**Chapter 3** “Mary, would you kindly lead Mrs. Lancaster upstairs?” Anastasia’s heart, once a whirlwind of anxiety, suddenly found its calm amidst the storm. The commotion of thoughts faded as she stepped forward, swept away by a tide of unexpected resolve. In a burst of spontaneous emotion, she enveloped Harrison in a brief, yet fervent embrace. Her voice, soft but edged with determination, held an oath of promise. “I’ll take good care of you. I truly mean it.” Though it was merely a fleeting hug—awkward and unrefined—it marked a monumental moment for Anastasia, a rare encounter so close to him, unlike anything she had experienced in either this life or the one before. Before she could fully grasp the magnitude of her action, she released him, retreating like a startled deer, her cheeks ablaze with warmth as she fled up the staircase, not daring to look back. Once upstairs, embarrassment flooded her senses. The nervous thrill of her impulsivity mingled with deep concern; Harrison was notoriously averse to any form of physical contact. What if he was repulsed by her now? **Downstairs**, Harrison stood frozen in place for a heartbeat longer, the warmth of her embrace still lingering on his skin. Protect him...? The words echoed in his mind, an unfamiliar notion that settled oddly, but pleasantly within him. It was a sentiment he had never encountered—no one had ever made such a declaration to him before. Nearby, Logan struggled to mask his astonishment. Was Mr. Lancaster not furious? Not the slightest bit bothered? He recalled a previous encounter, where Ms. Lancaster had thrown herself at Harrison and had faced the storm of his wrath, nearly tossed out the door for her audacity. **Upstairs**, Mary guided Anastasia to her temporary quarters with a stern demeanor. The housekeeper’s disapproval was palpable, as though worn like armor. As they reached the doorway, Anastasia hesitated, a flicker of confusion darting through her mind. “I’m staying here?” Over her many years within the confines of Rosewood Manor, she had come to know every corner, and this room was nothing more than a standard guest chamber—miles away from Harrison’s luxurious suite. Yet still, was she not meant to be the lady of this house now? Mary’s features were etched with authority, her words clipped but courteous. “You arrived unexpectedly. We haven’t had sufficient time to prepare your designated suite, so for now, this will have to suffice.” The housekeeper’s unyielding stance, solidified by years of service to the Lancaster family, brooked no argument. Reluctantly, Anastasia accepted her fate, wheeling her suitcase inside with a deflated sigh. After a hasty attempt to unpack, she longed for a refreshing shower, but her hopes were dashed as icy water poured from the faucet—the hot water was clearly nonexistent. Mary ran a tight ship; she must have been aware of the broken showerhead. The clear intention was to make a statement, to remind Anastasia of her place. Her eyes narrowed, determination hardening her resolve. She stepped back into the hallway, intercepting the first maid she encountered. “Excuse me, is there another bathroom I could use?” There was a brief pause before May nodded, her reluctance evident. “Follow me.” After a few moments walking through the house's antique corridors, May halted before a door, gesturing for Anastasia to enter. “This is the one. You can use it.” Entering the room, Anastasia was struck by its spacious elegance. The decor exuded a cool, understated charm that whispered of luxury. A wave of nostalgia washed over her—this was unmistakably Harrison’s room. “Alright, you can leave now,” she declared without hesitation, stepping inside and casually continuing, “Could you fetch me a set of clean clothes?” She hadn’t packed much—her original plans to elope with Aaron had not allowed for such foresight—but she knew that Rosewood Manor always had fresh attire for its guests. Meanwhile, **downstairs**, Penelope brimmed with excitement the moment she set foot in the Lancaster home. While most women avoided Mr. Lancaster like he was marred by misfortune, she was driven by a reckless allure. Who was this man? Even in his ailing state, being linked to him promised untold privilege and glamour. Yet a pall of frustration marred her joy—she too was a Sterling; why wasn’t she deemed worthy to join this illustrious family? The web of emotions stirred in the air, tension mounting as everyone navigated their hidden desires and unspoken fears, each character obliviously intertwined in a game far larger than they realized.