Chapter 22 – A Battle of Wills

The next morning was quiet.

The soft glow of dawn filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden streaks of light across the room. The fire had long since died, leaving only a faint warmth lingering in the air, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from Leonidas' body beside her.

Anastasia blinked drowsily, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, her body tingling with a deep, aching soreness that made her breath hitch. A flush crept up her skin as memories of the night before came rushing back.

Leonidas had been patient. Gentle. Devoted.

Yet, even in his restraint, there had been an undeniable hunger in him—a barely contained need that had threatened to consume them both. She had never imagined something so intimate could feel so overwhelming—so raw, yet so undeniably beautiful.

Now, lying beneath the thick sheets, she realized just how close they were. His arm was slung over her waist, his fingers resting just beneath her ribs, his breathing slow and deep against the back of her neck.

She stiffened slightly, still unaccustomed to the feel of bare skin against bare skin.

But Leonidas noticed everything.

"Mmm," he hummed, his voice still thick with sleep. His grip around her tightened, pulling her closer against his solid warmth. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I—I wasn't going anywhere," she stammered, her face heating further at how intimately they were entwined.

A deep, satisfied chuckle rumbled from his chest. He pressed a lazy kiss to the curve of her shoulder, his stubble grazing her skin. "Good."

She swallowed hard. How could he be so at ease when her heart felt like it was about to burst from her chest?

For a long moment, they lay there in comfortable silence. Then, reality crept in.

She was no longer the same Anastasia from before.

Everything had changed.

She belonged to him now.

And soon, they would have to return to the city—to face the whispers, the scrutiny, and the world that had never accepted her in his arms.

The thought made her stomach twist.

Leonidas must have sensed her sudden tension because his grip around her loosened. His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns along her spine, his voice quieter now. "What's wrong?"

Anastasia hesitated. "We have to go back soon, don't we?"

A pause. Then, he sighed, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. "Yes."

She swallowed, staring at the wall ahead of her. She wanted to stay here, wrapped in the peace of the countryside, away from the judging eyes and cruel whispers. But that wasn't possible.

"I don't want to go back," she admitted in a whisper.

Leonidas' hand slid to her waist, gently turning her so she was facing him. His eyes, still hooded with sleep, searched hers. "Why?"

She hesitated before answering. "Because I know what they'll say about me."

His jaw clenched. "Let them talk."

She let out a small, bitter laugh. "Maybe not to you. But to them, I'm just… temporary."

Leonidas' expression darkened.

His grip on her waist tightened as he pulled her flush against him. "Is that what you think?" His voice was quiet but dangerously controlled.

Anastasia bit her lip. "I don't know what to think. I just know what they'll say."

Leonidas studied her for a long moment. Then, he cupped her face, tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to look at him.

"I will deal with anyone who dares insult you," he said, his voice like steel. "You are not temporary, Anastasia. You are mine. And I do not let go of what is mine."

Her breath caught.

The sheer intensity in his eyes made her dizzy.

"Do you understand?"

She nodded, unable to form words.

Satisfied, Leonidas pressed one last lingering kiss to her forehead before reluctantly pulling away. "We leave at noon."

And just like that, the spell was broken.

After leaving the countryside, he took her to an exclusive gala, an event he would have otherwise ignored. Social gatherings never interested him; they were tedious, filled with shallow conversations and pretentious smiles. But tonight was different. Tonight, he wanted the world to see her—the woman who had changed everything.

As they walked into the grand ballroom, all eyes turned to them. Dressed in a breathtaking gown, she looked like she belonged in this world of luxury, yet her innocence set her apart. His grip on her waist tightened slightly, a silent declaration that she was his. He didn't care for the whispers or the envious glances—he only cared that she knew her place in his life. Not as a secret, not as someone hidden away, but as the woman he wanted by his side for the world to see.

The gala was extravagant, as expected.

Golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the ballroom, the polished marble floors reflecting flickers of candlelight. The scent of expensive perfume and aged wine mingled in the air, while the hum of conversation rippled beneath the delicate strings of a live orchestra.

Anastasia stepped into the room, immediately feeling the weight of a hundred eyes on her.

The murmurs were quiet but unmistakable.

"She actually came back?"

"I thought he'd be done with her by now."

"Does she really think she belongs here?"

A pit formed in her stomach, but she forced herself to lift her chin. She had to. If she faltered, they would eat her alive.

Adrian Vasquez was waiting.

The moment she saw him, a slow smirk spread across his face.

"You're even lovelier in person," he said, brushing a kiss over her knuckles before she could pull away.

Her stomach twisted.

Leonidas' warning echoed in her head. "He will try to use you."

Adrian's smirk deepened. "Leonidas gets bored quickly, you know. When that happens… what will you be left with?"

A cold shiver ran through her.

Then—

"Vasquez."

The air shifted.

A familiar warmth pressed against her back, a hand resting just above her hip.

Leonidas.

The crowd around them fell silent.

Leonidas' grip on Anastasia tightened. "You should be careful," he murmured. "I'd hate for this to turn into something unpleasant."

Adrian chuckled, but the amusement in his eyes flickered. "Oh, come now. I was only making conversation."

Leonidas' eyes darkened. "That was not a conversation."

Tension crackled between them.

Finally, Adrian lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Until next time."

As soon as he walked away, Anastasia released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Leonidas exhaled sharply, his fingers pressing into her waist. "You let him get inside your head."

Her throat tightened. "It's not about doubting you."

Leonidas turned toward her, his gaze burning. "Then what?"

"It's about doubting my place."

Silence.

Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he cupped her face.

"You are my only place," he murmured, his voice quieter now. "Understand that."

She barely had time to process those words before his lips crashed against hers—fierce, raw, claiming, like he was proving something.

And when he finally pulled away, his forehead resting against hers, his breath hot against her lips, as they stood, all eyes were on them. Hushed whispers brushing against her skin like an unfamiliar breeze. She had never been in a place like this, surrounded by power, wealth, and scrutiny.

Sensing her hesitation, his grip on her waist tightened, his warmth grounding her. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, his voice a low, intimate whisper.

"Do you want to go home?"

His words weren't just an offer—they were a promise. If she was uncomfortable, they would leave. No event, no reputation, no social expectation mattered more than her.

She tilted her head slightly, meeting his gaze, searching for reassurance. And there it was—in the way his dark eyes softened for her alone, in the silent vow written across his face.

Her lips parted, hesitating for just a moment before she shook her head. No, she wanted to stay. Not because of the glittering world around them, but because he was there. With her. For her.

A slow, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. His possessive hand on her waist guided her forward, and just like that, they walked into the night as if they owned it—because in this moment, together, they did.