Chapter 23 – A Battle of WillsReturning to Kosta’s Estate

The car pulled through the grand wrought-iron gates of Kosta's estate, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as they arrived. The vast mansion stood tall against the night sky, its towering structure a symbol of old money and undeniable power.

Inside, the staff had already lined up in quiet formation, awaiting their arrival. Mrs. Reyes, the head housekeeper, stepped forward, her sharp eyes assessing them with the practiced gaze of someone who had worked in this household for years.

"Welcome home, sir," she said with a polite nod. Then her gaze softened as it fell on Anastasia. "And welcome back, Miss Anastasia."

Anastasia flushed slightly, unused to the warmth in the older woman's voice.

"Shall I have tea sent up for you both?" Mrs. Reyes asked.

Before Anastasia could reply, Leonidas' deep, commanding voice cut in. "No. We're retiring for the night."

His words made Anastasia's stomach flutter.

Mrs. Reyes nodded before instructing the staff to disperse.

Leonidas turned to Anastasia. "I have urgent matters to take care of in my study. Go to bed."

His tone was firm, but his eyes lingered on her a moment longer than necessary—as if he was silently debating whether to simply take her with him instead.

Anastasia nodded slowly. "Okay."

The corner of his mouth lifted, as if he found her obedience cute.

Then, with one last glance at her, he disappeared down the hallway toward his study.

Anastasia let out a quiet breath as she stepped into her bedroom.

It was strange—being back here after the countryside. After everything that had happened.

She reached up to unzip her gown, feeling the smooth fabric slide down her aching body. A soft whimper left her lips as soreness throbbed in her thighs and lower back.

A deep heat bloomed across her cheeks.

She knew exactly why she was sore.

Her stomach tightened at the memory of Leonidas' hands, his mouth, his weight pressing into her, the way he had moved inside her with aching patience and control.

She shook her head quickly, pushing the thoughts away as she stepped into the bathroom.

She filled the large white marble tub, pouring in lavender oil and rose petals, watching as they floated across the steaming water.

Slowly, she sank in, wincing slightly at the soreness as the warm water wrapped around her.

She let out a soft sigh, her head resting against the edge of the tub as the heat soothed her muscles. The tension in her shoulders unraveled, and for the first time that night, she allowed herself to breathe.

Her fingers ghosted over her skin, feeling the faint bruises he had left in his wake—evidence of his possessiveness, his devotion.

She bit her lip, heat curling in her belly despite herself.

Shaking off the sensation, she lathered her skin with lavender-scented soap, washing away the remnants of the night. Her limbs felt heavy, but the warmth from the water helped ease the lingering tension.

After rinsing off, she stepped out, wrapping herself in a plush towel.

Her hair was damp when she slipped into a silk nightgown, the cool fabric brushing against her sensitive skin.

As she moved toward the vanity, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

There was something different about her.

Her cheeks still held the faintest flush, her lips looked kiss-swollen, and there was an undeniable softness in her gaze.

Leonidas had changed her.

And yet, she still wasn't sure if she had changed enough to truly belong in his world.

With a sigh, she tied her damp hair into a loose bun, brushed her teeth, and applied moisturizer before finally climbing into bed.

The sheets were cool, the mattress familiar.

But something felt off.

Something was missing.

Or rather… someone.

She curled onto her side, squeezing her eyes shut, willing herself to fall asleep.

Leonidas loosened the collar of his shirt as he exited his study, running a hand through his hair. The night's business was handled.

Now, all that was left was her.

He stepped into his master suite, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt—only to pause.

His brows furrowed.

The bed was empty.

A slow, sharp exhale left him.

Anastasia was not here.

For a moment, he simply stood there, his mind processing the fact that she had gone back to her own room instead.

Then, a muscle in his jaw ticked.

No.

That wasn't happening.

Without hesitation, he strode toward her room, his long strides unhurried yet filled with purpose.

The moment he reached her door, he pushed it open without knocking.

Anastasia stirred at the sound of the door opening. Her heart leaped when she saw Leonidas standing in the doorway, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room.

She sat up slightly, her fingers clutching the blanket. "Leonidas?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he walked in without a word, his movements slow but deliberate.

She swallowed hard as he approached the bed, the air between them thick with something unreadable.

"Why," he said lowly, "are you sleeping here?"

She blinked. "I—I always sleep here."

His jaw tightened.

"You belong in my bed," he said simply.

Anastasia's cheeks burned. "I—I didn't think—"

"You didn't think," he echoed, cutting her off. His voice was calm, controlled, but there was a dangerous edge beneath it. "That's exactly the problem, Anastasia."

Her fingers twisted in the sheets.

Then, before she could say another word, he ripped the covers off her, his movements smooth and effortless.

She let out a tiny squeak, immediately curling into herself, the cool air brushing against her skin.

Her thighs clenched instinctively, soreness still present from their nights together.

Leonidas' gaze flickered over her flushed face, her delicate form, and something in his expression softened—but only slightly.

"You're not sleeping here," he murmured.

And then, in one swift motion, he scooped her up into his arms.

"Leonidas!" she gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders, her small frame pressed against his broad chest.

"Too late to argue," he said smoothly, his voice laced with amusement.

She buried her face in his shoulder, completely mortified.

She could feel his low chuckle rumble against her cheek.

By the time they reached his room, she had stopped protesting, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

Leonidas placed her down onto the bed, hovering over her, his arms braced on either side.

"Better," he murmured, satisfied.

Anastasia swallowed hard. "I—I could have walked—"

"But I like carrying you," he cut in, unapologetic.

Her face burned hotter.

Leonidas smirked before tugging the blankets over her, effectively tucking her in.

Then, without another word, he slid into bed beside her, his arm immediately wrapping around her waist, pulling her into him.

Anastasia froze, completely flustered.

"Leonidas—"

"You're mine," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck. "So you sleep here. With me.

Leonidas tucked her into bed with gentle hands, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face as he watched her drift into sleep. A sigh left his lips—half relief, half longing—before he turned away, forcing himself to leave her to rest.

The door clicked shut behind him as he stepped into the bathroom, the air thick with steam as hot water filled the massive black marble tub. He stripped off his shirt. His muscles ached, but it was nothing compared to the ache that burned deep inside him—the ache for her.

Lowering himself into the scalding water, he leaned back, his arms draped over the edges, head tilting as he let out a slow, measured exhale. The heat seeped into his skin, working out the tension in his body, but nothing could ease the raw need coiled in his chest.

He had wanted to go to her.

To pull her against him, feel her heartbeat against his own, bury himself in her warmth again. He craved her in a way that went beyond the physical—it was in his blood, in the very air he breathed.

But she was sore.

And she needed time.

His jaw clenched, fingers curling over the smooth edge of the tub as restraint warred with desire. He would wait. No matter how much his body screamed for her, no matter how much his mind whispered that she was just a room away, soft and vulnerable in his bed.

Because she was his.