“Who are you?” Sebastian demanded, his voice sharp and cutting through the quiet. His hand tightened around his staff. Nobody approached him without permission. Nobody touched him without his consent. And yet, here she was, moving closer, silent, unannounced, and utterly unafraid.

He could hear her breathing, soft, steady, and strangely calm. It should have been soothing, but it only made him more impatient. He hated being blind. He hated the helplessness that came with it. He hated that he could not see her, could not measure the threat, could not read the truth of who she was.

“Speak!” His voice rose, deep and furious, echoing against the walls. “Answer me! Do you know who you are dealing with?”

There was no answer. Only the soft rustle of her clothing as she shifted slightly. He took a cautious step forward, hand outstretched, feeling his way toward her. His fingertips brushed her skin. The softness under his hand, the warmth, sent a jolt through him, unwelcome and unwarranted. He scolded himself instantly. Perhaps she had been sent to harm him. Perhaps she was a trap.

“Do not think you can fool me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tighter than he intended. “Do not think you can simply be here without consequence.”

Before he could consider it further, the car door slammed open.

“Happy birthday… Shit!” Leandro exclaimed, his eyes widening in alarm as they fell on the woman in the backseat. She was beautiful, unconscious, and entirely unexpected. His voice faltered, uncertain how to handle the situation.

“Wretched! How dare you search for a woman?” Sebastian snapped, his words sharp as knives. “I told you I do not want to celebrate this day. You think you can decide for me? You think you can cross me?”

Leandro glanced around quickly. Men lingered nearby, some shifting uncomfortably, their eyes flicking from him to Sebastian. He climbed into the car and locked the doors behind him, his movements careful but determined.

“What is happening?” Sebastian demanded, his tone low and deadly. “If this woman was not sent by you, remove her. I do not want her here. I abhor her presence.”

“She is hurt,” Leandro said softly, leaning closer. “I think you should let me help. She is not here to harm you.”

“I said no!” Sebastian’s voice cracked with frustration. “She will not enter my space. I will not have her near me. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Leandro replied calmly, though his eyes were firm. “But even the strongest men need help sometimes. Let me handle this. Let me take her home. She will be safe, and you will not have to see her.”

Sebastian’s teeth clenched. He wanted to argue, to refuse, to push back, but even as he opened his mouth, the words died in his throat. The rose scent lingering in the air was overwhelming, intoxicating. It made his chest tighten and his mind wander. He hated it and yet could not ignore it.

“Please,” Leandro pressed, placing a hand gently on Sebastian’s arm. “I am not asking for permission. I am asking as your brother. Let me manage this. I promise you will not have to be involved.”

Sebastian closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. He wanted to reject him. He wanted to shove him away and insist on his solitude. But he also knew Leandro was right. She was here. He could not pretend otherwise. The soft warmth, the faint sound of her breath, it was impossible to ignore.

The car slowed as the hacienda gates opened. The heavy iron bars groaned as they slid along the tracks. Sebastian’s muscles tensed instinctively. Home. The place he had controlled for years. The place where the shadows were predictable. The place where everything moved according to his rules.

“Now,” Leandro said softly, “do you want me to help you with this woman?”

Sebastian’s hand tightened around the staff, knuckles whitening. “I do not… I do not want her near me. But take her if you must. Understand this: if I ever smell her again, if I ever sense her presence near me, you will regret it.”

Leandro’s lips curved slightly in a small, teasing smile as he pressed a gold keychain into Sebastian’s hand. A tiny wine bottle charm swung from it. “Take it. Consider it a gesture. Nothing more. Please.”

Sebastian scowled, begrudgingly taking the keychain. “I will take it because you insist. But do not involve me. I will not forgive mistakes.”

He pushed the car door open and stepped out. The night air of the hacienda wrapped around him, cool and heavy, brushing against his face. Silence hung like a curtain, both comforting and oppressive. Inside, however, chaos churned.

Years of order, control, and careful planning had built walls around him. Tonight, those walls shook. The scent, the sound, the presence of her stirred something he had buried deep. Something he had not allowed to exist for years. Memories of Maria rose unbidden. The little ways she had eased his life, her attentiveness, her subtle care. Then her leaving. Her absence. Leaving him to believe he was nothing but a burden.

He walked inside, every step deliberate. Each creak of the floorboards, each echo of his own voice reminded him of all he had lost. Yet the memory of her presence lingered. The unknown, the danger, the scent followed him, wrapped around him, refusing to let go.

He reached the kitchen, throat dry, restless. Water. He needed water. Yet the glasses were not where he expected. Each movement required careful thought. Even his own home felt unfamiliar and invaded.

Leandro’s voice, calm and protective, floated through his mind. “I will make sure nothing happens. She will be safe.”

Sebastian took a glass and drank slowly, letting the cool liquid soothe his parched throat. Still, the tension remained. He could not shake it. Not tonight. Not while shadows from past and present collided in his mind.

He walked to the living room and paused, letting the quiet sink in. His hands itched to move, to do something, anything, to regain control. Yet all he could do was breathe and listen to the subtle shifts in the house. Every small sound made him flinch. Every scent, every rustle reminded him that nothing would ever feel normal again.

***

The air in the room felt heavy, unfamiliar, almost suffocating. Anastasia Parker’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she had no idea where she was. Her head throbbed with a sharp pulse, and a dizzy weight pressed down on her chest.

Her legs wobbled beneath her as if the floor might give way, and she tried to sit up. The sudden motion made the world spin, and she fell back onto the soft surface beneath her, gasping.

Her breath came in shallow, quick bursts, and she pressed her hands against her chest, trying to calm the panic that had already taken root. She strained to remember how she had ended up here. The nightclub, the bright lights, the music, the money, the endless nights, everything felt blurred together, like a bad dream she could barely grasp.

Then her mind hit the sharp edge of memory of the man. The one who had come too close, the one whose hands had tried to take control of her body, the one who had injected her with that drug. A cold, sharp fear sliced through her, sharper than ice. She had run. Somehow, she had run, stumbling through dark streets, alleyways, and shadows until she collapsed into the first car she could find.

And now, here she was.

A figure moved slowly across the room, and her heart skipped a beat. She froze, barely daring to breathe. The man was tall, impossibly tall and his presence filling the room even without a word. Each step he took was measured, slow, confident, and terrifying all at once.

Anastasia pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to quiet the panic rising inside her. She had never seen a man like him. His face was sharp, sculpted, almost unreal in its perfection. His expression was distant, cold, commanding, and yet somehow magnetic.

He did not speak, but the room seemed to lean toward him, like the air itself recognized his authority.

Her stomach tightened, her legs quivering beneath her. She wanted to run, to hide, to vanish completely, but some invisible force held her in place. She watched him, every small motion amplified in her mind.

She thought he might notice her, claim her presence or probably demand answers she did not have. And yet, he did not. He passed her without a word, and she realized with a sudden, shaky breath that he could not see her.

He was blind.

The thought both terrified and fascinated her. Her hands fell slowly from her face, but her fingers still trembled. She rose carefully, silent as a shadow, taking a few tentative steps behind him. Her heart thumped so hard it felt like it might burst through her ribs, yet she could not stop herself from following him.

There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled her in even as every instinct screamed at her to run.

The man stopped suddenly at the entrance of the kitchen. Anastasia’s breath caught in her throat. He moved as if he had sensed her. She could feel it in the tension of his posture, in the tilt of his head and the shift of his weight.

Her body froze. She did not dare to breathe. Her pale face betrayed nothing of the storm inside her, but her hands were cold and sweaty. Her legs shook like jelly. She swallowed hard, forcing the tight lump in her throat to move.

“What are you doing in my house?” His voice rolled through the room, deep, rich, and commanding. Each word struck her chest like a hammer.

Panic surged again. She pressed her hands over her mouth, trembling violently, and instinctively stepped back. Her eyes studied him, memorizing the firm set of his shoulders, the slow, deliberate movements, the calm authority radiating from him.

He turned his head slightly, tilting it, as if sensing her through the smallest movement and the slightest sound. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run, but fascination held her frozen. He advanced with measured, confident steps, and her knees nearly buckled beneath her.

“I… I—” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. Her mind raced, trying to find words that would not betray her fear. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, shallow breaths trembling against the tight knot in her stomach.

“Can’t speak?” The words were sharp, almost teasing, rolling off his tongue like a challenge.

"Has the cat got your tongue?”