THE DON'S CAPTIVE MISTRESS

The Devil

HAZEL

Maybe Axel did come back to the house. Maybe he didn’t. I shouldn’t even care if Axel was here or wasn’t, or if he came to see me or not. But as the days went on, my anger for him only kept growing.

It was six days in, and I was doing a lot better. I no longer felt the pain I felt. The bruises were fading. I guess I was back to my healthy self. But I still hadn’t walked out of my door.

And it was on that day when I got a visitor.

Actually, not a visitor....a new face.

Someone I never expected.

There was a knock on the door, and I was like,

“Just come in,” because I spent my days mainly sleeping and reading.

Angela had bought new books, and I would read. Of course, per Axel’s rules, I didn’t have a TV, and I couldn’t bring myself to use the phone he had given me, which reminded me of the night he sold me like meat.

So yeah—“come in,” I said, and foolishly expected it would be Angela or Nico.

But the person on the other side of the door wasn’t someone I expected..... It was Remo.

Remo, Axel’s right-hand man. A man of few words. I never knew what he was thinking. He never really engaged with me, unless it was the normal things, like saying hi. So I was shocked he was in my room.

And he goes, “Hey, Hazel.”

I’m shocked, momentarily paralysed as I say,

“Um… hello.”

He walks in without closing the door behind him. He takes two steps inside, and through the doorway, I see Nico glance in before he looks away, standing straight again.

Remo says, “How are you doing?”

I narrow my eyes at him, and he laughs at himself.

“Um… I hope you’re doing a lot better. Angela says you’re doing better.”

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”

He takes a moment looking around the room, and foolishly I ask, “Did Axel tell you to come here and ask me this?”

His eyes go to me, steady. “I know Axel’s not been around the house. He had a lot to do at the house in the city. Now, I know you're wondering why I am here. I’m here because Axel asked me to come and get you… to go downstairs. He wants to see you.”

“Oh?” I ask with a frown. “What is it about?”

And foolishly, there was something inside me whispering maybe he’s taken the time to decide he’s letting you go.

And then another part of me, darker, bitter, whispered, So he left you here beaten and bruised and went to his house in the city?

But I didn’t voice any of those things.

Remo said, “I’ll give you a few minutes to get ready.”

He went out, closed the door, and I heard him murmuring with Nico before their voices disappeared down the hallway.

When I had gathered myself enough to walk out the door, I fully expected to see Nico standing right there, because for the past days I’d been under the impression he was practically stationed outside my bedroom door. He had changed his clothes, cleaned up… but still, somehow, I thought he’d be there.

He wasn’t.

For a second, that alone nearly made me turn back. But I didn’t let it stop me. My hand tightened on the railing as I descended the stairs, my first time out of the room. Every step felt like it echoed through the house. And maybe it was all in my head, but the guards… the maids I passed… it felt like their eyes followed me.

I kept walking.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I turned toward Axel’s office because obviously that’s where he’d want to talk to me. Where else would he.....

“Hazel. This way.” The voice came from behind me, firm and steady. Remo.

I stopped. He waited, standing a few feet behind me, arm slightly extended like he was directing traffic, not a human being who hadn’t recovered from… from what happened.

I walked toward him. He didn’t speak again. Didn’t explain. Didn’t reassure. Remo wasn’t the type. He simply turned and started walking down the hallway.

A hallway I’d never been allowed to step into.

I wasn't allowed in this part of the house.

My heartbeat kicked so hard it felt like it climbed into my throat. I slowed, watching him stop in front of the basement door....the one guarded by two men, always. The one I was never meant to go near.

The guards shifted the moment they saw me, silent but alert in that way that made my stomach twist.

Remo opened the door and walked down.

I froze. Just stood there, staring at the open doorway, the dim staircase, the guards flanking it like shadows waiting to swallow me.

Remo came back up a step after a few minutes or seconds.

He didn’t speak first, of course he didn’t. He just held his hand out again, palm open, patient.

“Follow me.”

Not a request. Not a threat. A statement.

And this time… he didn’t turn his back. He waited.

It took everything in me to take a single step forward. Then another. And another, until I finally pushed myself over the threshold and followed him down.

The cold hit me instantly.

Not a normal cold. Something deeper. The kind of cold that feels built into the walls, into the cement, into the air itself. Or maybe that was just fear worming its way under my skin, whispering that this place wasn’t meant for me, that whatever happened down here was never meant to be seen by someone like me.

I wrapped my arms around myself, rubbing my hands along my upper arms. The air was damp, faintly metallic. My breath felt heavy and irregular.

Doors lined each side of the hallway. Thick doors. Some metal, some reinforced wood. And ahead...Yes, I saw them, bars. Like holding cells. Like the ones I’d only ever seen on police shows.

My vision went hazy, was that real?

“This way,” Remo said, opening a door, the second one down on the right.

He stepped aside and held the door open, that polite gesture somehow made all of this feel worse. He extended his hand again, the motion almost gentlemanly but completely devoid of the softness that word implies.

There was nothing gentlemanly about anything down here.

For a moment, I considered that maybe, just maybe, this was it. That he was walking me into something I wouldn’t walk out of. My stomach knotted, but my feet moved anyway.

I walked inside.

And the first thing I saw was Axel. Standing there in a suit. Perfect. Composed. Confident. The very picture of control. The kind of man who could walk into Hell and look like he owned it.

He stood in front of a table, one hand resting casually on its edge, as though he’d been waiting, not impatiently, but with certainty. Certain I’d come. Certain I’d follow. Certain I’d find my way to him no matter how cold or terrifying the path was.

He looked like himself. Beautiful in that dangerous, cold, impossible way.

The devil in a tailored suit.

And when his eyes lifted to mine… I felt every part of me tighten, brace, and tremble at the same time.