Anastasia had never felt so powerless.
She stood rigid in the middle of the glass-walled penthouse, her hands clenched at her sides.
"You're not going anywhere."
Leonidas' words still echoed in her mind, a command delivered too smoothly, too decisively.
She had expected restrictions—this was a contract marriage, after all.
But she hadn't expected to feel like a prisoner.
The air between them was charged, thick with something she couldn't name.
He stood across the room, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a glass of dark whiskey. Unmoved. Unshaken.
A man who was used to being obeyed.
But she wasn't his employee.
She wasn't one of the people who bowed to his will.
She was his wife.
Even if this marriage was nothing more than ink on a contract, she refused to be just another pawn in his empire.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
"I am not your possession, Leonidas." Her voice was quiet but firm, despite the nerves twisting in her stomach.
His gaze flickered, dark amusement flashing behind it.
"Aren't you?"
A shiver ran through her.
Not from fear.
From something infinitely more dangerous.
Anastasia's breath hitched, but she refused to look away.
Refused to be the weaker one.
"Is that what you think?" she challenged. "That marrying me gives you the right to control my life?"
His lips curved slightly. Not a smile—something colder, something more dangerous.
"Marriage gives many rights, Anastasia." His voice was soft, lethal, a blade hidden in silk.
He took a slow sip of whiskey, his dark gaze never leaving hers.
"It means I make decisions that ensure your safety." A pause. Then—"Whether you like it or not."
The sheer certainty in his tone made something tighten in her chest.
"I don't need protection," she bit out.
The words sounded childish, even to her own ears.
Leonidas tilted his head slightly, as if considering her.
Then, in one fluid movement, he set his glass down and crossed the distance between them.
Slow. Deliberate. Unstoppable.
Anastasia took an instinctive step back—but the cold glass wall met her spine.
Nowhere to go.
He loomed over her, the scent of whiskey and something dark and expensive wrapping around her like a vice.
And when he finally spoke, his voice was low, soft—yet utterly unyielding.
"Tell me, then." His fingers brushed against the delicate skin of her wrist—barely a touch, yet it burned.
"If you don't need protection…" His voice dipped, slow, methodical. "Then why is your pulse racing?"
Anastasia sucked in a sharp breath.
She knew what he was doing.
He was testing her.
Playing with her.
He wanted to see how far he could push before she broke.
Before she surrendered.
Her heartbeat hammered beneath his touch, betraying her.
She should shove him away.
She should look him in the eye and tell him he had no power over her.
But she couldn't move.
Couldn't think.
Because for the first time, she saw something beneath his cold exterior.
Something dark.
Something possessive.
Something that told her he had no intention of ever letting her go.
Her breath trembled.
"I—"
A knock at the door shattered the tension.
Leonidas didn't move.
Didn't step back.
He merely exhaled, his fingers ghosting over her wrist one last time—a silent warning.
Then, just like that, the heat vanished.
He turned away.
Leaving her dizzy, breathless, shaken to her core.
Anastasia struggled to steady herself as Leonidas answered the door.
A man in a dark suit stood there. One of his security team, no doubt.
They spoke in low voices, too soft for her to hear.
But she saw it.
The way Leonidas' entire body tensed.
The way his fingers curled into a fist at his side.
The way something deadly flickered through his expression before he turned back to her.
"Pack a bag." His voice was clipped.
She blinked. "What?"
"We're leaving."
A sharp pang of unease twisted in her stomach.
"What's going on?" she asked, suddenly unsure.
Leonidas didn't answer.
He just leveled her with that dark, unreadable stare.
And then he said the words that sent a chill down her spine—
"Your family just made a move against me."
Anastasia's breath caught.
She should have expected this.
She should have known that marrying Leonidas Kosta wouldn't just be a contract—it would be a declaration of war.
But against whom?
Against his enemies?
Or against hers?
Her voice came out unsteady. "What does that mean?"
Leonidas exhaled, but it wasn't frustration. It was restraint.
Restraint on something darker.
Something far more dangerous than she was prepared for.
"It means you're mine, Anastasia." His voice was low, lethal.
"And the moment they tried to take you from me, they signed their own death warrant."
Her pulse skittered.
She had thought he didn't care.
She had thought this marriage was just another deal.
But standing here, seeing the barely controlled rage in his gaze, the way his fingers twitched as if aching to destroy something—
She realized she had been so, so wrong.
Leonidas Kosta wasn't just a billionaire playing a game of power.
He was a man who never lost.
And now, he was willing to burn the world to keep her.