The door quivered audibly on its hinges, a delicate dance of wood and metal holding back the tension within. Standing in the dimly lit hallway, Anastasia felt heat coursing through her cheeks, an embarrassment so intense it seemed to radiate steam. Her thoughts swirled in a fog, blank and unyielding, as she faced the closed door. A heavy silence enveloped the space, stretching painfully on both sides. Moments later, a low, composed voice broke through the stillness from inside. “I just knocked the body wash off the shelf.” Anastasia's heart raced—a rush of nervous energy surged through her. “Uh... I—I saw,” she stuttered, her voice quaky and barely above a whisper. “...Is there something you wanted?” “Oh! I—uh, I just wanted to tell you something. It’s about... well, if my dad ever comes asking you for a favor—” Inside, Harrison hesitated, his lips forming a thin line as an unidentifiable feeling of disappointment settled in his chest. The brief flicker of hope that had sparked within him was extinguished. People had painted him as a man on the edge—a madman, cold and violent. Under such circumstances, it was hardly a shock that someone might wed him with hidden motives. Still, to bring that up on their very first day together... “Just promise me you won’t say yes to him!” “...Sorry?” Anastasia, thinking he hadn’t understood, quickly clarified, her breath quickening. “If he ever tries to use me as an excuse to ask for your help—like, I don’t know, investing in my family’s company or anything—just ignore him, okay?” Harrison took a beat, scrunching his brow in bewilderment to ensure he hadn’t misheard. “Why?” Why? The question echoed in her mind, and Anastasia felt the desperation claw at her chest, making her eyes dart as she searched for the right words. “Well, because I married you; I didn’t sell myself to you. I’m your wife—sure, I can spend your money, but that doesn’t mean my family gets to. Why should you be the one paying for them?” His response was unexpected. After a long pause that felt like an eternity, he replied in a quiet tone, “Alright.” Anastasia felt an inexplicable surge of anxiety wash over her at the sound of his smooth, velvety voice—especially after the glimpse she had caught of him moments ago. Heat surged through her cheeks again, a reminder of her earlier fluster. “I’ll go now. You should get some rest—goodnight!” With that, she dashed away, not waiting for a reply, oblivious to the soft murmur from the bathroom as she closed the door. “Goodnight.” Back in her own room, the embers of embarrassment still lingered, leaving her face burning as if it had been set aflame. In her past life, she'd been with him—married, yes—but had never crossed the boundaries of intimacy. That fleeting glimpse had left her mind reeling, a whirlwind of confusion and excitement. The following morning, Anastasia awoke with anticipation humming through her veins. The thought of breakfast with Harrison lit her from within. She hurried downstairs, her heart leaping at the prospect, only to find the dining table impeccably set for one. “Where’s Mr. Lancaster?” she asked, an involuntary thread of disappointment weaving through her voice. Had he truly left this early? Mary, the housekeeper, replied with an air of cool composure, “Mr. Lancaster isn’t used to eating with others.” Anastasia froze, the revelation striking her like a cold gust of wind. He had a habit like that? In her previous life, she’d kept her distance from him, never even taking note of his routines. A twinge of disappointment settled in her stomach. She had poured so much effort into making things different this time, yet he still preferred solitude at the table... The food before her tasted like cardboard, bland and uninviting, and she could barely force herself to take a bite before rising once more. “Where is Mr. Lancaster?” “Mr. Lancaster is very busy. Even when he’s not, he prefers to be alone,” Mary replied, her expression as rigid as stone. “Unless it’s important, you shouldn’t disturb him.” Anastasia stopped, something prickling at the back of her mind. “Mary, what did you just call me?” “Ma’am.” A smile crept onto Anastasia's lips, yet it lacked warmth, a veneer masking deeper emotions. “So you do know I’m Mrs. Lancaster—the lady of this house. Do you think I need anyone’s permission to do as I please? If Mr. Lancaster has a problem with something, I’m sure he’ll tell me himself. You don’t need to worry about him on my behalf, do you, Mary?” A silent challenge hung in the air, and Anastasia felt a surge of conviction rising within her, ready to claim her place in a world that seemed eager to diminish her.