“Leave us alone, Leandro,” Sebastian ordered, his tone sharp and final.

“With pleasure,” Leandro replied with exaggerated flair. He gave Anastasia a polite bow, then added with a playful grin, “Leandro Bustamante, right-hand man and loyal friend of Sebastian.”

“Leandro!” Sebastian’s voice carried the weight of irritation, his patience thinning.

“Aye, sir.” Leandro raised his hands in mock surrender and walked away, his smile lingering as if he enjoyed provoking his friend.

Anastasia stood quietly, unsure of what to say. The heavy silence in the room pressed against her chest, and her nerves only grew worse under the cold aura Sebastian carried around him. His presence was commanding, unyielding, and she felt her words catch in her throat.

Sebastian turned his head slightly toward her, his face unreadable. “Listen carefully. I will tell you what you must do, and you will pay attention, because I do not like repeating myself.” His voice was deep, calm, yet it carried a sharpness that made her straighten instinctively.

“You must not enter my room without permission. You must not meddle in my private life, and you will never give your opinion unless I ask for it. Your duties are simple but precise. You will ensure my diet is followed exactly, keep everything in my room in order, and prepare my wardrobe each day. I will tell you the colors I prefer, and you will obey without question. You will accompany me to the company and remain at my side for anything I need. You will not work for anyone else. You belong to my service alone. Is that clear?”

Anastasia lowered her gaze, her fingers twisting nervously. “Yes, sir. I will be your eyes.”

The words slipped from her lips with sincerity, but they struck Sebastian’s heart like a blade. For a moment his jaw clenched, bitterness flaring inside him. He despised pity, despised the reminder of his condition, and her choice of words stung.

His voice turned hard. “Be very careful with what you say to me, Anastasia.”

She looked up quickly, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Her voice trembled with worry, but her expression was honest.

Sebastian leaned closer, his tone cold and cutting. “There is something you need to understand very clearly. You will never behave seductively around me. Do you hear me? Never. I do not desire you, and you are not my type. And never in your life should you look at me with pity.” His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. “I despise pity.”

Anastasia swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing on her. She knew it would be difficult not to notice him. His commanding presence filled every space, and even though his personality was cruel and unyielding, there was something about him that drew her attention.

“Yes, Mr. Parrow,” she said softly, forcing her voice to remain steady.

Sebastian straightened, regaining his usual composure. “It is breakfast time. One good thing about our deal is that you will not lack food or shelter. You will eat beside me every morning. Now, walk faster.”

“Yes, sir. As ordered,” Anastasia replied, hurrying after him.

They stepped out into the garden, where the morning light spread across the land. Sebastian had chosen this place to dine, surrounded by the lush greenery and the distant sound of birds. Anastasia paused for a moment, amazed by the beauty of the landscape.

She glanced at him, silently admiring how, despite his condition, Sebastian carried himself like a man untouched by weakness. In that moment, he seemed more human than the cold figure she had seen earlier, though she knew better than to voice such a thought.

“Good morning, Mr. Parrow,” greeted Sara, the maid who always served him breakfast. Her eyes darted toward Anastasia with thinly veiled disapproval.

Sebastian’s voice was calm but firm. “Sara, this is Anastasia. From tomorrow onward, she will take care of my meals and manage the farm. Everything she asks for will be done.”

Sara’s lips tightened, her face betraying her disagreement. “As you ordered, boss.”

“Bring breakfast for both of us,” Sebastian instructed without a second glance.

Sara cast Anastasia a long, hostile look before turning away. Anastasia shifted uncomfortably, sensing the woman’s disdain.

Sebastian noticed. “Ignore her,” he said curtly. “She is loyal, but she forgets her place.”

Anastasia nodded faintly. She sat at the edge of the table, her thoughts drifting for a moment. Her mother’s health was deteriorating, each day worse than the last. Cancer consumed her body, and no matter how much Anastasia tried, improvement never came. A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

She quickly brushed it away, but Sebastian’s sharp eyes caught the movement. “Why are you crying?” he asked, his tone direct.

Anastasia hesitated. “It’s nothing, sir. Just… thoughts of my mother.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, studying her face. “If you are going to serve me, you cannot allow personal weakness to interfere. Control yourself.”

“Yes, Mr. Parrow,” she whispered, lowering her eyes.

Sara returned, balancing a tray of steaming coffee and warm food. She placed the dishes on the table, but as she leaned closer to Anastasia, a cup tipped and hot coffee spilled directly onto Anastasia’s lap.

Anastasia gasped. “Oh, it burns!” she cried, standing quickly and trying to wipe the liquid from her legs.

“I’m sorry, miss,” Sara said quickly, but there was a smile on her lips, cold and unsettling. It sent a chill down Anastasia’s spine, as though the woman had done it on purpose.

Sebastian’s voice rose, irritated. “What is going on?”

Sara bowed her head, though her eyes still glinted. “Forgive me, boss. The coffee slipped. It was not my intention.” She placed the rest of the breakfast on the table with exaggerated care.

Anastasia grabbed napkins, pressing them against her skin. The burn stung, her delicate skin reddening from the heat.

Sebastian pushed his chair back slightly. “Is it serious?” His voice was sharper now, demanding an answer.

She forced herself to smile and speak quietly. “I am fine, Mr. Parrow. Please continue your breakfast.”

Sara’s voice chimed with false concern. “If you like, miss, I can bring something to help with the burn.”

“You are kind, but I will be all right,” Anastasia said, her eyes sharp with anger. She wanted no help from the maid who had spilled the coffee on purpose.

Sara smiled thinly. “Very well, miss.” She left the tray with a stiff nod and walked out.

Anastasia hurried to the sink, her hands shaking. The burn stung badly. She grabbed a towel, then found a small jar of salt. Lifting her dress slightly, she dabbed it carefully on the red skin. The pain eased a little.

“Are you sure you are all right?” Sebastian asked without looking up from his plate. His eyes stayed fixed on the same spot, unblinking, while his fingers moved with practiced precision over the cutlery. The white cane leaned against his chair, untouched, a silent reminder of how he moved through a world he could not see. Yet his calm posture carried the weight of someone who still commanded the room.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered. She watched the steady rhythm of his movements, unsettled by how confident he was.

“Stop staring,” he muttered. “I do not like being watched.”

She blinked. He had not looked at her once, yet somehow he knew. “No, sir. I will not stare,” she said quickly, and forced herself to take a bite.

The food tasted wrong. The eggs were too salty. She swallowed, trying to hide her disgust. Even the orange juice had a strange, salty tang. She tried to smile, but her mouth betrayed her and she spat the food into her napkin quickly, embarrassed.

Sebastian’s brows drew together. “What is wrong with you? Are you unwell?”

She swallowed hard and lied. “No, sir. I am just not used to this food. I will eat.”

“You will eat what you are given and do it without complaint,” he said firmly. He did not glance at her, yet his voice cut as if he saw every thought she tried to hide.

Her stomach growled. She had not had more than a few crackers since the day before. Hunger gnawed at her but she kept her voice steady when she asked a question that had been on her mind.

“Sir, may I ask you something?”

He did not nod. He simply lifted his hand in a dismissive wave, a gesture that stopped a little short of the table’s edge. “Ask.”

“Why will your ex not marry you?”