Chapter 26 – His Home, His Heart

The moment Leonidas stepped through the grand doors of his estate, a wave of warmth unlike any he had ever known washed over him.

The staff greeted him with the usual respect, offering polite bows and murmured welcomes, but he hardly acknowledged them.

His mind was elsewhere.

His eyes were elsewhere.

Searching.

For her.

His gaze flickered across the space—checking the staircase, the hallways, the living area—but she was nowhere in sight.

Something inside him tightened.

But he quickly schooled his expression, forcing himself to remain composed.

He was not the kind of man who showed eagerness—not in business, not in war, not in life. And yet, tonight…

Tonight, he felt an impatience he had never known.

Without a word, he ascended the stairs, his long strides taking him toward her room.

The thought of seeing her again, of feeling her presence, made something in his chest twist.

And just as his fingers reached for the doorknob—

The door swung open.

And there she was.

Standing before him, framed by the warm glow of the room's lights, looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

Anastasia.

For a brief moment, he simply stared.

She was breathtaking.

The soft fabric of her dress draped delicately over her form, the pale color complementing her fair skin. Her hair, still slightly damp from her bath, cascaded down her back in loose waves.

She was… softer than he remembered.

More delicate.

More his.

A flicker of something dangerous stirred inside him.

Something possessive.

His expression remained stoic, unreadable—but inside, he was ravenous.

Anastasia, in contrast, was visibly flustered.

She quickly averted her gaze, her fingers nervously brushing the folds of her dress.

"H-hello," she whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Leonidas exhaled slowly.

He had missed her voice.

He had missed her.

And when he stepped forward, when he reached out to touch her—

She winced.

A small, barely perceptible movement.

But it was enough.

Leonidas froze.

A sharp, unwelcome memory flooded his mind—the way she had trembled beneath him, the way her soft whimpers had filled the night, the way he had tried to be gentle, yet had still left her sore.

His jaw tightened.

He had hurt her.

No matter how much he had tried to control himself, no matter how many times he had whispered for her to tell him if it was too much—he had still been too rough.

His hand curled into a fist at his side.

Damn it.

How had he let himself forget?

Anastasia, sensing the change in his demeanor, quickly shook her head.

"I-I'm fine," she said, forcing a small smile. "R-really."

But he could see the faint tension in her posture, the way she tried to mask her discomfort.

His chest tightened.

Instead of reaching for her again, he took a step back.

The last thing he wanted was for her to fear his touch.

"Come," he said finally, his voice calm, controlled. "Let's have dinner."

She hesitated but nodded.

And together, they walked down the stairs.

Dinner was… unexpectedly comfortable.

Anastasia was still shy, still unsure of herself around him, but for the first time, she didn't seem afraid.

She ate slowly, her delicate fingers brushing over the rim of her glass as she listened to him speak.

And Leonidas…

He spoke.

Not about business.

Not about numbers or strategy.

But about her.

"What did you do today?" he asked, surprising even himself.

Anastasia blinked.

She hesitated, as if uncertain he truly wanted to know.

But when he waited, when he kept his gaze fixed on her, she finally answered.

"I-I spent the morning in the library," she murmured. "Then… I walked through the garden. I… I found a place I really liked."

A soft smile touched her lips.

It was small, barely noticeable—but it was real.

Leonidas felt something foreign, unfamiliar, and impossibly warm settle inside him.

She was finding pieces of comfort here.

In his home.

In his world.

And he wanted—no, needed—to make sure she never lost that.

A Quiet Night Together

After dinner, they moved to the living area, where a large, luxurious couch awaited them.

Leonidas, naturally, took his place first.

And when Anastasia hesitantly sat beside him, he wasted no time pulling her closer.

She let out a tiny gasp, but she didn't resist.

She simply leaned against him, her body fitting against his side like she was always meant to be there.

The television played softly in the background, but Leonidas paid no attention to it.

He was too aware of her.

The way her breathing steadied.

The way her fingers curled slightly into his sleeve.

The way, little by little, she relaxed against him—until, eventually…

She fell asleep.

Leonidas turned his head, his gaze dark and unreadable as he studied her.

For a moment, he simply watched—watched the way her lips parted slightly, the way her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

She looked so peaceful.

So trusting.

Something deep inside him tightened painfully.

He could never let her go.

Never.

Carefully, Leonidas lifted her into his arms, cradling her close as he carried her back to the bedroom.

The servants had already retired for the night. It was just them.

Just him and her.

He placed her gently on the bed, watching her stir slightly before settling again.

And then, his eyes fell to her dress.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

He should change her.

She couldn't sleep comfortably like this.

But… could he trust himself?

His fingers hovered over the delicate fabric.

One touch.

One pull.

And he knew—he wouldn't be able to stop.

His breathing turned ragged.

A moment passed.

Then another.

Finally, with a frustrated sigh, he stepped back.

No.

He would not risk it.

Not tonight.

Instead, he turned away, heading to the bathroom.

A cold shower.

That was what he needed.

And after changing into his own pajamas, he slipped into bed beside her, pulling her into his arms once more.

Her warmth settled against him, soothing, grounding.

And as his grip tightened slightly around her waist, his thoughts drifted to one simple, undeniable truth.

She was his home.

And he would do everything in his power to keep it that way.

Even if it meant fighting against himself.