Chapter 48 – The Aftermath: When Control Slips

Leonidas awoke to it—thick, heavy, unfamiliar.

He reached out before his eyes even opened, fingers seeking warmth, the soft curve of a body that should have been there. But his hand met nothing but cold sheets.

His eyes snapped open.

The bed was empty.

His muscles tensed as he pushed himself up, scanning the room, expecting to find her somewhere. Maybe sitting by the window, wrapped in a silk robe, waiting for him like she always did.

But the curtains were undisturbed, the vanity untouched, the room too still.

The air was wrong.

His jaw clenched.

Where was she?

His gaze flicked to the guest room across the hall. The one she had never used before.

Until last night.

The realization sent a slow, deliberate burn through his chest.

She had left his bed.

She had put distance between them.

And he had let her.

His fingers curled into the sheets, the tension in his jaw sharp enough to crack steel.

He had given her space.

And now?

Now, he hated it.

The long oak table stretched before him, too large, too empty.

He sat at the head, his coffee untouched, his thoughts unraveling.

This was routine. They always had breakfast together. Even on the days they barely spoke, even when tension simmered between them, she had been here.

Now?

She was nowhere in sight.

His grip tightened around the ceramic of his cup, the heat searing into his palm.

Anastasia was proving a point.

She wasn't hiding. She was asserting herself.

And it was working.

He should have been furious.

But instead, he felt something far more dangerous.

Something he didn't know how to control.

3. She Had Found Herself—Without Him (Anastasia's POV – Kosta Mansion, Midday)

Anastasia wasn't avoiding him.

Not really.

She had simply chosen to take space for herself.

To breathe.

To think.

To exist outside of him.

She had spent the morning in the library, curled in the window seat, a book in her lap, for once reading because she wanted to, not because she needed to escape.

She had taken her lunch in the garden, basking in the sun, listening to the distant hum of the estate's staff moving through their daily tasks.

And she had felt at peace.

For the first time in weeks, she wasn't walking on a fragile thread between pleasing him and losing herself.

For the first time since she became Anastasia Costa, she felt like Anastasia Vasquez again.

Not someone's wife.

Not someone's possession.

Just… herself.

And yet…

She still felt him.

Even when he wasn't around, he was there.

Leonidas Costa was not a man who disappeared quietly.

And she knew, eventually, he w

Leonidas had expected her to break first.

To come to him.

To let the silence between them become too much and surrender.

But she didn't.

She hadn't sought him out. Hadn't waited for him at breakfast. Hadn't called or texted or done any of the things she normally did.

And the absence of it was louder than any argument they had ever had.

For the first time, he realized just how much he had relied on their unspoken routine.

He had been the one to lead.

She had always followed.

He had been the one to set the rules.

She had always played by them.

Now?

Now, the rules had changed.

And it unraveled something inside him.

She was in the library when he found her.

Sitting cross-legged on the velvet chaise, a book in her lap, completely absorbed.

She looked…at peace.

And for a moment, he hated it.

Hated that she had learned to be without him so easily.

He stepped inside, ensuring she felt him enter.

She glanced up, her eyes flickering to his just for a second.

Then, she turned back to her book.

She didn't stop reading.

And something inside him snapped.

"You haven't spoken to me all day." His voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it.

Anastasia's fingers paused on the page.

"I didn't think I needed to," she said evenly.

His jaw tightened.

"You always speak to me."

Now, she did look up. And the words she said next nearly tore him apart.

"Maybe that was the problem."

Leonidas had expected resistance.

Had expected defiance.

Had expected anger.

But not this.

Not indifference.

Not the quiet, steady confidence of a woman who had finally found herself.

Not the realization that maybe—just maybe—he had been holding onto her so tightly, he had never really seen her.

And for the first time, he understood:

She was still his.

But she no longer belonged to him.

And that?

That was the first thing that had ever truly broken him.

That night, he lay in bed alone.

The space beside him was still cold. Still untouched.

And the truth settled into him like a slow, quiet poison.

He could handle rivals. Betrayals. Corporate wars.

He could destroy anyone who threatened to take what was his.

But this?

This was a battle he didn't know how to fight.

Because how do you fight someone…

…when all they want is to be free?