Chapter 35 – The Lies We Tell

Leonidas had expected the question.

It had been lingering in her eyes for days, in the way her gaze would shift when he spoke, the way she had stopped seeking his touch the way she used to.

She was pulling away.

And he was losing patience.

Even now, with her body curled against him in sleep, with his scent on her skin and the proof of their night still between them, she was slipping further away.

Her question had changed everything.

Did you ever intend to help my father?

He had not answered.

Not really.

And yet, the silence had spoken for him.

He exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing over her bare shoulder.

She was warm, soft—a stark contrast to the cold, hard knot forming in his chest.

She trusted him once.

Now?

Now, she wasn't sure.

And if she wasn't sure, she would start looking for answers.

And if she started looking for answers—

Leonidas clenched his jaw.

That could not happen.

He had fought too hard to have her, done too much.

She was his.

And he would not lose her now.

---

Anastasia woke alone.

Again.

The space beside her was cold, the sheets smoothed over as if he had never been there at all.

Her chest tightened.

How many times had he left before dawn?

She didn't know.

But lately, it had been more frequent.

She had never asked him where he went.

Had never dared.

Because she had wanted to believe in him.

But now—now, doubt coiled inside her, growing stronger by the day.

She sat up slowly, pulling the sheets around herself, staring at the door.

The question from last night lingered like a whisper in the dark.

Did you ever intend to help my father?

And Leonidas—Leonidas hadn't answered.

He hadn't even tried.

Anastasia swallowed, pressing a hand to her chest, willing her heart to steady.

She could not ignore this any longer.

She had to know the truth.

---

She found Adrian in the corridor, speaking with one of the house staff.

He saw her before she could retreat.

His sharp eyes flickered with something unreadable as he dismissed the maid and turned toward her.

"Madam," he greeted smoothly.

Her fingers tightened around the folds of her dress.

She hesitated.

Then, carefully—

"Where is he?"

Adrian's expression did not change.

"Master Leonidas is attending to business matters, madam."

Business matters.

She forced herself to remain calm.

"When will he return?"

Adrian gave a slight bow, polite, detached.

"As always, whenever he chooses."

A non-answer.

Her pulse quickened.

She should have left it at that.

Should have turned and walked away.

But instead—she heard herself ask the one thing she had been dreading.

"Has he… helped my father?"

The air shifted.

It was so slight—a flicker, a hesitation—but she saw it.

Adrian's face remained blank, but there was a second too long before he answered.

And that—that was enough.

Her stomach twisted.

He was hiding something.

Just like Leonidas.

Her hands curled into fists, but her voice was calm.

"I see."

Adrian studied her for a moment, as if debating something.

Then, in a voice too careful, too measured—

"Madam, do you trust him?"

She stiffened.

The answer should have been easy.

Yes.

Yes, of course, she trusted him.

But the words would not leave her lips.

And that terrified her.

Because it meant that deep down, she already knew the truth.

Leonidas had no intention of saving her father's business.

This had never been about the bargain.

It had always been about her.

---

That night, she did not wait for him.

She went to bed early, willing herself to sleep before he returned.

It did not work.

She lay there in the dark, awake, restless.

And when she heard the door creak open, the soft rustle of him undressing, slipping into bed beside her—

She kept her eyes closed.

Pretended she was already asleep.

For the first time, she did not turn to him.

Did not seek his warmth.

Did not press herself into his embrace.

She just lay there, motionless, silent.

And he felt it.

He exhaled slowly.

She felt the mattress shift as he turned toward her, his body close but not touching.

Minutes passed.

Long, heavy silence.

Then, a whisper, rough and low—

"I always intended to keep you, Anastasia."

Her breath hitched.

A confession.

Not about her father.

Not about the bargain.

But about her.

And she realized—

That was the only truth he was ever willing to give her.

Tears burned the back of her eyes, but she did not cry.

She only curled further into herself, pressing her forehead against the pillow.

And for the first time since their wedding night—

She felt truly, completely alone.