THE DON'S CAPTIVE MISTRESS

The Bathroom

HAZEL

After twenty minutes, the car turns off the main road and onto a long, gated driveway. The kind that says money lives here. Security guards in black suits stand at the entrance, checking names on a list. Nico rolls down the window, flashes something, a card or a look, and we’re waved through.

My heart starts thumping, not from fear this time, but from the smallest flicker of something I haven’t felt in a while.... Hope

If there are governors and senators inside, superintendents of the police… maybe, just maybe, someone will see me. Maybe someone will help me.

The mansion we pull up to looks like it was carved out of marble and ego. It’s all glowing windows and tall white columns, valet attendants running back and forth, music humming faintly from inside. Women in gowns. Men in tuxedos. Champagne glasses that look like they cost more than I did.

Nico parks the car and cuts the engine. “We’re here,” he says, glancing over at me. “You behave, okay?”

I look at him. “You sound like you’re taking a child to school.”

He grins, unbothered. “Good. Then act like a good student.”

I roll my eyes, pushing open the door. The night air is cool and sharp, brushing against my bare shoulders as I step out. The gravel crunches beneath my heels, every step echoing. I feel eyes...guards, attendants, men who are trained to notice everything.

Inside, the world shifts. The room is warm, gilded, alive. Crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling. Laughter and low conversation ripple through the air. Waiters glide between people carrying trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. And I don’t even have to search for him long, because.... I don’t know, maybe his dark energy is just too hard to hide, even among all these corrupt people.

Because he’s more than just corrupt. He’s something else entirely. There he is.... Axel Morelli.

He’s standing near the grand staircase, dressed in a black suit that fits him far too well. He’s talking to two men, political types, the kind who shake hands like they’re signing deals with the devil. One of them has a woman beside him. Wife? Maybe. But she looks too young. Maybe a daughter. Maybe a mistress. Hard to tell in this crowd.

But the moment I recognize Axel, the moment my eyes find him.... Axel’s gaze flicks toward me. It’s almost as if he could feel me walk in, as if he knew the second I stepped into his world. The moment he sees me, his lips curve. Not into a smile. Into something that says he’s pleased. That says, Good girl.

Nico nudges me forward.

“Go on,” he says under his breath. “Axel doesn’t like waiting.”

Of course he doesn’t.

I take a breath and start walking toward him. Every step feels heavier than the last. I can feel the weight of eyes on me....men, women, guards, strangers. Maybe it’s just in my head, maybe it’s real. Either way, I don’t like it.

I’ve never liked attention. I keep my chin up, my steps even. I tell myself to stand tall, to smile if I have to, to play along. Just for tonight. Just long enough for him to let me breathe. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get a chance to talk to someone..... Someone powerful. Someone who could see through all of this.

Because the people here are strong. They have power. And maybe, just maybe, one of them has the power to take me away from Axel Morelli.

I'm still a few steps away when one of the men laughs at something the other said. That laugh, calculated, deliberate, is part of the mask they wear when they aren’t really listening. Axel doesn’t laugh along. He doesn’t need to. His posture is effortless, composed, every movement precise as he looks at me, waiting.

When I finally reach him, he takes his time looking me over. Slow. Deliberate. A smirk, satisfaction flickering on his lips. He turns to the man beside him, with me, in his arms now,

"This is Hazel."

Just Hazel. No last name. No introduction. I’m nothing important. Just his possession, I guess. The man next to him—grey hair, a politician’s face, that fake warmth people in power wear- reaches out his hand to shake mine.

“Beautiful evening, Miss Hazel,” he says.

His grip is firm, but his eyes wander. Alex doesn’t stop him. He just watches.

“What a beautiful girl,” the grey-haired man chuckles.

Alex hums, a faint smile playing over his mouth. He leans in, close enough for me to hear, and murmurs, “You’re late.”

The word sprinkles down my spine. But I keep my smile in place. Axel stretches, switching back into charm, and continues talking business. The man beside him drones on about an upcoming deal, donations, land permits, government cuts and words that mean nothing to me.

I just stand beside him, nodding when I have to, smiling when someone looks my way. I tell myself to stay calm, to watch, to listen. Because maybe, if I listen hard enough, I’ll know who’s important, who might help me.

After a while, I lean into Axel. “I need to use the bathroom,” I whisper.

He nods, as if it couldn’t matter less whether I’m here or not. I start walking toward the bathroom. I leave the room, though I don’t know where the bathroom is. I wander, trying to find it.

As I walk, I see someone. Another person is smoking in the back garden. I don’t know what it is, but I decide to walk toward it.

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to get someone’s attention, a worker or staff, but the hallway is empty of anyone.

The man turns toward me. I recognize something familiar about him, though I can’t place it. He is probably someone important, someone I should know, maybe? He studies me with a calculating eye.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Can you show me the direction of the bathroom?”

He points. “Go back over there, then turn to your left. The second door.”

I start walking away.

“Wait,” he says. I stop and turn.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” he adds, smiling.

I don’t know why, but I smile back.

“It’s Hazel,” I say.

And then I turn back and walk toward the bathroom. When I’m done in the bathroom, I go outside and decide to head to the garden. It’s way better than going back to the ballroom anyway.

But when I get there, the back garden is empty. Still, I go ahead and take a seat on one of the marble benches by the fountain and just stare into nothing. The night is quiet, the air heavy with perfume and the faint hum of music from inside.

“Hazel.”

A voice calls my name. I turn around. It’s Axel.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks.

“Nothing. I was just… watching the moon.”

He hums. That’s all he says before adding, “Come. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

He extends his hand. I take it. We walk back toward the ballroom. People try to get Axel’s attention along the way, businessmen, politicians, a few women draped in diamonds...but he ignores them, never slowing down.

Until we stop in front of a man.

It's the man from the garden. He smiles, a slow, confident curve of his lips. “Hazel, we meet again.”

I don’t know why my gaze flickers to Axel, but it does. He doesn’t seem bothered.

“So, Hazel,” Axel says, “I see you’ve met Mac.”

“Yeah,” I answer quietly. “I asked him for directions to the bathroom.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Axel replies smoothly, turning to the man. “Because… he was really enamored by you... weren’t you, Mac?”