Chapter 34 – The Distance Between Us

Anastasia had always known her place in this marriage.

She had been chosen because Isabella ran away.

She had accepted Leonidas' presence, his possessiveness, his dominance.

She had convinced herself that none of it mattered.

That as long as he kept his promise—as long as he protected her father's business—then everything would be fine.

But now, she wasn't so sure.

Because Leonidas was changing.

He was still watching her, still claiming her with a single glance.

But something was off.

He had been leaving early and returning late.

And more than that—

He wasn't telling her anything.

And that realization was like a quiet storm inside her.

Days passed.

Leonidas continued to shower her with gifts.

Jewels, silk dresses, a custom-made necklace he personally fastened around her neck.

But the more he gave her, the more she realized what he wasn't giving her.

The truth.

And that was what she wanted most.

One evening, he surprised her by pulling her onto his lap in the lounge.

He did it so effortlessly, as if he expected her to relax against him like she always did.

But tonight, she didn't.

She stayed rigid in his arms, tense.

His hand tightened around her waist.

"Why are you so stiff, little one?" His voice was soft, but there was a shadow beneath it.

She swallowed.

"I—I'm fine," she murmured.

He turned her face toward him, his sharp gaze pinning her in place.

"Lie to me again, Anastasia."

Her breath hitched.

She couldn't move.

And then—he kissed her.

Slow. Deliberate.

A kiss that should have melted her.

And for a moment—just a moment—she let him have her.

Her fingers curled against his shirt, her lips parting beneath his as he deepened the kiss.

But then—she remembered.

The letter.

The whispers in the estate.

The feeling that something was being kept from her.

And suddenly, she pulled away.

The second she pulled away, Leonidas' entire body tensed.

He caught her wrist, his grip firm but not cruel.

He searched her face, his expression unreadable.

But inside—

Inside, something dark uncoiled.

She was pulling away from him.

She had never done that before.

And he hated it.

His fingers skimmed her jaw, tilting her face back up.

"You're avoiding me." His voice was too calm.

Her lashes fluttered, and for the first time, he saw something fragile in her eyes.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Doubt.

And that infuriated him.

His grip tightened.

"I've given you everything." His voice was low, dangerous.

She flinched slightly.

And he hated that, too.

Because he wanted her to trust him.

To be his.

Not just in body.

But in every way that mattered.

---

Leonidas had always been a patient man. Calculated. In control. A man who understood the power of waiting, of holding back, of letting his prey come to him instead of forcing his hand.

But she was undoing him.

For days, he had watched her move through his home with grace, quiet elegance, and a guarded distance that hadn't been there before. At first, he had assumed it was shyness, the natural hesitance of a woman still adjusting to her husband's presence.

But now—now, he wasn't so sure.

She wasn't afraid of him. He knew fear well, and she had never once looked at him with it.

But she was holding something back.

She was polite, dutiful, and did not refuse his touch when he reached for her in small ways—a hand to the small of her back, a brush of fingers against her wrist when he passed her in the hall. But she was no longer truly yielding.

And it was driving him insane.

She looked healthy, beautiful, no longer fragile the way she had been after he first took her. If anything, she had grown even more stunning in the past weeks, her body filling out slightly, her skin glowing. The sight of her should have been satisfying, a sign that she was thriving under his care.

And yet, he could feel the distance between them widening.

At first, he had ignored it.

He let it pass—watched her quietly, hoping she would come back to him on her own.

She didn't.

She ate with him, spoke with him, even let him hold her at night.

But she was no longer his in the way he needed her to be.

And Leonidas was done waiting.

That night, when she retired to their bedroom, he followed shortly after, watching her from the doorway before she noticed him.

She was seated by the vanity, brushing through her hair, her robe slightly open at the collar, revealing the barest hint of her collarbone.

His breath came slower, heavier.

He wanted her.

Desperately.

But this time, he would not let her slip away.

Without a word, he stepped forward. The moment she saw him through the mirror, she stiffened—so subtly that if he hadn't been watching for it, he wouldn't have noticed.

Something dark uncoiled in his chest.

She met his eyes in the reflection, lips parting slightly, as if she could already sense what was about to happen.

"You're avoiding me," he murmured. His voice was too calm, too smooth. A stark contrast to the fire burning inside him.

She shook her head, too quickly. "I—I'm not."

Lie.

He moved behind her, placing his hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in. His breath fanned against her ear as he leaned down, his scent enveloping her, pressing into her space.

"If you're not avoiding me," he whispered, "why won't you look at me?"

Her fingers tightened around the brush.

"I do look at you," she whispered, but there was a hesitation in her voice that made something inside him snap.

Enough.

He slid his hands down to the arms of the chair and spun her to face him.

Her breath hitched, her wide eyes looking up at him, and for a second—just a second—he saw it.

A flicker of something deep, buried beneath the surface.

Not fear.

Not rejection.

Hunger.

It was still there. Buried, suppressed.

But he had felt it before. He had tasted it. She was just too stubborn to admit it.

His hand cupped her chin, his thumb brushing over her lower lip, and he felt her breath shudder against his skin.

"Tell me," he murmured, his voice dark, laced with something dangerous. "Have you thought about me at all these past weeks?"

Her lashes fluttered.

"I—"

"Or," he continued, tilting her head up further, forcing her to meet his gaze, "have you been trying to forget?"

Her silence was answer enough.

A slow smirk ghosted over his lips.

"Shall I remind you?"

Before she could breathe another word, he kissed her.

Not softly.

Not gently.

Like he was staking a claim.

Her gasp was lost against his mouth, and he felt her fingers clutch the fabric of his shirt, as if caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

But when his teeth grazed her lower lip, when he swallowed her soft whimper, she shattered.

Her lips parted, allowing him deeper, and he took full advantage of it.

His tongue swept against hers, coaxing, demanding, dominating.

She tasted so damn sweet.

He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed as her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck.

She had barely touched the sheets before he was on top of her, his weight pressing her down, trapping her beneath him.

"Three weeks, Anastasia," he murmured against her throat, his lips tracing over her skin.

She shivered.

"I've been patient." His fingers slid under her robe, peeling it from her shoulders, exposing more and more of her to him.

"I've waited," he continued, his kisses trailing lower, his hands gripping her hips.

"I've let you keep your distance."

She let out a sharp inhale when his lips closed around her breast, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak.

"But not anymore."

Her body arched into him, her fingers burying into his hair, holding him to her.

"Tonight," he growled, "Please don't deny me."

She moaned softly, her body yielding, giving, surrendering.

And he lost himself completely.

Their clothes were discarded in a tangle of silk and heat.

Her skin was soft and hot beneath his hands, her legs trembling as he parted them, his fingers tracing a path that made her shudder.

And when he finally slid inside her, claiming her all over again, she let out a sound that would haunt his dreams forever.

He didn't move at first.

Just let her feel him.

Let her know that she was his, just as much as he was hers.

And then—he began to move.

Slow, at first.

Then faster, deeper, harder.

His hands gripped her thighs tightly, pinning her open for him as he buried himself inside her, stretching her over and over again, pushing her higher, making her shatter beneath him.

She cried out his name, and something primal snapped inside him.

He drove into her with relentless hunger, with raw, unfiltered need.

Until she came undone, trembling and gasping in his arms.

Then he followed right after, his release taking him completely.

When the haze finally cleared, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her damp temple, his breath still uneven.

She was his.

And tonight, he had reminded her of that.

But as she lay there, spent and breathless in his arms, Leonidas knew one thing for certain.

She might have given him her body again.

But her heart was slipping further away.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Afterward, she didn't fall asleep right away.

She lay against his chest, listening to the sound of his breathing.

He was too still.

As if he knew she was thinking.

Doubting.

She swallowed, her fingers curling against the sheets.

Then, before she could stop herself—almost a whispered_

"Did you ever intend to help my father?"

Leonidas' breathing stopped.

The weight of her words settled between them.

She felt his hand tense slightly against her waist.

And when he finally spoke, his voice was too smooth.

"What kind of question is that, Anastasia?"

She hesitated.

And suddenly, she didn't want to know the answer.

She turned her face away, whispering—

"Forget I asked."

But Leonidas did not forget.

And that night, as she finally drifted into uneasy sleep—

He lay awake.

Eyes open.

Expression unreadable.

Because he realized that she was starting to question him.

And if she ever found out the truth—

He might lose her forever.