The next morning after breakfast

“Are you ready?”

Sebastian’s voice was low, husky, and rough enough to make Anastasia’s pulse stumble. It carried the kind of weight that filled every corner of the room, a sound that settled deep inside her chest and made her grip the edge of her skirt with trembling fingers.

She lifted her eyes to him, but words refused to come. That single question should have been easy, yet it felt like he had asked her to hand over her soul. Her lips parted slightly, but nothing came out. She could only swallow and hope he would not notice how her heart was racing.

He leaned forward slowly, his expression unreadable, his blind gaze fixed on where she sat. “Can you even sleep with me?”

The bluntness of the question made her entire body freeze. For a heartbeat, she thought she must have heard him wrong, but his tone was too sharp to mistake. Heat rushed to her face, spreading across her cheeks and down her neck.

“Sir… I—” Anastasia stammered. Her voice cracked, and she quickly looked down, unable to hold his gaze. The words tangled in her throat until all she could manage was silence.

Sebastian tilted his head, listening closely to her struggle. His jaw tightened for a moment, and then, as if he had caught something in her silence, his features eased, if only slightly. It was the faintest softening, but it was enough to make him look dangerously human, dangerously handsome.

Her chest tightened. She wanted to answer, but she could not. Every response felt like a trap.

The corner of his mouth twitched, not in humor but in cold restraint. “I would never sleep with you,” he said at last, his voice slicing through her hesitation. “You are not my type, and you never will be. My preferences are far more demanding than you could ever satisfy. Consider the subject closed.”

Relief and shame collided inside her chest. Anastasia released the breath she had been holding, but it came out shaky, betraying her. She lowered her head and murmured, “Yes, sir,” her tone soft, her hands twisting together in her lap.

He did not reply. Instead, he picked up his fork and cut his food with precise, deliberate movements. He ate in silence, every gesture calculated. Anastasia forced herself to do the same, but her appetite had vanished. She pretended to eat, moving her fork aimlessly, her eyes fixed on the plate while her thoughts raced.

The silence was suffocating. Every tick of the clock seemed louder, every scrape of his knife against the plate sharper. She tried to calm her breathing, but it only made the quiet more unbearable.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sebastian placed his fork down with a soft clink. “Let’s go,” he said, his tone final.

Anastasia jumped slightly at the sudden command. She stood quickly, gathering the dishes. “Sir, let me take this to the kitchen first.”

“No.” His response was curt, leaving no room for argument. “Leandro will be here soon to drive us to the company. What are you wearing today?”

She froze, caught off guard by the question. “A dress, sir,” she answered cautiously, glancing down at herself.

“I hope it is long enough. You are here to work, not to seduce.” His words were like a blade, cutting straight into her pride.

Her face flushed with embarrassment. She tugged at the hem of her dress, trying to pull it lower, but the fabric scraped against her thigh where the hot coffee had burned her yesterday. Pain shot through her skin, and she bit her lip to keep from wincing.

“It is long enough, sir,” she said quickly, her voice rushed. “I will take the tray and then go to the bathroom for a moment, if that is alright.”

Sebastian’s head turned slightly toward her, his expression sharp. “Five minutes.Don’t be late.”

“Yes, boss,” she whispered, bowing her head. “I will not be long.”

She gathered the tray and hurried out, her legs moving faster than she intended. The hacienda was large, its polished wooden floors stretching endlessly, the hallways lined with tall windows that let in golden streams of morning light. She might have admired the beauty if her mind wasn’t spinning with nerves and the sting of her burn.

As she neared the kitchen, a presence made her pause. Sara stood in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes fixed on Anastasia with open disdain.

Sara’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Did you enjoy your welcome?” she asked, her voice dripping with venom.

Anastasia tightened her grip on the tray and kept walking, refusing to answer.

Sara clicked her tongue and followed, her shoes tapping sharply against the floor. “Do you think I cannot see through that innocent face of yours?” she whispered harshly. “You are here for his money, aren’t you? For his power?”

Anastasia stopped in the kitchen and carefully set the tray down on the island, her hands trembling slightly but her back straight. She turned and met Sara’s eyes without blinking. “I am here to work. That is all.”

Sara laughed, the sound low and mocking. “Work? Girls like you don’t come here to work. Girls like you come to spread your skirts and hope the boss looks your way.”

“That is not true,” Anastasia replied calmly, though her chest tightened. “I came here because I need this job. Nothing more.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Sara scoffed, stepping closer until their faces were only inches apart. “Don’t play the saint. I have worked here for years. I know how women like you think.”

Anastasia tried to step around her, but Sara’s hand shot out and gripped her arm tightly.

“I have my eyes on you,” Sara hissed, her nails digging slightly into Anastasia’s skin. “The boss is mine to protect, and I will not let some little tramp replace me.”

Anastasia pulled free with a quick jerk, her voice firmer now. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Spilling coffee on me was no accident, and you know it. But I will not lower myself to fight you. Keep your eyes on me if it makes you feel better. I am not afraid of you.”

Sara’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “Oh, you will be afraid. You will regret ever stepping foot in this house.”

Anastasia refused to respond. She turned on her heel and left quickly, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. The burn on her leg throbbed with every step, the fabric of her dress brushing against her skin like fire.

She found the bathroom, locked the door, and finally let herself breathe. Lifting her dress, she winced at the sight of her thigh. The skin was red and angry, already blistering in places. She turned on the tap and dabbed cool water against it, but the sting only grew sharper. Her eyes filled with tears. She pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle a sob.

“I cannot cry,” she whispered to her reflection. “I cannot afford to cry.”

She washed her face, smoothed her hair, and straightened her dress, forcing herself back into composure. Then she unlocked the door and walked back out, each step a silent test of her strength.

When she returned, Sebastian was standing near the window, speaking quietly with Leandro. Their voices cut off the moment she entered the room.

“I am ready, boss,” she said, forcing her voice to sound brighter than she felt.

Sebastian turned his head slightly in her direction, his sharp profile catching the light. He gave no reply, only adjusted his cane and began walking toward the door. She followed a few steps behind, studying his rigid posture, his careful yet powerful movements. There was so much about him she wanted to understand, but he kept himself locked behind walls she could not touch.

At the car, she slid into the back seat beside him. Leandro took the driver’s seat and the only sound inside the vehicle the steady hum of the engine. Anastasia shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep her legs apart so the fabric of her dress would not press against the burn.

Her eyes watered despite her effort to stay composed. She wiped at them quickly, praying no one had noticed.

“What is wrong with you?” Sebastian’s voice cut through the silence like a knife, deep and commanding.

“Nothing, boss,” she replied at once, too quickly.

He turned his head toward her, his eyes narrowing. “Do not lie to me. Speak the truth.”

Her throat tightened. She wanted to stay silent, but his gaze held her like iron. Finally, she lowered her eyes. “The coffee that was spilled on me yesterday… it burned me, sir. My skin still hurts.” Her voice cracked as she admitted it.

Sebastian muttered something under his breath, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Leandro, stop at a pharmacy.”

“There is no need, sir,” Anastasia said quickly, panic rising in her chest. “Please, I do not want to trouble you. You are already helping me enough. I can endure it.”

Sebastian did not answer her. His silence was heavier than any reply. Leandro nodded without a word and turned the car toward the nearest stop.

When they pulled over, Leandro stepped out to fetch the medicine, leaving her alone with Sebastian. The air grew thick instantly, charged with an energy that made her fingers tighten against her dress.

“Come closer,” Sebastian ordered, his tone calm but firm.

Her eyes widened. “Sir?”

“It is an order,” he repeated without raising his voice.

Her heart raced as she shifted hesitantly closer, stopping just a few inches away from him.

Sebastian reached out and placed his hand on her knee. The warmth of his palm against her tender skin made her flinch and suck in a sharp breath.

“What are you doing, sir?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“I want to know how bad this is,” he said evenly, his grip tightening slightly as if daring her to pull away.

“You do not need to touch me,” she whispered desperately. “Please… you do not have to do this.”

His eyes darkened, unreadable. His fingers brushed higher up her thigh, stopping just at the edge of her burn.

“This is nonsense,” he muttered. “I need to feel it properly.”

Her body stiffened, her chest rising and falling rapidly. His hand rested so close to the most vulnerable part of her that she felt trapped.

“Wasn’t it like this before?” he asked quietly, his gaze locking onto hers with a strange intensity.

Anastasia swallowed hard, lips parting as she struggled for words. Fear, confusion, and something she could not name tangled inside her.

The car door opened before she could answer. Leandro returned with a small bag in hand.

But Sebastian did not remove his hand.