Third Person POV
The Blackwoods' mansion glowed like a palace that night.
Crystal chandeliers spilled warm light across marble floors. Violins hummed through hidden speakers. Perfume, laughter, and the quiet tension of the wealthy floated together in the air like a rehearsed symphony.
Outside, sleek cars lined the entrance in perfect rows. Inside, servants bowed as guests glided across the diamond-bright floors.
And then everything shifted.
Because Elena Prescott walked in.
She didn't realize that every head turned. She simply stepped forward, clutching the engraved invitation between her fingers. Her dark hair caught the chandelier lights like ink swirling in gold. Her emerald-green dress hugged her gently—simple, elegant, and impossible to ignore.
A young man in a tailored suit approached her instantly.
"Good evening, Miss Prescott," he said with a slight bow. "You're expected."
Expected.
The word echoed inside her chest, oddly heavy.
She was guided through velvet ropes, past murmuring guests and raised brows. People whispered, guessing who she was—an ambassador? A royal visitor?
She was led straight to the VIP section. A young woman sat there in one of the two golden chairs—a beauty in a soft rose gown, her long curly brown hair shimmering under the lights. Green eyes, freckles dusted across her nose, and a smile so gentle it felt unreal.
The lights made her look like a dream caught halfway awake. The beautiful melody from the orchestra filled the room evoking different emotions from the gathering.
She turned the moment Elena approached, her smile widening instantly.
"Greetings," she said in a warm, melodic voice, standing to stretch out her hands. Elena took them, making sure not to drop her invitation. "I am Lady Hazel Jade Maple, heiress to the Jade Maple legacy. And you look absolutely stunning."
The compliment was genuine—pure warmth. Elena, so unused to softness in rooms like these, felt her heart flutter.
They sat. The man bowed and left them.
"What is your name?" Hazel whispered.
"Elena," she answered.
Hazel hesitated. "Forgive me for asking, but what country are you from? Your skin tone… it looks northern." She blinked, embarrassed. "Sorry. I'm not supposed to ask personal questions at social events."
Elena laughed. "It's fine. I'm from Thide. Madam Helena Blackwood invited me. She believes coming here might help the federal hospital get more investors. I work as a nurse there."
"Well, you just got yourself an investor."
Hazel pulled out a checkbook, wrote swiftly, tore a page, and handed it to her. "It's just a little something for expectant mothers. I wish I could do more."
Elena read the amount under her breath.
"One million farqus."
"And," Hazel added softly, taking Elena's hands in both of hers, "I also believe we're going to become best friends."
For the first time in a long time, Elena felt peace.
***
The night drifted beautifully. They talked, laughed, and Hazel introduced her to partners, family friends, and important figures. Some people stared, but Hazel's warmth wrapped Elena in comfort.
Eventually they returned to their golden table, chatting like old friends—
Until an elderly woman in a black shawl approached.
Her steps were shaky. Her eyes were watery and red. She looked exhausted, distressed.
Hazel leaned forward politely. "Good evening, ma'am. Do you need help?"
The woman whispered something into Hazel's ear.
Just a few words.
But Hazel's face was drained of color.
"I… I have to handle something," she whispered. "Elena, I'll be right back."
Elena nodded.
But minutes passed.
Five.
Ten.
Hazel didn't return.
And a sharp ache twisted in Elena's neck—an instinctive pull, cold and urgent.
The pain grew unbearable. Elena stood quickly and followed the same corridor Hazel had taken. Tall windows lined the hall, moonlight spilling across the floors. She heard the distant hum of the pool's filtration system.
Then she saw it—
A shoe on the tiles.
Hazel's shoe.
"H–Hazel?" Elena whispered, stepping onto the pool deck.
No reply.
Just—
A splash.
A frantic, broken splash.
Elena ran.
Hazel was in the water, thrashing desperately, her hands reaching for anything, her brown hair wet and clinging to her skin, her breaths ragged and terrified.
"Hazel!"
"E-Elena!" Hazel cried, tears mixing with pool water.
Elena didn't hesitate.
She ripped off her jacket and dove in. The freezing water punched the air from her lungs but she fought through, grabbed Hazel's waist, and pulled her up.
"I've got you… I've got you," she whispered through chattering teeth.
Hazel coughed, legs trembling.
Behind them—footsteps. A scuffle. A grunt of pain.
Elena barely heard it. She was focused only on getting Hazel out.
*
Meanwhile, Damien was heading back toward the reception when movement caught his eye—a figure sprinting away.
High ponytail. Dark red hair. Red clothes. Red makeup.
Piper Redding.
Damien charged.
Piper struck first, but Damien ducked, punching her ribs and then her jaw. She staggered but whipped out a blade. Moonlight flashed along its edge.
Damien twisted her arm, slammed her into the wall, knocking the knife aside.
"You're not leaving," he growled.
Piper spat blood and tried to run—
But Damien pinned her with an elbow to the throat.
"You touched Hazel," he whispered, fury burning under his calm tone. "You made an innocent woman jump into that pool."
He knocked her unconscious.
His eyes flew to the pool.
"Hazel!"
*
Elena finally dragged Hazel out of the water. Hazel collapsed on the tiles, coughing violently. Elena grabbed her jacket and wrapped it around her.
But Elena's own lips were blue. Her hands numb. The cold had crawled too deep.
"E-Elena… you're… freezing," Hazel whispered.
"I'm fine… y-you're okay now," Elena murmured.
Then her knees buckled.
She collapsed beside Hazel.
*
Inside the mansion, in Alexander's study, he was listening to Sebastian's report when his phone rang.
He answered immediately. "Yes, Damien?"
A pause.
Then Alexander's expression shattered.
He sprinted out of his study, tearing through corridors. He burst onto the pool deck, chest heaving.
His eyes found Hazel.
Then they found the woman lying beside her.
And everything inside him froze.
The woman with the tattoo.
The woman who had stolen his mind, his soul, his heart—and his peace.
The woman who saved him.
Unconscious.
Her skin was pale. Her hair was wet. Her breathing faint.
He moved before thinking. Kneeling, his fingers brushed the tattoo—the only mark that had haunted him for weeks. He gently turned her face toward him.
"Elena…" His voice cracked. "God—why didn't you tell me?"
He scooped her up, pressing her cold body tightly to his chest. Her head fell against his shoulder, fragile. He felt whole and terrified at the same time.
"Sebastian!" he roared. "Get a doctor. Now!"
Sebastian ran.
Alexander held her closer, almost desperately.
"She's not leaving me," he whispered. "Not again."
Hazel watched from the side, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Something sharp and painful cracked inside her chest.
Because in that moment—watching Alexander hold Elena like she was his world—Hazel knew she had only one choice.
And she had to make it fast.