He has a sister

The maid, having prepared the bath for Hazel, left the room as Hazel entered the bathroom, wrapping a towel around her. The door closed behind the maid, leaving Hazel in solitude as she contemplated the inviting tub before her.

Hazel's eyes fell on the inviting tub, adorned with floating rose petals, emitting a sweet and enticing aroma.

A moment of contemplation passed before she moved the towel, gracefully easing herself into the warm water. A contented sigh escaped her lips as the soothing embrace of the bath enveloped her.

"Ahh..."

She leaned back, gazing up at the ceiling, allowing the soothing embrace of the water to envelop her. At this moment of relaxation, Hazel's thoughts drifted to the events that had transpired, particularly the unexpected drive.

Where can I find the drive?

The possibilities floated in her mind.

Would it be in his bedroom?

A surge of uncertainty clouded her thoughts. She couldn't simply enter without the password or Francisco's voice.

While pondering, Hazel touched the water, her hands methodically rubbing her body.

On the other side of the mansion, Francisco stood beneath the soothing spray of his shower, allowing the water droplets to cascade down his physique.

Tonight Hazel will stay.

 Will he be able to control himself?

Francisco couldn't help but wonder if he would be able to maintain control.

Lost in contemplation, he eventually rose from the tub, droplets trickling down his sculpted form. Wrapping him in a plush bathrobe, Francisco's calm demeanor betrayed the thoughts swirling within.

As he moved, his phone buzzed, signaling a new email. Curiosity piqued, he picked up the device, checking the contents with an unreadable expression.

With deliberate composure, he opened his laptop, the soft glow illuminating his focused features. Francisco's hand absentmindedly rubbed his chin as he perused the contents on the screen. The room filled with a hazy ambiance as he lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around him.

His attention then shifted to a drawer, and with purpose, he retrieved a book. Opening it, he flipped through its pages until he reached the end. There, nestled within the final pages, was a black pen drive.

 Francisco touched the smooth surface of the drive, a calculated decision reflected in his steady gaze.

The act of concealing the pen drive within the book spoke volumes about its significance. Francisco's meticulous gesture suggested a level of secrecy that demanded reverence. The black drive held not only data but a concealed narrative, a tale of clandestine dealings and veiled truths.

He connected the drive to his laptop. Francisco leaned against the chair, the tendrils of smoke from his cigarette dancing in the air. His gaze, steady and contemplative, remained fixated on the laptop as data began to transfer.

The pen drive served as a single piece of evidence.

Once the information was extracted, Francisco carefully returned the pen drive to its concealed spot within the book.

His bedroom, akin to his office, boasted two expansive bookshelves. Each shelf held the weight of countless narratives, both literary and clandestine.

After her bath, Hazel emerged, wrapped in a towel, only to find a dress awaiting her on the edge of the bed. As she donned the garment, a sense of unease settled within her. The dress, by her standards, leaned towards the seductive side, leaving her feeling slightly out of her comfort zone. A sigh escaped her lips as she assessed her reflection in the mirror.

What should I do now?

Lost in contemplation, Hazel pondered her options. The closet offered no solace, lacking any alternative dresses in her size.

Just as uncertainty loomed, a knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Responding with a hesitation, "Yes."

A maid came entered and said, "Ms., do you need anything?"

"Actually, you've come at the right time," Hazel admitted with a smile, "I'm a bit uncomfortable with this dress."

The maid nodded and said, "I will see something."

The maid nodded understandingly, taking initiative to rectify the wardrobe situation. Opening another closet, she retrieved a selection of shorts and tops.

"Will it be okay?" the maid inquired, presenting the alternative garments with a helpful smile.

Hazel, clad in the more comfortable attire provided by the maid, smiled appreciatively. 

"Yes, it will be good. Anyway, is this all Ms. Emily's dress? If she gets to know I am using it, will she be angry?"

The maid responded in her robotic manner, "It's not Ms. Emily's dress. It's Ms. Diana's room."

Hazel's curiosity was piqued. 

"Ms. Diana? Who is she?"

"She is our Master's sister," the maid disclosed the fact.

"Oh, I haven't seen her. Doesn't she live here?"

 Hazel inquired, attempting to gather more information about Francisco and his family dynamics.

The maid explained, "She lives here, but she has her own apartment."

"So, he has a sister too?" Hazel questioned.

The maid simply nodded, leaving Hazel with a trail of questions and a growing desire to understand the intricate ties that bound Francisco's world.

Hazel, with a phony smile, apologized, "Sorry, I thought it was Ms. Emily's room."

The maid replied, "Master doesn't like to bring his outside things into his mansion."

"Oh, outside things?"

 Hazel queried, surprised by the comparison the maid drew between Emily and items from the outside world.

The maid continued, "But she is his girlfriend."

Hazel was taken aback by the maid's nonchalant remark. "Master changes his girlfriend like he changes his dresses."

The revelation left Hazel contemplating the intricacies of Francisco's life, and she sensed a layer of complexity within his relationships that extended beyond the surface.

The maid, seemingly detached, offered a perspective that hinted at the transient nature of Francisco's romantic entanglements.

"Summon me if you want anything," the maid declared before promptly leaving the room.

It became evident that the maid, while reserved and perhaps not inclined to divulge information willingly.

Determined to unravel the complexities surrounding Francisco, Hazel recognized the need for a more forthcoming confidant — one who would willingly share the intricacies of Francisco, without the need for incessant probing.