ANASTASIA
The man in the grey suit sat and listened attentively throughout my interview. A subtle smile was on his lips. After the interview, as I left the building, my mind replayed the entire encounter, the questions, my answers, and most prominently, the mysterious Mr. Grey Suit. Reaching home, I found Mia laying down on the couch with a tub of popcorn balanced on her lap. "So, how was it?" Mia asked. "How did the interview go? Did you wow them with your HR expertise?" I sat down on the opposite end of the couch, i sighed and looked up at Mia. "I think I might have… stuck my foot in my mouth," I confessed, I narrated my entire interaction with the handsome stranger. Mia's eyes widened in surprise. "You told him to go home and change because he looked too rich?" She asked and started laughing She laughed so hard tears started flowing from her eyes. "Oh, Anastasia! What were you thinking?" I buried my face in a throw pillow, mortified. "I don't know", I exclaimed. "You needed to have seen him, he looked so… out of place in his fancy suit. Plus, you know my past experiences with rich snobs haven't been pleasant. Besides I was so nervous and you know I speak out of turn when I am nervous " "Hey, don't worry about it too much," Mia said as she sympathetically patted my shoulders. "You still made a memorable impression, even if it wasn't exactly the one you intended." Two days later, I received an email requesting a meeting. 'This has to be good news!', I thought, as I jumped for joy. Why else would they call me in instead of just sending a rejection email? I happily entered the office, prepared to be offered the HR manager position. I was led straight to the Director's office, where I found myself face-to-face with the guy in the grey suit and another older gentleman. I assumed the older man was the company owner and director. I smiled from ear to ear as I waited to hear the good news. The older man, who introduced himself as Adam Foster, began, "Ms. Perry, thank you for coming in today. Unfortunately, we won't be selecting you for the HR manager position. However, if there are any future openings..." My heart sank. Rejected? Did my earlier comments about the fancy suit offend him? Was he even the director? Confusion swirled in my head as anger bubbled up. "Anastasia Perry?" the man called, snapping me back to reality. "Yes," I mumbled, my eyes darting towards the grey-suited man, wondering what games he was playing. "The director has a few more words," he said politely before exiting the office. "While you weren't chosen for the HR role," the grey-suit guy continued, "I do have another job offer for you.", he said as he began explaining the job he was offering me. By the time he was done talking, my mouth was open, I was in shock. Later that day, I told Mia everything that had happened to me. Mia's eyes mirrored my own astonishment as I recounted the meeting's events. "So, you're saying that the man in the grey suit... the one you told to change out of his fancy clothes... was actually the director?" she asked, disbelief lacing her voice. "Apparently so," I muttered, still trying to wrap my head around the whole thing. "So, what job did he offer?" she asked as she picked up her wine glass. "He wants me to... marry him," I blurted out, bracing myself for her reaction. Mia choked on the wine and it splattered on the coffee table, the couch and on her blouse. I rushed to the kitchen, grabbed a paper towel, and hurried back to her side. "Marry him?" she repeated, wiping the wine from her blouse with wide, incredulous eyes. "He wants you to be his wife?" "For a year," I clarified, still reeling from the unexpected offer. Confusion etched across Mia's face. "But... why? I thought you said he was good-looking. Why would he need a pretend wife?" Mia's question sent me reeling back to the bizarre meeting that morning. It all came flooding back. "After our conversation the other day," the grey suit man said, "it became clear to me that you possess the ideal qualities for this position." I remained silent, unsure how to respond to this unexpected statement. He continued, "If I am not married within the next month, I stand to lose my inheritance. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not hurting financially. But my mother, alongside my father, built his entire business empire from the ground up. She has threatened to disown me if everything falls into the hands of my nephew, my half-brother's son." Seeing my continued silence, he pressed on, "Therefore, I'm willing to offer you five million dollars in exchange for one year of being my wife." Mia's jaw dropped, her eyes reflecting the pure shock I felt. "This sounds like something out of a movie or one of those crazy romance novels," she exclaimed. "But there's more," I informed her. "There's more?" she echoed, a tinge of disbelief lacing her voice. I nodded solemnly. "his so-called 'nephew' happens to be Matthew Smith." Mia's eyes widened further. "You're kidding me?", Mia said, "I wish I was, "I answered her. "The world is really small," she muttered. "Ana, you can't possibly consider this! It would be a disaster. Are you even ready to face Matthew? ", she asked. When I didn't respond, she drew closer, "Ana you can't accept this offer without telling him you were engaged to his nephew," she insisted, her voice firm. My mind raced, formulating a plan. Mia, noticing I wasn't listening to her anymore, tapped me on the shoulder, "What games are you playing?" she asked, I could tell she was very concerned. "Anastasia, are you accepting the offer? Will you be disclosing your history with his nephew to him?"She asked.Anastasia sat on the edge of her bed, her hands trembling as she scrolled through her phone. The images of Harry and Camille were everywhere. Pictures of them coming out of a restaurant. Anastasia could not help but see how Harry held the beautiful actress. Anastasia felt sick to her stomach. Her heart pounded against her ribs. The pain was physical, a sharp stab that made it hard to breathe. " No, this can’t be real," Anastasia kept muttering to herself as she struggled to breathe. She had spoken to Harry just last night. He had told her he was busy and had an early meeting. And yet, here he was, on the front page of every gossip blog, wrapped up in another woman. Tears blurred her vision, and her body got weaker. The phone slipped from her fingers, crashing onto the marble floor. A wave of dizziness hit her like a storm, and before she could even cry out, the darkness consumed her. Miriam, one of the domestic staff, knocked lightly on Anastasia’s bedroom door. "Madam, y
Anastasia stretched lazily under the soft sheets, her body still heavy from exhaustion. The previous night had been a blur of discussions, strategy, and whispered theories with Natasha. They had spent hours poring over security footage, trying to make sense of who could have betrayed her. She had hoped to speak to Harry—to hear his voice, to feel some semblance of reassurance. But he hadn’t come home. She had waited. And waited. At some point, her eyes had grown heavy, and sleep had claimed her before she could hear the sound of his footsteps in the hallway. With a sigh, Anastasia pushed herself up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She stripped off her lilac-coloured nightwear and stood before the full-length mirror. The reflection staring back at her was different. Her waist was still trim, but her breasts—fuller than before—hinted at the new life growing inside her. A slow smile curled her lips. She was going to be a mother. Excitement coursed through her veins, but it w
The restaurant was dimly lit, the soft flicker of candlelight casting golden hues across Camille’s face as she sipped her wine, her gaze locked onto Harry. The tension between them was thick, like a velvet rope pulling them together. Harry, slightly tipsy, leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. He was fully aware of Camille’s game—she had always been a master of flirtation, using her beauty and charm like a finely honed weapon. “You’ve done a good job staying out of my reach,” Camille murmured, setting her glass down as she leaned in, her voice was as soft as silk. “Even when you know how much I’ve been dying to have you.” Harry smirked, shaking his head. “Camille, we’ve never seemed to be single at the same time.” Camille let out a soft, sultry laugh, her eyes gleaming as they travelled over him with deliberate slowness. “Oh, Harry…” she purred, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “You’re being coy. That’s not the real reason.” Harry arched
Anastasia sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she absently scrolled through her phone. She wasn’t reading anything—her mind was too clouded to focus. Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the screen, the only sound in the vast, quiet living room. The clock on the wall ticked away, marking each second that passed as she waited for her sister, Natasha, to arrive. Anastasia had called her the moment Harry stormed off, demanding answers she didn’t have. How had Matthew heard about the divorce? The only two people she had confided in were Natasha and Britney, and she trusted them both with her life. Her chest tightened as she replayed Harry’s furious words in her mind. "Why did you tell your lover that we were getting a divorce?" Matthew. The man who had used her over and over again. There is no way she would have betrayed Harry like that. But somehow, he knew and that was what Anastasia was confused about. How did he know? A car door slammed outside, pulling her
Anastasia paced the length of her living room, her fingers gripping her phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, and her heart pounded in her chest as the moment Harry had walked out replayed in her head. She had rushed up to him the second she heard his bedroom door open, desperate to speak to him, to explain, to beg—but he had walked past her as if she didn’t exist. No glance, no words, not even the flicker of an emotion in his eyes. She had watched from the window as he got into his car and drove away, leaving her standing there, crushed, shattered, and abandoned. Tears blurred her vision as she dialled Natasha's number. The call barely rang twice before Natasha picked up. “Anastasia?” Natasha’s voice came through the speaker, filled with concern. Anastasia couldn’t even respond—only a choked sob escaped her lips. “Stasia, talk to me. What’s wrong?” More sobs. “Anastasia! What is going on?” Natasha’s voice was sha
Anastasia lay still, her body wrapped in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioner. Her chest rose and fell with each deep breath, but she didn’t say a word. Harry shifted uncomfortably, his arm draped loosely over her waist as he studied her face. She stared at him, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. “Anastasia,” he began, his voice trembling, “I need you to know… I love you.” Her expression didn’t change, and her gaze was still fixed on him. Harry’s heart ached at her lack of response. He shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “I know i have already professed my love for you,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I promised to wait. But my heart yearns for you, " he paused, swallowing hard—"I thought tonight meant something. But if it doesn’t, I understand.” Anastasia turned her head away