### Chapter 6 Anastasia had never declared Aaron as her boyfriend, yet the realization of his elusive nature had never dawned on her. Instead, she had clung to a misguided belief that he harbored some tragic secret that kept him at bay. But now, as she stood in the living room, Penelope’s incredulous expression shattered this illusion. “Wait—wasn’t Anastasia supposed to be head over heels for Aaron?” Penelope thought, her mind racing with confusion. The tension in the room thickened as Penelope prepared to pry deeper, only to be met by a piercing gaze from Anastasia. “Penelope, weren’t you just saying that my happiness is paramount? Well, right now, what I desire is to marry Mr. Harrison Lancaster. So why are you urging me to run away with someone else?” Her friend faltered, the words catching in her throat. “I just thought you liked Mr. Aaron Lancaster...” “Liked him? Who on earth said that?” Anastasia scoffed, her annoyance bubbling over. “He’s the one pursuing me—I simply lacked the heart to reject him outright.” Penelope’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “So you’re saying Mr. Aaron Lancaster isn’t worthy of you?” A cold, disdainful laugh escaped Anastasia’s lips. The name Mr. Lancaster had a certain ring to it, donning an air of nobility that few could rival. He belonged to the esteemed Lancaster family, known throughout the aristocracy, yet the truth of Aaron’s lineage revealed a faulty facade. He was the illegitimate son—a shadow cast off by a family that thrived on reputation rather than merit. To those unaware, he might seem a prize, but within the scrutinizing gaze of Riverton’s elite, his status would always pale in comparison. “Good enough for me?” she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Even amidst the downfall of the Sterlings since my mother’s passing, I am not so desperate as to marry the son of a man rejected by his own blood!” Penelope stood speechless, unable to conjure a rebuttal, while shadows of doubt darkened her heart. As she left Rosewood Manor, Penelope’s mind whirred. How had the once-naive Anastasia transformed into someone so formidable, so resolute? With her friend out of the picture, Anastasia steeled herself for the confrontation awaiting her with Harrison. She dreaded the thought of him believing anything Penelope had said, and the trust they had built could easily shatter. Just as she prepared to clarify her feelings to Harrison, a sharp voice pierced her thoughts. “Ma’am, did you enter Mr. Lancaster’s room?” Anastasia froze, her heart racing. Harrison had let the bathrobe incident slide, but this invasion was on another level entirely. Innocently, she blinked at Mary, trying to play it cool. “I just needed to take a shower…” “Couldn’t you have showered elsewhere? Why does it have to be Mr. Lancaster's room?” Mary’s tone was razor-sharp, her expression lined with disapproval. Anastasia shot her a look, vexed at the scrutiny. “My room had no hot water. Something must be wrong with the plumbing.” “Mary?” Harrison’s voice sliced through the tension with an unnerving calm, yet it brimmed with authority. He regarded Mary expectantly, as if the unsatisfactory explanation of the room’s amenities required immediate attention. Mary’s demeanor stiffened in response. Other women under Harrison’s roof had dealt with inconveniences without a second thought, yet he had never before intervened on their behalf. How curious that this Ms. Sterling stoked his concern. “I’ll arrange for someone to check it straight away. It must have been my oversight,” Mary replied defensively, but her gaze remained fixed on Anastasia. “However, even if that room lacked hot water, there are numerous guest rooms available. Why choose Mr. Lancaster’s?” Anastasia glanced around, caught amidst the web of scrutiny. “Someone led me there,” she admitted, her eyes darting to the nearest maid. Returning to this life had been a whirlwind, and perhaps she had missed clues, but surely May—who had propped up Rosewood Manor for years—knew Harrison’s unyielding rules. But when she had asked for clothing, nothing had materialized, leaving her no choice but to delve into Harrison’s closet. The entire scenario felt too contrived. May’s face paled as she fell to her knees, tears brimming in her eyes. “Mr. Lancaster, I swear it wasn’t my intention! I meant to show her the guest room! I don’t know how she ended up in yours!” “Mr. Lancaster, May is the most honest girl we have. She would never lie,” Mary interjected, her loyalty to the maid apparent. Realizing she couldn’t sway Harrison’s opinion of May with Mary’s endorsement standing firm, Anastasia released her grievance and turned her focus to Harrison—the handsome man whose presence exuded both authority and intrigue. She softened her tone, as though coaxing a wild animal. “I’m your wife now—am I really not even allowed in your room?” With an air of vulnerability cloaked in her words, she awaited his response, and the air crackled with the weight of unspoken tensions, simmering beneath the surface.