A man crouched down in front of her, the hem of his dark coat brushing the leaves on the ground. In the next second, her chin was grabbed roughly and lifted. He looked about twenty-four or twenty-five, with sharp short hair and a handsome face. He pressed his lips together, staring at her with a scrutinizing gaze.
In his eyes, Hazel saw her own expressionless face. After being on the island for so long, she had learned to hide her emotions. Even with his grip on her chin, she remained silent and still, locking eyes with him for two long minutes.
The man's eyes lit up with interest. There weren't many people in the entire country who dared to hold his gaze for so long without flinching. Moreover, her appearance…
"Is she mentally ill?"
Someone grabbed Hazel's hand, revealing the electronic bracelet on her wrist. Every person sent to the island wore one, containing their identity information. To meet the criteria for the slums, the Haynes had labeled Hazel as a mentally ill vagrant incapable of self-care.
One of the subordinates scanned Hazel's bracelet with a phone and reported, "Boss, she's a mental patient."
"Details."
"She was sent here four years ago, 22 now, with no specific identity information. Likely a vagrant, diagnosed with schizophrenia."
"22 years old…" The man repeated, his tone cold and disdainful, "Shouldn't a mental patient be in the slums from birth? She wasn't sent here until she was 18?"
Hazel kept her head down, staying silent, continuing to play the role of a mentally ill person.
The man patted her cheek and stood up, ordering, "Take her with us."
"Yes, sir."
Hazel was pulled up from the ground and walked forward.
Everyone walked quietly, unaware of the gleam in the eyes of the girl who was taken away.
'The Haynes, I'm coming back for revenge…'
In the distance, a few people on a shanty rooftop watched the scene unfold.
"Strange, with Hazel's skills, she could easily grab a gun and kill a few of them. Why is she letting them take her away so willingly?"
A boy around ten years old lay on the edge of the rooftop, dressed in a faded hospital gown, his face puzzled as he looked toward the helicopter.
"First, Hazel wants to leave this place badly," someone replied.
"And the second reason?" the boy continued to ask.
"Second, Hazel is smart. She knows the man taking her away is not to be messed with. That's Chase Black."
A person stood on the rooftop, gazing toward the sea, watching Hazel being led to the helicopter.
"If you ever get off Star Island and hear the name Chase, you better steer clear of him. He's dangerous."
"Oh," the boy said, suddenly understanding, but then frowned. "But once Hazel is out, she has nothing. How will she survive?"
The person chuckled softly. "Hazel has been on Star Island for four years, almost becoming the queen of the slums. Someone like her won't have trouble surviving. The people who abandoned Hazel here are in for a world of pain…"
The capital of Country A.
A vintage European-style mansion, with roses climbing high walls. This is Fairchild Estate. Sunlight filled the courtyard, flowers swaying in the breeze, creating a beautiful scene.
Hazel sat curled up on a woven rattan swing on the second-floor balcony. When the swing rose high, she could see the entire rose-filled courtyard.
Since being taken from Star Island, she had been confined here, cared for by two middle-aged maids. She had no idea what the man planned to do with her. With no money and no identity, she chose not to escape, instead, observing the situation.
Behind her, the two maids pruned the rose branches climbing the balcony while chatting.
"I heard the driver braked too hard and got kicked on the spot."
"Ever since Mr. Black took over the conglomerate, he's become more ruthless."
Swinging in the chair, Hazel pieced together bits of information about the man from the maids' daily conversations. Chase Black, 25 years old, boss of the Black Group.
Early last year, he suddenly stormed into his father's study with a gun, forcing him to hand over control. After fully taking over the conglomerate, he ruled with an iron fist, swiftly and decisively, turning the Black Group into the most formidable conglomerate in the country.
Many people got rich by clinging to him, while many others hated him enough to try constant assassinations. Those who made mistakes around him died terribly. Those who opposed him died even worse. Even when his own brother was kidnapped, he remained calm, watching his brother's bloody fingers being chopped off without yielding to any threats.
Undoubtedly, he was a ruthless man with immense power. The extent of his terribleness was beyond her imagination.
"Come to think of it, getting assigned to Fairchild Estate isn't so bad. We only have to look after a little girl. Though she's supposed to be mentally ill, she doesn't make any fuss, just sits quietly every day. It's quite easy," one of the maids said.
"Exactly," the other agreed, turning to look at Hazel, only to see the swing flying high into the air. The girl inside, like an untethered kite, was about to be launched out.
The maids' eyes widened in terror, their voices caught in their throats.
The gates to the courtyard swung open from the outside. Several bodyguards entered first, forming two lines by the entrance, heads bowed in greeting. Chase strode into Fairchild Estate, his face expressionless. He had barely taken a few steps when a dark shadow descended from the sky.
The bodyguards instantly drew their guns, ready to rush over.
Instinctively, Chase lifted his arm, and the frail girl fell into his embrace. He looked down, she was dressed in a thin nightgown, curled up against his chest. Her pale face showed no sign of fear from falling, and she stared blankly at him.
She was biting her nails, her thumb was chewed to a jagged mess.
"Oh dear, Miss! Swings aren't meant to be used like that!"
The two maids rushed out of the mansion, their faces turning pale as they saw Chase. They stood there, trembling. "Mr… Mr. Black…"
Hazel quietly and obediently bit her nails. She wasn't sick. But until she understood why she had been taken from Star Island, she had to show some symptoms of a mental illness to survive. If they found out she was faking, who knew what terrible fate would await her?
But it was strange that Chase caught her, and even stranger that he didn't immediately throw her away.
"Is this how you take care of her?" Chase's cold, displeased voice sounded above Hazel's head.
In the next second, he kicked one of the maids to the ground.
The maid lay on the ground, not daring to get up, apologizing, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… It's our fault."
"Don't let me see these useless fools again!"
"Yes, I'll dismiss them both immediately," a voice responded.
Hazel recognized the voice. It was Jaden Burk, his assistant.
Chase turned away, carrying Hazel inside.
Jaden watched Chase's cold retreating figure and then turned to the bodyguards. "From now on, when the boss comes over, stay at the entrance. Don't go inside."
"Yes, sir," the bodyguards responded in unison, their voices thunderous.
Hazel heard this and thought, so she would continue to stay here? Why? What did the president of a major conglomerate want with a mental patient?
Chase placed her on the sofa in the hall and sat opposite her. Hazel then noticed a vivid tattoo of a fawn on his right hand.
His long fingers grasped her chin, forcing her to look up. His grayish eyes stared straight at her.
"You really do look like her."
Her? Who? An enemy? An old lover? Hazel guessed.