The Billionaire's Mistake (Anya and Daniel)



Chapter 249: To tease her

The hospital room was thick with tension as Marcus Green's piercing gaze bored into Hazel Greyson. She struggled to maintain an air of nonchalance, focusing intently on the plate of institutional cafeteria food in her lap. But she could feel the weight of his stare like a physical force, making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

Even confined to a hospital bed, injured and swathed in bandages, Marcus still radiated an unmistakable aura of danger that set Hazel's nerves on edge. There was something feral, something unrestrained simmering behind those pale blue eyes that made her instincts want to recoil.

"So..." His low rumble of a voice shattered the loaded silence. "Where will we be staying after I'm discharged from this place?" Hazel's head snapped up, her brow furrowing as she met his intense gaze across the dingy hospital room. "Excuse me?" Marcus regarded her with an expression equal parts amusement and challenge, corners of his mouth quirking ever so slightly.

"Well, we are married, are we not?" He stated this with such casual ease, such unabashed certainty, that the words felt like a lead weight dropping into the pit of Hazel's stomach.

"We most certainly are not," she countered through a tight smile, struggling to keep her tone measured despite the growing impulse to scream at this insufferable, arrogant man.

If Marcus was fazed whatsoever by her retort, he gave no outward indication. He simply continued to watch her with that lingering smirk, the unflappable confidence of a man who believed he had the world eating out of the palm of his hand.

"Is that so?" Marcus murmured, his voice taking on an unmistakable edge; like a lioness toying with its cornered prey. "Well in that case, I insist you move into my estate once I'm released. No more of this...quaint little flat you're staying in."

The words hung heavy in the stagnant air, audacious and utterly brazen in their audacity. Hazel felt her tenuous grip on her restraint slipping as she snapped her jaw shut to keep an outraged tirade from spilling out.

She had known with every fiber of her being that Marcus Green was unhinged, dangerous, but the degree to which he was toying with her was swiftly venturing into unconcerned territory. Part of her had naively hoped that being bedridden in a hospital would temper some of his more grandiose delusions, not embolden them further.

With every blistering remark that dripped from his lips like venom, Hazel felt her consuming fear of the man warring against her rising fury and desire to scream back her outrage. If she opened her mouth, would she be lashing out...or inadvertently showing her throat to the wolfNôvelDrama.Org content.

circling for the kill?

The thought made bile rise in Hazel's throat, a stark reminder of how the scales had tipped irrevocably since they'd last shared a room all those months ago. Back then, she'd been captor...but now? She was the one metaphorically chained, at Marcus's mercy whether she

wanted it or not.

She swallowed her curses and tried to keep a blank face.

Her expression amused Marcus who quite enjoyed teasing her He had seen pictures of the carnage she unleashed at the club tonight, so he knew she had a temper. Seeing her holding it in amused him greatly.

Hazel on the other hand was tired. She felt that she should leave now before he says one more thing and makes her explode.

Schooling her features, Hazel pushed her plate aside and surged to her feet. She had to get out of this room, away from his overpowering presence before he demolished what little composure she had left with another unthinkable comment.

"I have something...I need to do," she bit out in clipped tones, refusing to meet Marcus's heavy-lidded stare.

She turned on her heel and strode briskly toward the exit, shoulders rigid. Hazel held her breath, half expecting Marcus to call out one last parting taunt – but thankfully the room. remained silent behind her.

As the hospital door fell shut with a hollow thud, Hazel exhaled a shuddering breath and came face-to-face with Marcus's personal security detail looming in the hallway. The two hulking brutes appraised her dispassionately, awaiting orders from their employer.

"Boss says

Wolf is to escort you home, Ms. Greyson," the one named Dutch rumbled, gesturing for her to follow.

Hazel bristled at the imperious command, her back going ramrod straight as defiance flared through her veins. Simmering fury bubbled beneath her skin like dragon-fire at Marcus, at these brutish lackeys of his, at the horrifyingly helpless position she inexplicably found

herself in.

But what choice did she have, really? This was the way things were in Marcus's domain, the new world order where he pulled the strings from his hospital bed like some vulture-headed Machiavellian king.

Grinding her teeth in seething resentment, Hazel forced one stiff nod at the bodyguards and let them herd her toward the awaiting caravan of black SUVS in the parking lot: As they traveled through the bustling city streets, Hazel sat in stony silence - her fists clenched so tightly atop her thighs, her knuckles turned bone-white.

So many scathing rebukes, so many profanity-laced salvos found themselves scorching the tip

24 To tease her

of her tongue, begging for release. But Hazel dared not allow herself to give voice to them, not with Marcus's pawns surrounding her on all sides like circling sharks.

He wanted her afraid, wanted her off-balance and malleable like a lump of clay in his calloused hands. And as much as it made Hazel's skin crawl with self-loathing, she knew provoking more of his ire was akin to jabbing a riled grizzly bear with a stick.

So she remained mute, stewing in her own molten emotions until at last the caravan rolled to a stop outside her little rental flat. As one of the Mack truck-sized bodyguards loomed in her peripheral vision to usher her inside, Hazel all but bolted out of the vehicle.

The poor, tired facade of her building's exterior used to bring a small measure of comfort, like a well-worn slipper fitting her soul. But tonight the chipping paint and cramped energy only amplified her growing sense of not belonging.

Was this the last time she would see it before being strong-armed into Marcus's gilded cage?

The thought filled Hazel with a blinding, ice-cold panic. Before she fully realized what she was doing, she found herself rushing up the worn steps, fumbling for her keys to seal herself inside her tiny sanctuary.

As soon as she had the door latched firmly behind her back, Hazel released the breath she'd been holding in a ragged whoosh. Her entire body deflated as the fight-or-flight tension finally bled out of her, leaving her feeling bone-deep weary.

In that moment, every inch of the poky flat's interior was a blessed reprieve the overstuffed floral sofa, the battered armoire housing her meager material possessions, the faded photographs on the walls of her adoptive family smiling back at her serenely.

These four walls were her only tether to reality, her sole safe harbor from the storm of madness and peril that now defined her existence. Hazel curled up in the middle of the worn. sofa, cocooning herself in the frayed afghan throw, and finally allowed the dam of tears to

break.

The next day dawned far too soon, the early morning sunlight filtering in through the streaked windows. Hazel's eyes fluttered open, bleary and puffy after her night of soul- cleansing, if fitful slumber.

She lay unmoving for long minutes, letting the steadying cadence of her heartbeat and the musky smell of her home slowly re-calibrate her frayed nerves. Eventually, Hazel knew she would have to emerge once more into the cold light of day and the even colder reality of her predicament.