before he could reach them, Emily appeared on the landing. Her eyes locked onto the blood on his shirt. Alarm flashed across her face as she rushed down to him.
"Francisco, what happened? Who hurt you?"
His expression didn't change. His voice was calm, but cold.
"What are you doing here?"
Emily blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"You have a show tomorrow. Don't you?"
"I took two days off," she said softly, trying to mask the sting of his tone. "I wanted to spend some time with you."
Francisco tilted his head slightly, disapproval written all over his face. His next words cut through the tension like a blade.
"Did I ask you to do that? You're acting like my lover."
Emily's eyes dropped to the floor, her face flushing with embarrassment. The maids stood nearby, their silence making the moment even more humiliating. Francisco didn't soften.
"Don't be a headache. Just get out of my sight."
With that, he turned and walked away, climbing the stairs without a glance back. Emily stood frozen, gripping the edge of her revealing nightgown. Her pride stung, but her resolve only hardened.
I won't give up on you, Francisco.
She whispered it to herself, eyes fixed on the closed door at the top of the stairs.
Meanwhile, Francisco tossed his coat on the bed and dropped onto the couch. His thoughts spun around the attack at Hazel's apartment. He'd let the intruder go — something he'd never allow — all because he'd chosen to protect her.
A cigarette burned between his fingers. Smoke curled into the air as he stared into the distance, trying to make sense of it all.
A sudden knock broke the silence.
"Come," he said flatly, knowing the voice command would unlock the door.
It swung open.
Emily stood in the doorway, holding a bowl and a towel. Her eyes met his. He sat shirtless on the couch, his expression unreadable.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice low with irritation.
"I thought you might want to clean up, so I brought hot water and a towel," Emily said softly, her voice laced with gentle concern.
"The maid can do it," Francisco replied flatly.
Emily smiled faintly, a hint of challenge in her tone. "Francisco, I've been looking after you for over a year. I think I can handle this, can't I?"
He didn't answer. But his silence was enough. Emily took it as permission and stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind her.
She set the bowl on the floor and dipped the towel into the steaming water. Dressed in a soft, ash-colored silk nightie that hugged her curves, Emily moved with quiet confidence, each motion laced with intent. Her exposed skin, the dip of her neckline, the way her hair framed her face... it was all deliberate.
She leaned closer to him. One strap slipped from her shoulder, falling against her arm. She pressed the warm towel gently to his bare abdomen, moving with care.
But Francisco wasn't really there.
His mind drifted.
Hazel.
He saw her face... fresh in his memory. The way she had just sat in the same spot, tending to him. No seduction. Just quiet skill, warmth, and honesty.
He remembered the fullness of her lips, the soft curve of her breasts, the delicate strength in her hands. Her legs, long and smooth. Her waist, narrow under his touch.
Heat stirred in him... not from Emily, but from the lingering memory of Hazel.
A rush of desire hit him hard, uninvited and undeniable.
Hazel… I want you.
Francisco opened his eyes. His breath caught.
He felt something soft pressing gently against his bulge... Emily's hand, still cleaning him, unaware of the thoughts racing through his mind.
Suddenly, he reached out, gripping Emily's face. His hold was firm, his eyes sharp and intense. But the fire behind his stare had nothing to do with her.
His thoughts were already with someone else.
Hazel.
Emily sensed the shift in the air. The warmth in Francisco's eyes had cooled. Still, she leaned into her usual seduction. Her siren gaze met his, expecting to reel him in. But something was different.
He wasn't falling for it.
He was somewhere else.
With her.
Hazel.
Francisco's hand moved on instinct. He brushed Emily's lips the same way he had touched Hazel's.
Emily closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. She looked lost in the moment, her breath shallow and soft.
Still caught in the memory of Hazel, Francisco slid his thumb into Emily's mouth. She welcomed it, her lips wrapping around it, sucking with slow intensity...
Her eyes opened slightly, locking onto his, searching for a reaction in the icy blue.
Francisco raised a brow and slowly pulled his thumb away. The brief spark of desire fizzled. The illusion broke.
He blinked. Emily stood before him now—not Hazel.
The room fell silent. Emily moved closer and gently cupped the bulge in his pants. Her voice was smooth, low, deliberate.
"Can I serve you tonight?"
Francisco didn't answer right away. His face stayed unreadable, calm, distant.
Then, without a word, he stood up. Emily's heart skipped. Her eyes followed his every move.
He reached for a condom.
She bit her lower lip, trying to hide her smug smile.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her soft chest against his back. Her voice was confident, whispered against his ear.
"I know you're not the romantic type. I don't need you to be. Just… let go."
She moved around to face him. He stared at her... cold, still unreadable.
Unfazed, Emily took the condom from his hand. Then she pulled her nightie down, letting it fall to the floor.
She stood naked in front of him.
Despite Emily's boldness, Francisco's face stayed unreadable. No flicker of surprise. No hint of desire.
She swallowed hard and drew in a breath, steadying herself. Then, with gentle pressure, she pushed him back onto the bed, her eyes never leaving his.
"You're hurt. Let me take the lead," she said, her voice soft... confident but laced with vulnerability.
Francisco said nothing. He lay back, resting his head on his palms, calm and still.
Emily's heart pounded as she undressed him further. When she exposed his bulge, her breath caught. The sight stirred something deep inside her... excitement, nerves, hunger.
She chose not to hesitate.
Ripping open the condom packet, she slid it on with practiced ease. Her hands trembled slightly as she looked up at him... his eyes closed, face calm.
Biting her lip, she let a shy smile slip through. Then, cautiously, she moved closer, positioning herself above him. Her fingertips lingered on him as she steadied her breathing, unsure if she could take all of him.
With her eyes closed, she eased him inside her, slow and careful. A rush of sensation swept over her... pleasure mixed with fear, and something deeper.
She opened her eyes, searching for his.
But they stayed shut. His face didn't change.
Still, she moved her hips, finding rhythm. She tilted her head, watching him, her body connecting with his, her heart pouring into each motion.
Francisco, I love you.
I would give everything for you.
I'm used to your silence. Your distance.
But I still want more.