“Why will your ex not marry you?”

The words slipped out of Anastasia’s mouth before she could stop them. The moment they were in the air she wished she could grab them back. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she knew how foolish she sounded. Why had she asked such a thing? But the thought had been gnawing at her since yesterday.

If this powerful, bitter man had once been promised to someone, then why was she here now, pretending to be his substitute wife? Had he been abandoned, left unwanted? Was that why he needed someone to fill the role now, someone who was more servant than partner?

Sebastian’s fork clattered against the edge of his plate. The sound cracked through the still morning air like a stone thrown into still water. His head did not turn toward her, but his lips pressed into a line so sharp it looked carved from stone. His silence was worse than shouting.

“What did I tell you?” His voice was sharp when it came, clipped and cold, like frost on steel.

“I am sorry,” she rushed out quickly, her hands twisting in her lap. “I should not have asked. I only wondered because… because we will be close, and I wanted to know what to expect.”

His chair scraped harshly against the floor as he shoved it back. The sound made her flinch. His hand brushed against the cane at his side before resting heavily on the table again.

“Mind your place,” he snapped. His eyes were hard though unfocused, staring past her. “You asked an insolent question.”

“I only meant—” Anastasia began, her voice weak, but he cut her off before she could finish.

“I told you before, I despise repeating myself,” he said. His breath was steady, but his words were edged like a blade. He drew in a sharp breath, trying to cage whatever storm was building inside him.

“It is absurd. You will be nothing more than a substitute wife and a servant. You will do as you are told. That is all. Now finish your breakfast because you will have work.”

Her throat tightened. Still, she could not stop herself. Her voice came out softer, stubborn but shaking. “Sir, please. I need to ask one more thing.”

His head turned toward her voice, eyes blank but full of authority. “What now?”

She laced her fingers together, trying to steady the trembling in her hands. “I know it is too soon, and I am sorry to ask this, but… could you give me an advance? I need money for my mother. She is very sick. I will pay you back, I promise. I will do whatever you ask.”

Silence fell across the dining room. Sara, who had been lingering by the doorway with a tray, froze in place.

“How dare you,” Sebastian said at last. His voice rose then dropped, a cold, disgusted calm filling the air. “You have been in my service for one hour, and already you ask for money?”

“Please, sir,” Anastasia said, her voice breaking as tears pricked her eyes. “I do not have time. My mother’s condition got worse last night. The clinic said they will not admit her unless we pay something now. If you refuse, she may not survive.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. His grip tightened on the head of his cane until his knuckles turned pale. He shifted his weight, the sharp tap of the cane striking against the polished floor as he began to pace slowly around the dining room, each step taut with restrained anger.

Leandro, who had been half-hidden behind a newspaper, finally lowered it. He studied his friend’s tense shoulders and then looked at Anastasia with something between sympathy and curiosity.

“Sebastian,” Leandro said softly, “what harm would a small advance do? If she is sincere, we can sort the rest later. You promised benefits when you made this arrangement.”

Sebastian stopped pacing, his cane striking the ground once more before he steadied himself. “You think begging for money is sincerity?”

“It is not begging,” Leandro countered. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It is desperation. Look at her. Do you think this girl would risk your anger if she was not at the end of her rope? If her mother is truly sick, are we the kind of men to sit and let her suffer?”

Anastasia’s eyes flicked between them, her heart pounding.

Sebastian’s mouth twitched, as though caught between mockery and thought. Slowly, he returned to his chair. His hands brushed along the edge of the table until they found his plate, grounding himself.

Sebastian was silent for so long that Anastasia began to count the beats of her own heart. The air in the dining room grew heavy, so thick she thought it might choke her. The clinking of cutlery from the far end of the house had faded, leaving only the low hum of silence between them.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was calm, measured, but it carried a weight that pressed down on her shoulders.

“You must understand something,” he said slowly. “I don’t give out money just because someone cries for it.”

Anastasia’s fingers curled against the fabric of her dress. She lowered her eyes, even though he could not see them, and answered quietly.

“I know, sir.”

He tilted his head toward her voice, his blind eyes fixed as if they were looking through her.

“The question is,” he continued, “how far are you willing to go to get it? Can you do anything for me in return?”

Her chest tightened, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe. The way he said it, so casual and unhurried, made her throat turn dry. She forced herself to swallow and willed her voice to come out steady.

“Yes. I’ll do anything.”

Sebastian did not move. A faint curl tugged at the corner of his lips, as though her answer amused him.

“Anything?” His tone held a shadow of mockery. “Are you sure you know what that word means?”

“Yes,” Anastasia said quickly, though her voice trembled. “If it means I can pay for my mother’s treatment, then I’ll do it. Whatever it is, I won’t back down.”

Leandro, who had been watching in silence, leaned back in his chair and gave a low laugh.

“Careful, girl,” he warned, his accent thicker when his tone grew serious. “You don’t even know what he’s asking yet.”

Anastasia turned her head sharply toward him, her eyes burning. “I don’t care. My mother is lying in pain right now. If I have to scrub floors, cook, serve, or even stand here all night, I’ll do it. If I have to give up sleep, I’ll do it. I can’t let her die.”

Leandro lifted his brows, his expression softening despite himself. But Sebastian remained silent, unmoving, listening to her every word.

The quiet stretched until Sebastian tapped his cane lightly against the floor. The sound was sharp, almost like a gavel striking wood.

“You sound desperate,” he murmured.

“I am,” Anastasia whispered, her throat tightening around the words.

Sebastian leaned forward slightly, his presence looming over her despite the table between them. “Then remember your words. You said anything. Don’t take them back later.”

Her chin lifted, tears swimming in her eyes but her voice steady now, almost defiant. “I won’t take them back.”

Leandro shifted again, uneasy. “Sebastian,” he said quietly, “don’t play too hard. She’s just a girl trying to save her mother. Not one of your business deals.”

Sebastian ignored him. Instead, his head tilted as if he were listening to the quiver in Anastasia’s breath. His blind eyes, cold and distant, locked in her direction. For a second, Anastasia had the frightening thought that he could see her, that he was looking straight into her soul.

She wanted to look away, but something in his stillness held her in place.

Just then, the sound of footsteps broke the moment. Sara reappeared then, carrying a fresh set of napkins. She placed them down with more force than necessary, her eyes flicking toward Anastasia with thinly veiled disdain. Yet her voice came out oddly soft when she said,

“If you need anything, miss, tell me. I will help where I can.”

Anastasia managed a nod, though she doubted Sara’s sincerity.

Sebastian’s head turned slightly toward the faint sounds of the kitchen, then further, toward the road beyond the walls. His posture shifted as if he could see something neither of them could.

“Very well,” he said. “Come to my officetomorrow morning. We will draft the agreement.

“Yes, sir,” Anastasia said, rising quickly. Gratitude, shame, and fear tangled together in her chest.

But just as Anastasia turned to leave, a loud buzzing broke the silence in the dining room. The sound was sharp, almost startling against the stillness. It came again, steady and insistent.

Sebastian froze. His whole body stiffened as if someone had pressed a hand to his chest. Slowly, he reached into his pocket, his movements precise, careful. His fingers closed around the phone, pulling it free.

The vibration rattled against his palm, and for a moment he stood completely still, his head tilted slightly as if listening harder.

He was blind, yet nothing about him ever seemed unsure, until now. Sebastian never received calls. People didn’t dare. They sent reports through his assistants, forwarded messages, or waited until he reached for them. But not this. Not someone calling him directly. It was so out of place that even he seemed caught off guard.

The phone buzzed again, harder this time. His jaw clenched, but he did not press the screen. He held it as though the weight of the device had suddenly doubled.

Anastasia felt the air change. Something about the sound unsettled him, and she could sense it. Leandro straightened in his chair, his shoulders tightening as he abandoned the easy posture he had been in only seconds ago. Sara, who almost never let her emotions show, flicked her eyes toward Sebastian, curiosity sparking before she could hide it.

Sebastian turned his face first toward Anastasia, then toward Leandro. His eyes were blank, as always, but his head moved slowly, deliberately, as if he could see them. He said nothing. His grip only tightened on the phone.

The buzzing didn’t stop. It kept rattling against his hand, louder with every vibration, like whoever was calling refused to be ignored.

Anastasia clutched her skirt, her breath caught in her throat. Whoever was on that phone mattered.

He let the phone ring, ignoring it completely. In his mind, no one ever dared call him directly, and if it was truly important, they would know better than to disturb him—they would send a message through the proper channels.

The ringing finally stopped. Sebastian set the phone aside and turned his face toward Anastasia, his expression carved in stone. His voice was cold, final.

“We will discuss this later.”