A House of Ice and Glass
Anastasia stepped inside Leonidas Kosta's world, her heart drumming against her ribs.
His penthouse was nothing like she had expected.
She had imagined something opulent, excessive—gold accents, extravagant art, the kind of showy luxury her father had always flaunted to assert his wealth.
But this?
This was cold.
Minimalist.
Walls of glass stretched high to the ceiling, revealing the endless sprawl of the city below. At night, the skyline glittered like a sea of jewels, but inside, everything was colorless.
Black. Grey. Charcoal.
Sharp edges. Hard surfaces. No warmth.
A modern prison, built for a man who had everything and yet—nothing at all.
Anastasia took a slow breath, her fingers curling against the silk of her wedding gown.
This was where she would live now.
With him.
A man she barely knew.
A man who had just made her his wife.
She swallowed hard.
What had she done?
The Weight of Silence
The door clicked shut behind them, the sound too final, too heavy.
She felt him move behind her. His presence was unmistakable, a force that commanded attention without a single word.
Leonidas Kosta did not speak unless necessary.
But Anastasia could feel him watching her.
Waiting.
For what, she didn't know.
Her breathing felt uneven. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until she couldn't take it anymore.
She turned.
And there he was.
Unmoved. Unshaken. Impossible to read.
Still in his wedding suit, the jacket discarded somewhere, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. The dark ink of a watch peeked from under his sleeve, its metal glinting under the dim lighting.
And his eyes—those black, endless eyes—locked onto her with an intensity that made her knees weak.
He looked like a man who had never been touched by uncertainty.
Unlike her.
Unlike the mess of emotions twisting inside her.
Her chest tightened, a crushing weight pressing against her ribs.
Did he feel anything at all?
Was this night as meaningless to him as he made it seem?
She had known this marriage was an arrangement, a business transaction.
But standing here, in his home, with his last name now attached to hers—
It suddenly felt real.
Too real.
And she wasn't ready.
She wasn't prepared for the emptiness.
"You should sleep."
His voice was low, even, but it scraped against her skin like steel.
She swallowed.
"I—" Her voice came out shaky. She cleared her throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. "Where?"
A pause.
Then, slowly, one brow lifted.
She felt her cheeks burn. Why did that sound so wrong?
Leonidas exhaled, a slow, deliberate sound.
"My room or yours," he said. "Your choice."
Her stomach twisted.
It wasn't really a choice, was it?
He was testing her.
She had learned enough about men like him to know that power wasn't just about money. It was about control. About seeing how people reacted, what they would do when given the illusion of freedom.
Her lips parted, her breath uneven.
If she chose his room, what would happen?
Would he touch her?
Would he ignore her?
Would he break the last piece of herself that still belonged to her?
The thought sent a strange kind of fear through her, but what terrified her more—was the part of her that wanted to find out.
His eyes didn't leave hers.
The room felt smaller, the air thinner.
And then, without thinking, she whispered—
"Mine."
She didn't know if she imagined it, but something flickered in his gaze.
Something dark.
Something dangerous.
But he only gave a slow nod.
"As you wish."
Then, he turned and walked away.
Leaving her alone with the mess of her own emotions.
The Loneliest Night
Anastasia barely remembered finding her way to the bedroom.
The guest room—or her room now, she supposed—was a mirror of the rest of the penthouse.
Cold. Empty. Impersonal.
No warmth.
No heart.
Like a space designed to keep people out rather than invite them in.
She stood there in her wedding dress for what felt like forever, staring at the silk sheets, the towering glass windows that framed the city beyond.
Was this how it would always feel?
Like she was just a ghost in someone else's world?
Her hands trembled as she reached for the zipper at the back of her dress. It slipped down smoothly, the delicate fabric pooling at her feet.
She stood in the silence, bare feet against the cold floor, her skin prickling.
Her wedding night.
And she was alone.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
Somehow, she had imagined it differently.
Not love. She wasn't naïve enough to dream of that.
But something more than this.
More than a house of ice and glass.
More than a man who looked at her like she was an obligation, rather than a woman who wore his ring.
She swallowed hard and climbed into the bed.
And for the first time since this marriage had been forced upon her, she realized—
Meanwhile, in the Master Bedroom…
Leonidas Kosta leaned against the doorway of his private suite, a glass of dark whiskey in his hand.
He hadn't moved since she left the room.
Hadn't gone to bed.
Hadn't even undone his cufflinks.
He simply stood there.
Thinking.
Watching.
Through the security feed on his phone, he saw her.
Curled up in bed, her back turned to the camera, the silk sheets pulled up to her chin.
She looked small.
Too small.
A flicker of something stirred in his chest, something he didn't have a name for.
He brought the glass to his lips but didn't drink.
Instead, his jaw clenched.
He had thought he could be indifferent.
He had told himself she was just a pawn, a necessity, a name on a contract.
And yet—
He hadn't been able to let her choose his bed.
Not yet.
Not when he knew that once she did, he wouldn't let her go.
His grip tightened on the glass.
No.
She wasn't ready for him.
Not yet.
But soon.
Very soon.
She would learn what it meant to belong to him.