Jaden walked in from outside. Hearing this, he glanced at Hazel, looking at her for a long moment before saying, "Yes, she does resemble Miss Black. She was quiet like this when she had her episodes."
"She was only 22 when she died." Chase's voice grew particularly somber, as if suppressing some emotion.
"This young lady has passed the basic health checks. No contagious diseases, and she poses no immediate threat. It's safe for you to be with her, but still, be cautious," Jaden reported. "Also, we couldn't find any record of her identity."
"Not important. A substitute doesn't need an identity." Chase scoffed dismissively.
'So, it's probably an old lover. What is this? His schizophrenic lover died, so he finds a 22-year-old mental patient to replace her? What the hell!' Hazel cursed inwardly.
Chase sat across from her, casually taking off his coat and tossing it aside. "Leave us. I'm going to take a nap."
"Yes, sir." Jaden nodded and retreated, stepping out of the room.
'Wait, what does he mean by taking a nap? What's going on?' Hazel wondered as Chase suddenly reached out and patted her face like she was a pet.
"Remember, from today on, you belong to me."
A chill ran down Hazel's spine. 'What does he mean, I belong to him? What is he planning?' She tensed up immediately.
Chase started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a perfect set of abs, with no trace of fat.
Hazel was speechless. 'Seriously? Undressing in front of a "mentally ill" patient? Is he a pervert? Stop undressing!'
Chase stood up, his hand resting on his belt. With a flick of his fingers, the belt was off.
Hazel held her breath. 'Please, stop undressing!'
As if he heard her internal pleas, Chase stopped. He held the shirt in his hand and walked toward the bathroom.
As soon as the bathroom door closed, Hazel jumped up from the sofa. She had to get out of this place.
She walked over to the window and looked outside. Several guards stood in the courtyard, guns at their waists.
Hazel was in a dilemma. On Star island, there were no laws or moral constraints, and many people couldn't control their desires. However, they didn't dare to target her. She never expected that the president of the top conglomerate would be interested in a mental patient. What kind of kink was this? It was insane.
There was no way out through the main door. Hazel roamed the house, found a room, and reached out to push open the window. Looking down, she realized she could jump onto the top of the wall and then down to the ground. It wasn't difficult, but the challenge was doing it without making a sound. Otherwise, she'd be caught immediately.
She decided to give it a try. She gritted her teeth and climbed up onto the window. Just as she was about to jump, she heard footsteps outside the door.
'How did he finish his shower so quickly?' Hazel looked at the door in shock as the footsteps grew closer and closer.
The footsteps stopped at the door.
Without thinking, Hazel slid down from the window, closed it, and sat on the nearby bed, pretending to bite her nails in a daze.
"You ran here!" The irritated voice echoed in the room.
Hazel didn't lift her head. She glanced at a crystal ornament nearby, thinking that three years ago, she had stabbed that old man in his lower body. Worst case, she'd do it again now.
With that thought, she began to calm down.
The scent of men's body wash enveloped her, and a white bathrobe came into view.
Hazel swallowed nervously and slowly looked up.
Chase stood in front of her, watching her. His short hair was damp, with water droplets running down his forehead, along his sharp cheekbones, and disappearing into the half-open bathrobe.
"Run without my permission, and I'll break your legs. Understand?"
He suddenly bent down, staring at her with an overpowering, threatening presence that made her shiver.
She knew he wasn't joking.
She stiffened, leaning back as Chase leaned in, his hands on either side of her, trapping her in his embrace.
Hazel held her breath and inched towards the crystal ornament.
"Ha, I forgot, you're a mental patient. You probably don't understand a word I'm saying."
He sneered, his eyes drifting to her pink lips as he slowly lowered his head.
Hazel reached for the ornament.
Twenty centimeters…
Ten centimeters…
Five centimeters…
She almost had it!
Suddenly, her wrist was grabbed, the heat and dampness of his touch burning her skin. Hazel almost jumped off the bed in shock.
She was done for.
Just as she was about to push him away in desperation, a dry towel was shoved into her hand. "Dry my hair, sis."
'W-What? What exactly did he want from me?' Hazel was baffled but didn't dare show it. She kept her dazed expression.
Disappointed at not getting the reaction he expected, Chase grabbed her hand and roughly wiped his head.
After drying his hair, Chase tossed the towel aside, grabbed her slender hand, and nonchalantly rubbed her finger bones.
"Listen, I'll only teach you once. Next time I tell you to dry my hair and you don't, I'll cut off these pretty fingers one by one and feed them to the dogs."
'Psycho,' Hazel cursed inwardly while her mind rationally analyzed the situation. 'So, the deceased was his sister? I'm a substitute for his dead sister? That's better. Being a sister substitute is better than being a lover's substitute. One can't share a bed, the other can.'
After toying with her fingers, Chase casually pushed her onto the bed.
Hazel lay stiffly on the bed. 'What's he up to now?'
Chase lay down beside her and ordered, "Hold me."
Hazel silently moved away, only to be pulled back.
"You're really a troublesome little lunatic who doesn't understand a word I say," Chase complained. He then placed her arm across the bed and rested his head on it.
Next, he curled up on his side facing her, throwing one long leg over her.
Seeing him in this wild, childlike position, Hazel felt utterly speechless.
'He must have been just a kid when his sister died…'
"Sis, Father came to see me today," he suddenly said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "He wants me to give him money to play with women. Isn't that funny? He wants his son to fund his womanizing."
"I still let him live in the estate If he keeps this up, I'll throw him out to beg. What do you think?"
"When you left, I was nine. I couldn't give you anything. Now I'm twenty-five, I have everything, but I still can't give you anything."
He laughed bitterly, his eyes dimming, the previous arrogance gone.
Hazel listened silently. She didn't know what had happened, but it was clearly a sad story.
"Sis, pat me like you used to," he commanded.
Hazel didn't move.
Chase grabbed the hand he had been resting on and forced her to pat his back.
Hazel was speechless, she complied, awkwardly patting his back.
Her strength was immense, and her movements were mechanical, very unlike a normal person.
"That's more like it," Chase said, seemingly satisfied with her effort, snuggling closer.
She was wearing one of his sister's dresses, scented with flower buds for a calming effect. The smell was soothing and pleasant.
Chase slowly closed his eyes.
Hazel continued patting.
For the first time in her life, Hazel was sharing a bed with a man. His warm breath brushed against her neck, like a feather tickling her.
She didn't know how long it had been, but eventually, Chase's breathing became steady. She turned her head to sneak a peek at him and saw that he had fallen asleep. His hair was still half-wet, and his long eyes were closed.
He was undeniably handsome, but his words were always filled with violence, and he had this peculiar habit of clinging to a mentally ill person to reminisce about the past. She couldn't decide if he was a psycho or just sentimental.
Hazel's hand grew sore from patting, so she stopped when she saw he was asleep. She tried to withdraw her hand from under his head.
Just as she moved, his commanding voice startled her, "Continue."
Snowflakes fell gently, blanketing the estate in pure white. But this serenity was soon shattered.
Screams echoed.
A young, beautiful girl stood in the courtyard, her eyes filled with murderous rage. She drove a fruit knife into the body of a servant, then pulled it out.