“Who are you?” Sebastian demanded, his voice sharp and cutting through the quiet. His hand tightened around his staff. Nobody approached him without permission. Nobody touched him without his consent. And yet, here she was, moving closer, silent, unannounced, and utterly unafraid.

He could hear her breathing, soft, steady, and strangely calm. It should have been soothing, but it only made him more impatient. He hated being blind. He hated the helplessness that came with it. He hated that he could not see her, could not measure the threat, could not read the truth of who she was.

“Speak!” His voice rose, deep and furious, echoing against the walls. “Answer me! Do you know who you are dealing with?”

There was no answer. Only the soft rustle of her clothing as she shifted slightly. He took a cautious step forward, hand outstretched, feeling his way toward her. His fingertips brushed her skin. The softness under his hand, the warmth, sent a jolt through him, unwelcome and unwarranted. He scolded himself instantly. Perhaps she had been sent to harm him. Perhaps she was a trap.

“Do not think you can fool me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tighter than he intended. “Do not think you can simply be here without consequence.”

Before he could consider it further, the car door slammed open.

“Happy birthday… Shit!” Leandro exclaimed, his eyes widening in alarm as they fell on the woman in the backseat. She was beautiful, unconscious, and entirely unexpected. His voice faltered, uncertain how to handle the situation.

“Wretched! How dare you search for a woman?” Sebastian snapped, his words sharp as knives. “I told you I do not want to celebrate this day. You think you can decide for me? You think you can cross me?”

Leandro glanced around quickly. Men lingered nearby, some shifting uncomfortably, their eyes flicking from him to Sebastian. He climbed into the car and locked the doors behind him, his movements careful but determined.

“What is happening?” Sebastian demanded, his tone low and deadly. “If this woman was not sent by you, remove her. I do not want her here. I abhor her presence.”

“She is hurt,” Leandro said softly, leaning closer. “I think you should let me help. She is not here to harm you.”

“I said no!” Sebastian’s voice cracked with frustration. “She will not enter my space. I will not have her near me. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Leandro replied calmly, though his eyes were firm. “But even the strongest men need help sometimes. Let me handle this. Let me take her home. She will be safe, and you will not have to see her.”

Sebastian’s teeth clenched. He wanted to argue, to refuse, to push back, but even as he opened his mouth, the words died in his throat. The rose scent lingering in the air was overwhelming, intoxicating. It made his chest tighten and his mind wander. He hated it and yet could not ignore it.

“Please,” Leandro pressed, placing a hand gently on Sebastian’s arm. “I am not asking for permission. I am asking as your brother. Let me manage this. I promise you will not have to be involved.”

Sebastian closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. He wanted to reject him. He wanted to shove him away and insist on his solitude. But he also knew Leandro was right. She was here. He could not pretend otherwise. The soft warmth, the faint sound of her breath, it was impossible to ignore.

The car slowed as the hacienda gates opened. The heavy iron bars groaned as they slid along the tracks. Sebastian’s muscles tensed instinctively. Home. The place he had controlled for years. The place where the shadows were predictable. The place where everything moved according to his rules.

“Now,” Leandro said softly, “do you want me to help you with this woman?”

Sebastian’s hand tightened around the staff, knuckles whitening. “I do not… I do not want her near me. But take her if you must. Understand this: if I ever smell her again, if I ever sense her presence near me, you will regret it.”

Leandro’s lips curved slightly in a small, teasing smile as he pressed a gold keychain into Sebastian’s hand. A tiny wine bottle charm swung from it. “Take it. Consider it a gesture. Nothing more. Please.”

Sebastian scowled, begrudgingly taking the keychain. “I will take it because you insist. But do not involve me. I will not forgive mistakes.”

He pushed the car door open and stepped out. The night air of the hacienda wrapped around him, cool and heavy, brushing against his face. Silence hung like a curtain, both comforting and oppressive. Inside, however, chaos churned.

Years of order, control, and careful planning had built walls around him. Tonight, those walls shook. The scent, the sound, the presence of her stirred something he had buried deep. Something he had not allowed to exist for years. Memories of Maria rose unbidden. The little ways she had eased his life, her attentiveness, her subtle care. Then her leaving. Her absence. Leaving him to believe he was nothing but a burden.

He walked inside, every step deliberate. Each creak of the floorboards, each echo of his own voice reminded him of all he had lost. Yet the memory of her presence lingered. The unknown, the danger, the scent followed him, wrapped around him, refusing to let go.

He reached the kitchen, throat dry, restless. Water. He needed water. Yet the glasses were not where he expected. Each movement required careful thought. Even his own home felt unfamiliar and invaded.

Leandro’s voice, calm and protective, floated through his mind. “I will make sure nothing happens. She will be safe.”

Sebastian took a glass and drank slowly, letting the cool liquid soothe his parched throat. Still, the tension remained. He could not shake it. Not tonight. Not while shadows from past and present collided in his mind.

He walked to the living room and paused, letting the quiet sink in. His hands itched to move, to do something, anything, to regain control. Yet all he could do was breathe and listen to the subtle shifts in the house. Every small sound made him flinch. Every scent, every rustle reminded him that nothing would ever feel normal again.

***

The air in the room felt heavy, unfamiliar, almost suffocating. Anastasia Parker’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she had no idea where she was. Her head throbbed with a sharp pulse, and a dizzy weight pressed down on her chest.

Her legs wobbled beneath her as if the floor might give way, and she tried to sit up. The sudden motion made the world spin, and she fell back onto the soft surface beneath her, gasping.

Her breath came in shallow, quick bursts, and she pressed her hands against her chest, trying to calm the panic that had already taken root. She strained to remember how she had ended up here. The nightclub, the bright lights, the music, the money, the endless nights, everything felt blurred together, like a bad dream she could barely grasp.

Then her mind hit the sharp edge of memory of the man. The one who had come too close, the one whose hands had tried to take control of her body, the one who had injected her with that drug. A cold, sharp fear sliced through her, sharper than ice. She had run. Somehow, she had run, stumbling through dark streets, alleyways, and shadows until she collapsed into the first car she could find.

And now, here she was.

A figure moved slowly across the room, and her heart skipped a beat. She froze, barely daring to breathe. The man was tall, impossibly tall and his presence filling the room even without a word. Each step he took was measured, slow, confident, and terrifying all at once.

Anastasia pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to quiet the panic rising inside her. She had never seen a man like him. His face was sharp, sculpted, almost unreal in its perfection. His expression was distant, cold, commanding, and yet somehow magnetic.

He did not speak, but the room seemed to lean toward him, like the air itself recognized his authority.

Her stomach tightened, her legs quivering beneath her. She wanted to run, to hide, to vanish completely, but some invisible force held her in place. She watched him, every small motion amplified in her mind.

She thought he might notice her, claim her presence or probably demand answers she did not have. And yet, he did not. He passed her without a word, and she realized with a sudden, shaky breath that he could not see her.

He was blind.

The thought both terrified and fascinated her. Her hands fell slowly from her face, but her fingers still trembled. She rose carefully, silent as a shadow, taking a few tentative steps behind him. Her heart thumped so hard it felt like it might burst through her ribs, yet she could not stop herself from following him.

There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled her in even as every instinct screamed at her to run.

The man stopped suddenly at the entrance of the kitchen. Anastasia’s breath caught in her throat. He moved as if he had sensed her. She could feel it in the tension of his posture, in the tilt of his head and the shift of his weight.

Her body froze. She did not dare to breathe. Her pale face betrayed nothing of the storm inside her, but her hands were cold and sweaty. Her legs shook like jelly. She swallowed hard, forcing the tight lump in her throat to move.

“What are you doing in my house?” His voice rolled through the room, deep, rich, and commanding. Each word struck her chest like a hammer.

Panic surged again. She pressed her hands over her mouth, trembling violently, and instinctively stepped back. Her eyes studied him, memorizing the firm set of his shoulders, the slow, deliberate movements, the calm authority radiating from him.

He turned his head slightly, tilting it, as if sensing her through the smallest movement and the slightest sound. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run, but fascination held her frozen. He advanced with measured, confident steps, and her knees nearly buckled beneath her.

“I… I—” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. Her mind raced, trying to find words that would not betray her fear. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, shallow breaths trembling against the tight knot in her stomach.

“Can’t speak?” The words were sharp, almost teasing, rolling off his tongue like a challenge.

"Has the cat got your tongue?”

The room was silent except for the faint sound of Anastasia’s uneven breathing. She froze the moment he stepped closer. His presence was overwhelming, almost magnetic, and she felt rooted to the spot.

“Has the cat got your tongue?” Sebastian’s voice was low and firm. He could smell her presence instantly, the faint trace of her perfume unmistakable.

Anastasia’s eyes widened in terror. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. No sound came out. Her heart pounded harder. She wanted to apologize, explain, beg, but her voice had betrayed her.

“I will call my escorts,” she said finally, her tone trembling slightly.

The threat of silence hung in the air, pressing down on her. Sebastian did not move. He waited, watching her.

“No, sir, please do not do that,” she said quickly, stepping closer, desperate to calm him. Her heart raced as her eyes met his bright blue ones. They were sharp, unyielding, impossible to ignore.

“I am not a bad person,” she added hurriedly. “I do not know why I am here. I only remember feeling unwell and then… passing out.”

Sebastian’s lips curled slightly. “Or maybe you are an imposter. Maybe all you want is money.”

“That is not true, sir!” Anastasia exclaimed, shaking her head. “I don’t even know how I got here. I did not come here to steal or cheat anyone. I promise, I meant no harm.”

She tried to step past him, but Sebastian’s hand shot out, gripping her arm firmly. She froze, her pulse spiking as fear and curiosity collided.

“Let me go, please!” she pleaded. Standing so close, she could see every sharp line of his face, every piercing detail of his eyes.

“What is your name?” His tone was sudden and demanding, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Why do you need to know my name, sir? Do you want to take me to prison?” she asked nervously.

“Answer!” he snapped, his blue eyes burning into hers.

“Anastasia Parker,” she said carefully. Then she added quickly, “Please let me go. I promise I will disappear immediately if you release me.”

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, observing her. “The sun has not risen yet, and my hacienda is far from town,” he said thoughtfully. “You are awake, and yet you stand here, unafraid. I want to know more about you.”

“I have faced worse things in my life,” she said softly, trying to steady herself. “But I really need to go home now. I cannot stay here.”

“Is your husband waiting for you?” he asked boldly, loosening his grip slightly.

“I… I do not have a husband, sir,” she said, her hands trembling. “I am not running away. I only wish to leave safely.”

“I do not trust anyone,” he said bluntly.

“You will have to,” she replied firmly, though her voice quivered. “Because you are hurting me.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. He disliked being ordered or challenged.

“What exactly are you doing here?” he demanded.

Anastasia hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. In her profession, she always wore a mask, hiding her true self. “I am a maid, sir,” she said cautiously, weaving a small lie. “But sometimes I do not have steady work. I need to leave now, if that is acceptable.”

Sebastian studied her closely. There was something strange in her behavior, something he could not immediately place.

“I want to make you a proposition,” he said, and Anastasia felt her heart leap. Her mind raced with questions.

“You will pay me?” she asked cautiously, curiosity mingling with apprehension.

“I will pay you enough,” he said simply. “I am supposed to be married in two days, but I do not want questions. I need you to take the place of my ex-girlfriend.”

“What?!” Anastasia gasped, eyes wide with shock.

“You will earn a lot of money,” he continued. “Do you need it?”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“But nothing,” he interrupted sharply. “I need a concrete answer. Yes or no. Now.”

Anastasia hesitated. She needed money desperately. For her mother’s medications, for her daily survival. Maybe this man, this powerful stranger, could give her a lifeline. She swallowed her fear.

“Yes… I agree to be your substitute wife,” she said finally.

“You must be full-time for me,” he said sternly.

“Sir, please, I cannot,” she replied immediately, her hands pressed together nervously.

Sebastian’s silence was heavy, filled with implied disapproval. He wanted someone who could dedicate herself fully.

“But I want to do it,” she said quickly. “I only ask for a few hours off. The rest of the time, I will be available to you. Please give me this opportunity.”

“I will allow three hours off,” he said. “Everything else must be for me. What you see and hear is confidential. Do you accept this agreement?”

Anastasia nodded, her pulse racing. “I accept, sir. But… may I know your name?”

“Sebastian Parrow,” he said, as if it was obvious.

“Mr. Parrow, I promise you will not regret hiring me,” she said boldly, shaking his large hand with her small one. An electric jolt seemed to pass between them. She quickly withdrew her hand, cheeks burning.

“Be here at eight in the morning,” he said. “Do not be late. And while you are here, bring me a glass of water. Now.”

Anastasia’s eyes widened. He was commanding and intimidating, yet there was something magnetic about him. She exhaled and headed toward the kitchen, her mind racing.

The kitchen was huge and luxurious, unlike any place she had ever seen. She poured a glass of water, careful not to spill a drop, and carried it back to him.

“Here, Mr. Parrow,” she said, holding out the glass.

He took it with perfect precision, without a word of thanks, and walked slowly to his room. Anastasia watched him go, her heart racing and her mind swirling. A few words, a few moments with him, and she already felt a strange pull toward the powerful man.

For the first time in her life, she realized that the simplest interaction could ignite fear, curiosity, and admiration all at once.

***

The next morning, Sebastian Parrow could not shake a restless energy that clung to him from the moment he opened his eyes. He was a man who lived in control, who thrived on routine and certainty, but something about the deal he had made with Anastasia lingered at the edges of his thoughts. It made him uneasy, though he would never admit it aloud.

By the time the clock struck seven, he was already dressed, his valet having helped him into a charcoal suit that fit him as if it had been stitched to his frame. The faint scent of his cologne drifted in the air, sharp and clean, familiar to him by touch and repetition. With his cane in hand, he paced the living room, each tap against the polished marble floor echoing in the silence. The rhythm was steady, yet his movements betrayed an agitation he loathed.

He told himself he was not waiting for her. It was a transaction, nothing more. Still, when the silence stretched too long, his head tilted slightly, listening for footsteps that had not yet come.

Leandro strolled in, his usual unbothered presence filling the room. The sound of his shoes was casual, unhurried. Sebastian knew him well enough to picture him: shirt sleeves rolled, dark hair untidy, carrying an air of easy confidence that grated against Sebastian’s tightly wound composure.

“What are you doing here this early?” Leandro asked, amusement in his voice.

Sebastian’s jaw worked, but he did not answer right away. His fingers tightened on the silver handle of his cane.

Leandro chuckled softly. “Ah, I see. You’re waiting. For her.”

“I’m not waiting,” Sebastian replied flatly. His tone was firm, but the conviction was thinner than he intended.

Leandro moved closer. Sebastian could hear the faint brush of fabric and the light scuff of shoes against the floor. “Don’t bother denying it. You’re standing in your living room, dressed like a groom about to take vows. That doesn’t happen by accident.”

“You exaggerate,” Sebastian muttered.

“You deigned to appear before breakfast,” Leandro pressed, his words deliberately taunting. “And for Sebastian Parrow, who never stirs before the world bends to him, to be pacing with that cane like a caged wolf? There’s only one reason. Who is she? Or better yet, what mess have you stepped into this time?”

Sebastian adjusted his cufflinks, an unnecessary motion done out of habit more than need. “Her name is Anastasia. The intruder from last night. I offered her to be my wife.”

Leandro blinked, stunned into silence for a moment, then barked out a laugh. “You what?”

“If she doesn’t arrive by eight o’clock,” Sebastian continued, his tone clipped, “do not let her in.”

Leandro’s humor drained, replaced by disbelief. “Are you insane? You barely know this girl. You can’t just pull a stranger into your life and decide she’ll be your wife.”

Sebastian’s expression remained blank, his blind eyes fixed somewhere near Leandro’s voice. “I know what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t,” Leandro snapped. “You’re playing with fire. She’s not like the women you’ve toyed with before. She looks like a good girl, Sebastian. You could ruin her.”

“I don’t care,” Sebastian replied, voice sharp, cutting. “She will be useful to me for what I need.”

Leandro folded his arms, his frustration clear in the rough edge of his sigh. “Useful? She’s not a pawn on a chessboard. She’s a person. What exactly are you planning to do with her?”

“She will be my wife in name,” Sebastian said firmly, his cane clicking once against the marble as if to punctuate his words. “And she will be my chambermaid—the one who must do everything I tell her.”

Leandro shook his head, disbelief heavy in his voice. “You’re serious.”

“I do not joke about such matters.”

“That much is obvious,” Leandro muttered. He paced a step, then stopped, his voice lower but no less insistent. “This is madness.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “I am not asking for your opinion, Leandro.”

“You’re more bitter than a lemon, Sebastian,” Leandro said quietly. “I know what life did to you is cruel, but I hope this girl… I hope she finds a way to crack that stone heart of yours.”

“Never,” Sebastian said, voice like steel. “It’s dead.”

For a long moment, the two men stood in silence. Then Leandro let out a small laugh, the kind that came when he knew arguing further was useless. Yet behind his smile was something else—something softer. He had seen Anastasia yesterday. There was a quiet strength in her, one that Leandro suspected could shake even Sebastian.

Sebastian, of course, refused to entertain such foolishness. He turned slightly toward the window, his head angled as though he could see beyond it. In truth, he was listening to the faint rustle of leaves, the distant hum of a car and the ticking of the clock.

Though he had not eaten, his stomach twisted with a strange tension. He told himself again that it was only because he despised waiting. But deep down, something unspoken gnawed at him.

“You like this girl,” Leandro said suddenly, tone half-mocking, half-curious.

Sebastian turned toward the sound of his voice, his expression hard. “Don’t make foolish jokes.”

Leandro grinned, unbothered. “Then why do you look like a man awaiting judgment?”

Before Sebastian could answer, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Soft, steady steps approaching the living room. Both men turned their attention toward the door.

Anastasia stepped inside.

Sebastian couldn’t see her, but he heard the delicate fall of her steps, the faint rustle of her dress brushing against her legs as she moved further into the room. A faint current of air followed her, carrying her scent with it; a mixture of something sweet and flowery, soft yet distinct, like fresh petals after rain.

The air shifted with her presence, carrying something unfamiliar yet grounding.

Leandro’s gaze sharpened, taking her in. She was in a simple dress, hair falling softly, dignity in every line of her posture.

“Good morning, Mr. Parrow."

“Leave us alone, Leandro,” Sebastian ordered, his tone sharp and final.

“With pleasure,” Leandro replied with exaggerated flair. He gave Anastasia a polite bow, then added with a playful grin, “Leandro Bustamante, right-hand man and loyal friend of Sebastian.”

“Leandro!” Sebastian’s voice carried the weight of irritation, his patience thinning.

“Aye, sir.” Leandro raised his hands in mock surrender and walked away, his smile lingering as if he enjoyed provoking his friend.

Anastasia stood quietly, unsure of what to say. The heavy silence in the room pressed against her chest, and her nerves only grew worse under the cold aura Sebastian carried around him. His presence was commanding, unyielding, and she felt her words catch in her throat.

Sebastian turned his head slightly toward her, his face unreadable. “Listen carefully. I will tell you what you must do, and you will pay attention, because I do not like repeating myself.” His voice was deep, calm, yet it carried a sharpness that made her straighten instinctively.

“You must not enter my room without permission. You must not meddle in my private life, and you will never give your opinion unless I ask for it. Your duties are simple but precise. You will ensure my diet is followed exactly, keep everything in my room in order, and prepare my wardrobe each day. I will tell you the colors I prefer, and you will obey without question. You will accompany me to the company and remain at my side for anything I need. You will not work for anyone else. You belong to my service alone. Is that clear?”

Anastasia lowered her gaze, her fingers twisting nervously. “Yes, sir. I will be your eyes.”

The words slipped from her lips with sincerity, but they struck Sebastian’s heart like a blade. For a moment his jaw clenched, bitterness flaring inside him. He despised pity, despised the reminder of his condition, and her choice of words stung.

His voice turned hard. “Be very careful with what you say to me, Anastasia.”

She looked up quickly, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Her voice trembled with worry, but her expression was honest.

Sebastian leaned closer, his tone cold and cutting. “There is something you need to understand very clearly. You will never behave seductively around me. Do you hear me? Never. I do not desire you, and you are not my type. And never in your life should you look at me with pity.” His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. “I despise pity.”

Anastasia swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing on her. She knew it would be difficult not to notice him. His commanding presence filled every space, and even though his personality was cruel and unyielding, there was something about him that drew her attention.

“Yes, Mr. Parrow,” she said softly, forcing her voice to remain steady.

Sebastian straightened, regaining his usual composure. “It is breakfast time. One good thing about our deal is that you will not lack food or shelter. You will eat beside me every morning. Now, walk faster.”

“Yes, sir. As ordered,” Anastasia replied, hurrying after him.

They stepped out into the garden, where the morning light spread across the land. Sebastian had chosen this place to dine, surrounded by the lush greenery and the distant sound of birds. Anastasia paused for a moment, amazed by the beauty of the landscape.

She glanced at him, silently admiring how, despite his condition, Sebastian carried himself like a man untouched by weakness. In that moment, he seemed more human than the cold figure she had seen earlier, though she knew better than to voice such a thought.

“Good morning, Mr. Parrow,” greeted Sara, the maid who always served him breakfast. Her eyes darted toward Anastasia with thinly veiled disapproval.

Sebastian’s voice was calm but firm. “Sara, this is Anastasia. From tomorrow onward, she will take care of my meals and manage the farm. Everything she asks for will be done.”

Sara’s lips tightened, her face betraying her disagreement. “As you ordered, boss.”

“Bring breakfast for both of us,” Sebastian instructed without a second glance.

Sara cast Anastasia a long, hostile look before turning away. Anastasia shifted uncomfortably, sensing the woman’s disdain.

Sebastian noticed. “Ignore her,” he said curtly. “She is loyal, but she forgets her place.”

Anastasia nodded faintly. She sat at the edge of the table, her thoughts drifting for a moment. Her mother’s health was deteriorating, each day worse than the last. Cancer consumed her body, and no matter how much Anastasia tried, improvement never came. A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

She quickly brushed it away, but Sebastian’s sharp eyes caught the movement. “Why are you crying?” he asked, his tone direct.

Anastasia hesitated. “It’s nothing, sir. Just… thoughts of my mother.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, studying her face. “If you are going to serve me, you cannot allow personal weakness to interfere. Control yourself.”

“Yes, Mr. Parrow,” she whispered, lowering her eyes.

Sara returned, balancing a tray of steaming coffee and warm food. She placed the dishes on the table, but as she leaned closer to Anastasia, a cup tipped and hot coffee spilled directly onto Anastasia’s lap.

Anastasia gasped. “Oh, it burns!” she cried, standing quickly and trying to wipe the liquid from her legs.

“I’m sorry, miss,” Sara said quickly, but there was a smile on her lips, cold and unsettling. It sent a chill down Anastasia’s spine, as though the woman had done it on purpose.

Sebastian’s voice rose, irritated. “What is going on?”

Sara bowed her head, though her eyes still glinted. “Forgive me, boss. The coffee slipped. It was not my intention.” She placed the rest of the breakfast on the table with exaggerated care.

Anastasia grabbed napkins, pressing them against her skin. The burn stung, her delicate skin reddening from the heat.

Sebastian pushed his chair back slightly. “Is it serious?” His voice was sharper now, demanding an answer.

She forced herself to smile and speak quietly. “I am fine, Mr. Parrow. Please continue your breakfast.”

Sara’s voice chimed with false concern. “If you like, miss, I can bring something to help with the burn.”

“You are kind, but I will be all right,” Anastasia said, her eyes sharp with anger. She wanted no help from the maid who had spilled the coffee on purpose.

Sara smiled thinly. “Very well, miss.” She left the tray with a stiff nod and walked out.

Anastasia hurried to the sink, her hands shaking. The burn stung badly. She grabbed a towel, then found a small jar of salt. Lifting her dress slightly, she dabbed it carefully on the red skin. The pain eased a little.

“Are you sure you are all right?” Sebastian asked without looking up from his plate. His eyes stayed fixed on the same spot, unblinking, while his fingers moved with practiced precision over the cutlery. The white cane leaned against his chair, untouched, a silent reminder of how he moved through a world he could not see. Yet his calm posture carried the weight of someone who still commanded the room.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered. She watched the steady rhythm of his movements, unsettled by how confident he was.

“Stop staring,” he muttered. “I do not like being watched.”

She blinked. He had not looked at her once, yet somehow he knew. “No, sir. I will not stare,” she said quickly, and forced herself to take a bite.

The food tasted wrong. The eggs were too salty. She swallowed, trying to hide her disgust. Even the orange juice had a strange, salty tang. She tried to smile, but her mouth betrayed her and she spat the food into her napkin quickly, embarrassed.

Sebastian’s brows drew together. “What is wrong with you? Are you unwell?”

She swallowed hard and lied. “No, sir. I am just not used to this food. I will eat.”

“You will eat what you are given and do it without complaint,” he said firmly. He did not glance at her, yet his voice cut as if he saw every thought she tried to hide.

Her stomach growled. She had not had more than a few crackers since the day before. Hunger gnawed at her but she kept her voice steady when she asked a question that had been on her mind.

“Sir, may I ask you something?”

He did not nod. He simply lifted his hand in a dismissive wave, a gesture that stopped a little short of the table’s edge. “Ask.”

“Why will your ex not marry you?”