Trapped in Hazel Lane's room, Elara Venn had food and drink in abundance—but the quality left much to be desired. Instant meals, delivery orders, bland or overly salted congee… She would've left a scathing review if not for Hazel personally handing her the tray.
So the moment she was released, she began craving Mrs. Lee's cooking.
And Mrs. Lee didn't disappoint. A full table of Elara's favorite dishes, lovingly prepared, and the fragrance alone made her mouth water.
But Nathan Lane remained unresponsive. Elara had spent the morning coaxing him, talking till her throat went dry, yet he sat motionless, chopsticks untouched.
Her stomach growled, and she gently prompted, "Don't like anything, Nathan? Tell me what you want, I'll have Mrs. Lee make it."
Nathan didn't respond, just stared at her.
Elara tilted her head and offered her gentlest smile. "What's wrong? Don't recognize me anymore?"
Before he could speak, Mrs. Lee approached with soup and a smile. "Miss Elara must've had something good happen. You look thinner, but prettier too."
Of course, Elara thought. A desert parched versus a rainforest after rainfall—who wouldn't bloom?
But she kept her expression modest, eyes lowering in restraint.
Nathan noticed. His dull face softened as he reached out and tugged at her sleeve.
Startled, Elara looked down. His hand, different from Hazel's—larger, rougher from years of sketching—scraped gently against her skin.
He had never touched her voluntarily before. The gesture made her smile wider. She patted his hand. "Did you miss me?"
Before Nathan could answer, Mrs. Lee chuckled. "He was a wreck. Camped out by the gate every day. Would perk up at any female voice, then wilt when it wasn't you. Checked your room every night before bed. He doesn't listen to anyone but you—not even Miss Hazel."
The mention of Hazel darkened Elara's face.
As if summoned, Hazel Lane's voice cut through the air: "Who says I can't handle him?"
Elara flinched. Her chopsticks clattered to the floor.
Hazel entered, eyes sweeping across the table—then down to Nathan's hand still clutching Elara's sleeve.
"What's with the mess?" she asked coolly.
"S-Sorry," Elara murmured.
Mrs. Lee hurried over with new chopsticks. "It's nothing! Miss Elara, you're much more polite than before. Now you're the one feeling unfamiliar."
Elara ducked under the table to retrieve the fallen chopsticks. When she reemerged, Hazel was still staring at her.
Nathan shrank further behind Elara, clearly unsettled by Hazel's presence.
Only Mrs. Lee remained unfazed. "Did Miss Hazel come to pick something up?"
Hazel sat across from Elara. "Serve me some rice."
Mrs. Lee reached for the ladle.
Hazel interjected, "I meant Miss Elara."
Mrs. Lee: "?"
Elara quickly stood. "I'll do it."
She served a modest half-bowl, recalling how Hazel hadn't eaten much lately. Hands trembling, she set it down.
The chain on her ankle was still there—hidden beneath a long floor-length skirt. The neckline dipped low; as she leaned forward, a considerable swath of skin was visible, though nothing indecent.
But Hazel's gaze dropped anyway. Elara flushed, resisting the urge to cover herself.
"Nice necklace," Hazel remarked. Her tone was proper, but her smirk wasn't. "Emerald suits your pale skin."
Elara's mind instantly flashed back to Hazel's previous remarks—about leaving marks on her pale skin. Her hand shook; the bowl nearly slipped.
She glanced up at Hazel, pleading silently.
Hazel, of course, noticed—but said nothing.
"And the gold chain looks good too."
Elara froze. A ghostly jingle echoed in her ears.
"Sit," Hazel said, still smiling.
Elara, stiff with caution, perched delicately on the chair.
"Did I get fat?" Hazel asked suddenly.
Elara blinked. "No."
"Then why the tiny portion? Trying to make me diet?"
Are you here to eat or pick a fight?
Flustered, Elara returned with a mountain of rice, packed to the brim.
Hazel chuckled softly.
Realizing her petty overreaction, Elara grimaced. Too late to take it back.
Hazel lifted her chopsticks. "Why aren't you all eating?"
Because you're here. That's why.
In front of someone who still had appetite for her, how could Elara gorge like last time? She chewed slowly, playing the composed lady.
Nathan continued to hide behind her, nearly wedging himself between her and the chair.
Elara gently patted his forehead. "Don't worry, I'm here now. Next time I leave, I'll tell you first—"
Nathan tightened his grip, clearly upset.
"Alright, alright. No more leaving. I'll stay," she promised.
Not a lie. Nathan's "death point" was tied to a kidnapping—a failed ransom designed to bait Hazel into exposure.
Elara's real mission? To neutralize the cause of death, not just delay it.
That meant: either fix his condition, or fix Hazel.
Between the two, the choice was obvious.
So she truly meant to stay by his side—for now.
The promise soothed Nathan. He loosened his grip.
Elara smiled. "Then let's eat, okay?"
On a normal day, that would've worked. But Hazel's presence paralyzed Nathan.
Elara sighed and stood. "Let's go upstairs to eat."
Hazel tapped her chopsticks against her bowl. "So I shouldn't have come home?"
"!" Elara turned quickly. "Of course not. He's just… a bit wary. If you stay longer, he'll get used to you."
"And what about you?" Hazel's gaze pinned her. "Are you staying with him—or me?"
Lady, you're the CEO of a whole conglomerate. Why are you competing with a child over dinner company?
Elara opened her mouth—then shut it under Hazel's gaze.
"As his doctor," she said slowly, "I should stay with him."
Hazel murmured, "Is that so?"
Just as Elara nodded, Hazel stood, smiling faintly.
"Then you'll understand if I say... I'm suddenly feeling fragile too. Emotionally. Physically. Very, very fragile~"