The atmosphere in the room shifted abruptly, a thick, heavy silence blanketing the air. Logan felt a sudden pang of anxiety, almost choking on his own breath. How could Ms. Anastasia Sterling be this unpredictable? He watched her square her shoulders, diving headfirst into the situation, even dragging Mary and May into the fray. It was a bold move, one he wouldn't have dared to make himself. He cast a quick glance at Anastasia from the corner of his eye, his eyebrows shooting up in astonishment. In this house filled with unspoken rules, only Ms. Anastasia Sterling would dauntlessly waltz in and call Mr. Lancaster “Hubby” right to his face, especially when he was radiating such an icy, unapproachable aura. The previous wives of Mr. Lancaster had nearly quaked in his presence, but here was Anastasia, undeterred, her demeanor practically glowing with defiance. As she fluttered her eyelashes, tilting her head with a feigned innocence, she chirped, “Hubby?” The name rolled off her tongue like honey. Harrison turned to her, his jaw set and taut, his entire figure exuding a chill that could freeze the air surrounding him. The room felt as if time itself had paused, waiting for his next move. As silence draped over them, the shyness that crept into Anastasia's demeanor began to waver. Had she pushed him too far? Then again, this wasn't her first go-around in life, was it? From a distance, May couldn’t suppress her smirk. True, Mr. Lancaster had shown a semblance of patience before, but did Anastasia honestly believe she was anything special? The man was known for his cold demeanor—she was about to find out just how harsh that reality could be. Just then, a voice broke through the tension. “You may come in.” May’s smirk vanished, replaced by sheer disbelief as Anastasia’s face illuminated with delight. “Does that mean I can come in anytime?” “You're my wife. You're always welcome,” Harrison declared, his voice leaving little room for argument. The staff stood frozen, their mouths agape in astonishment. Logan blinked in disbelief. Was this for real? No previous Mrs. Lancaster had ever been granted such a privilege, a stark contrast to their fretful exchanges with him. This was what double standards looked like, and it left him questioning everything he knew. “Thank you, Hubby!” Anastasia chirped, practically bounding over to him, wrapping her arms around his arm in a spontaneous hug. The moment their skin connected, Harrison tensed like a wire pulled to its breaking point. Misreading his reaction, Anastasia quickly released him, her face warming with embarrassment. “I’ll go upstairs and change,” she said softly, trying to recover her composure. Harrison’s gaze drifted toward her bathrobe as he turned back to Mary, his tone slicing through the moment like a knife. “You didn’t prepare clothes for my wife?” Mary felt a knot of anxiety twist in her stomach, sensing the authority behind his words. She nodded vigorously, suppressing the urge to protest. “They're ready, sir.” With a sharp nod, he continued, “Prepare the guest room next to my bedroom for her.” The order came without a trace of hesitation. He didn’t bother asking for Mary’s arrangement; he had just made the decision for Ana. Mary felt her insides squirm. The room had held sentiment for her daughter, Alice, but she swallowed her words, compelled to comply. “... Yes, sir.” The happiness gleaming in Anastasia’s eyes couldn’t be extinguished. “I’m heading up, Hubby!” she called out, her footsteps echoing warmly up the staircase, while Harrison watched her retreating figure, unconsciously brushing his arm where her warmth lingered. “There won't be a next time for mistakes like assigning the wrong room,” he said with an icy finality. May's face paled. “Yes, Mr. Lancaster…” As Anastasia navigated the plush halls upstairs, a small wave of anxiety gripped her. Had she failed to thoroughly explain herself? Yet as she remembered Harrison’s demeanor, he hadn’t seemed angry. Perhaps Penelope’s accusations hadn’t left a mark on him after all. Her relief was palpable as she exhaled softly. May quickly returned with an array of fresh clothes, offering, “The guest room will take a little time to prepare, ma’am. Sorry for the wait.” “That's fine. I'm in no rush,” Anastasia responded cheerfully, not allowing any impatience to show. May clenched her teeth in frustration as she left, muttering under her breath. “Is she giving you trouble already?” “She’s here for her first day and already thinks she owns the place…” The other maids muttered resentment, gathering in their usual huddles to share whispers of disdain. “Mr. Lancaster said there's no need to honor the marriage contract, but she still showed up—acting like we’re oblivious to her family’s intentions.” “Exactly. Word is she tried to leverage Mr. Lancaster the moment she arrived, looking for some kind of advantage…” Their whispers echoed quietly in the hall when a voice abruptly interrupted. “Seems you all know quite a bit, don’t you?” Anastasia stood at the door, her presence stunning the maids into silence. They scrambled to bow their heads, the color draining from their faces. “Ma’am…” they managed, their voices trembling under the weight of her scrutiny. Anastasia’s tone was level as she focused her attention on May. “You forgot to bring my shoes.” May’s stammer was barely audible. “Sorry, ma’am, I’ll get them right away…” “Let’s get back to work,” another maid urged, hastily departing in every direction. Anastasia’s gaze hardened, reflecting her resolve. Trying to bargain for favors? Her father—the man who would gladly sacrifice anyone, including his own daughter, for a mere whisper of social standing—would surely do something sinister like that. She’d have to warn Harrison later: if anyone was bargaining, it should be her, not Gabriel Sterling. Turning back into her room, it wasn’t long before May returned with the shoes. Anastasia didn’t even bother looking up. “Leave them there. You can go.” As May paused in hesitation at the threshold, she pulled out her phone, fingertips dancing nervously over the screen as she sent a message: [Alice, when are you coming back?] Within moments of her arrival, another maid beckoned her downstairs for dinner. It would be her first meal with Harrison since her rebirth—a moment she had been eagerly anticipating. She hurried downstairs, her heart racing with a blend of nerves and excitement, only to find the dining room achingly empty. “...Where’s Mr. Lancaster?” she asked, a hint of disappointment creeping into her voice. “He's out, ma’am.” “Oh.” The flicker of disappointment deepened, settling over her like a shadow. With his injury, Harrison rarely ventured out unless absolutely necessary. She was wise enough not to pry. She found herself eating alone, the clinking of utensils echoing in the silence, before finally retreating back upstairs. There was so much to contemplate, so many details to shift; coming back to life was no trivial matter. Around nine that evening, Harrison finally returned. Before she could even step out of her room to greet him, a loud crash echoed from the adjoining room, followed by his furious shout that made her heart race. “Get out—!” Fear gripped her, and she rushed towards the door. She had a host of things to mend in this new life, but above all, nothing was more crucial than helping Harrison through his suffering. The weight of despair that came with battling a predetermined fate—a relentless march toward death—could shatter any spirit. Though he sheltered his pain beneath a facade of strength, she knew far too well how precariously close he was to breaking. With determination coursing through her, Anastasia hurried down the hall, propelled by an instinct that urged her toward Harrison's room. In her past, she had endured years of manipulation at Aaron’s hands, but amidst the turmoil, she had acquired medical skills that might just be the lifeline Harrison needed.