Anastasia woke to the sound of quiet footsteps outside her suite.
Her breath hitched, her body tensing under the heavy silk sheets.
It had been three days since the society dinner. Three days since he had publicly claimed her in a room full of people who thought she didn't belong. Three days since Leonidas had touched her—not in restraint, not in control, but in possession.
And yet, she still felt off balance.
She had spent the past few days wandering the vast estate, avoiding him, avoiding the lingering gazes of the staff, avoiding the reality of what her life had become.
But there was no avoiding Leonidas.
Not when she felt him everywhere.
The sound of the door unlocking made her stomach tighten.
She barely had time to sit up before he walked in, his broad figure casting a shadow over the room.
Leonidas.
Even in the early morning light, he was imposing.
Dark slacks, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing the veins lining his tanned skin. He had the kind of presence that demanded attention without a single word.
And he was looking at her.
"Get dressed," he said simply. "I'm taking you somewhere."
She blinked, her grip tightening on the sheets. "Where?"
His expression didn't change. "You'll see."
She should have argued. Should have refused.
But something in his gaze told her not to push.
Anastasia sat stiffly in the back seat of the sleek black car, her hands clenched in her lap.
The drive was silent.
Leonidas sat beside her, one arm resting casually on the leather seat, his profile carved from cold marble. He wasn't a man who filled silence with unnecessary words.
And she wasn't a woman who knew how to fill it, either.
The city passed by in a blur.
Tall glass buildings. High-end boutiques. Pedestrians who moved quickly, their lives perfectly in order.
Leonidas suddenly shifted beside her, breaking the silence. "You don't leave the estate much."
She glanced at him, caught off guard. "...No."
He hummed, as if he already knew the answer.
"Why?"
She hesitated.
Because she didn't know what she was allowed to do. Because she didn't know what was expected of her.
Because she didn't know what it meant to be his.
Instead, she only said, "I don't like people staring at me."
Leonidas didn't react at first.
And then—
"You should get used to it."
The words were calm, but final.
Because people would always stare.
Not because of her.
But because of him.
---
The car slowed as they pulled into a private estate, far removed from the noise of the city.
Anastasia's brows furrowed.
This wasn't another business meeting.
The moment the car stopped, a man in a black training uniform stepped forward, giving Leonidas a sharp nod.
"Sir."
Leonidas returned the nod before stepping out of the car.
Anastasia hesitated.
Then, before she could think twice, he opened the door for her.
Not the driver. Not a staff member.
Leonidas.
She stared at his outstretched hand, confused.
He didn't usually bother with small gestures.
When she didn't take it, his lips twitched in something that was almost amusement. "I won't bite, Anastasia."
Liar.
She swallowed hard and took his hand, allowing him to help her out of the car.
His grip was warm. Solid.
She let go the second her heels touched the ground.
The man in the training uniform stepped forward. "Everything is ready, sir."
Leonidas nodded before glancing at her. "Come."
---
The room smelled of leather, polished wood, and something faintly metallic.
Anastasia's eyes widened as she took in the space.
A training hall.
It was smaller than the one back at the main estate, but the walls were lined with weapons, mats stretched across the floor, and a long wooden bench sat along the far side of the room.
She turned to him warily. "...What is this?"
Leonidas unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up further, exposing the corded muscles of his forearms.
"You should know how to defend yourself," he said simply.
She stared.
Then—
"...What?"
He gave her a slow, measured look. "There will always be people who see you as a weakness. A way to get to me."
A cold shiver ran down her spine.
He didn't say if.
He said when.
She shifted uncomfortably. "I don't need to—"
"Yes, you do."
His tone left no room for argument.
"You won't always have me around."
Something strange twisted in her chest at that.
As if the thought of him not being there unsettled her.
She looked away quickly.
This was ridiculous.
She wasn't a fighter. She wasn't him.
"Fine," she muttered. "But I don't know how to—"
"I'll teach you."
Her breath hitched.
The words were quiet. Final.
He would teach her. Him.
Not some instructor. Not some hired professional.
Leonidas himself.
A strange, unfamiliar warmth curled at the base of her spine.
He stepped closer, reaching behind him to the bench, and picked up a wooden training knife.
The moment he held it out to her, she shook her head quickly. "I—No, I don't think—"
He ignored her protest and took her hand instead, placing the weapon in her palm.
Her fingers curled around the wood instinctively, her pulse jumping.
"You hold it too lightly," he murmured, stepping behind her.
Before she could react, his hand covered hers.
Warm. Solid. Overpowering.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as his chest brushed her back.
"Like this," he murmured. His other hand barely ghosted along her arm, adjusting her grip. "Tighter. You'll lose it otherwise."
Anastasia swallowed thickly.
She should be focused.
She should be listening.
But all she could feel was him.
His breath near her ear. His body, so close she could feel the heat radiating from him.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't—
"You're tense," he said, voice lower now. "Relax."
Relax?
When he was standing like this?
Her breath stuttered. "I—I don't think I can—"
His fingers brushed against hers again.
"You can."
The words sent a shiver down her spine.
Something invisible shifted between them.
And for a brief moment, she wondered—
Was this really about teaching her to fight?
Or was it about something else entirely?