Chapter Three

ANASTASIA

"Anastasia," I heard my name again. I opened my eyes and found Harry in my room.

"I am sorry," he mumbled and quickly walked out. I sat up and wiped the beads of sweat that had dripped all over my body. "It was a dream," I whispered to myself.

Feeling aroused and a little bit ashamed, I descended from the bed and made my way to the bathroom. Glancing at the wall clock, I realized I had overslept; it was already eight o'clock. I ran a warm bath, adding my rose-scented shower gel and a few drops of my favourite essential oils. I removed my nightwear and slipped into the bathtub.

An hour later, I was dressed and seated at the dining table, ready for breakfast. The maid, Maria, who had introduced herself earlier, informed me that Harry was in a virtual meeting and would be joining me soon. I wasn't looking forward to seeing him, not after what had just happened that morning in my bedroom. "Why did he even come into my bedroom without my permission?" I mumbled to myself.

I settled in and had a proper English breakfast, Harry was a no-show. I couldn't tell what exactly he had heard or seen while I was asleep. I wondered if, during my dream, I had called out Matthew's name.

Even though I wasn't in love with Harry I didn't want to hurt him. I now felt bad that I didn't respond to the questions he had asked me on our way home yesterday.

After breakfast, I went over to the patio and sat down on the wicker chair, the sounds coming from the fountain was really soothing my nerves.

The rays of the sun warmed my skin.

Yet, despite the serenity of my environment, my mind couldn't help but drift back to the days after I ran away from my wedding with Matthew.

It had been a whirlwind two years. The memory of the morning I ran away from my own wedding was so fresh like it just happened.

I could see myself boarding the flight and arriving with just a meagre amount of cash in my pocket and a heart heavy with regret, I found myself on Mia's doorstep, tears streaming down my face.

Mia, was really understanding, she welcomed me with open arms. She spent countless evenings making comforting bowls of soup as I poured out my heart, seeking comfort in her unwavering support. One day, as she returned from her office assistant job, i could tell how exicted she was. .

"Anastasia," she said, her voice filled with gentle firmness, "I think you should apply for this job. Having something else to focus on will help you move on faster."

My phone buzzed in my hand, she had sent me the job advertisement. At that moment, a flicker of determination ignited within me. Taking a deep breath, I opened the email, ready to embark on a new chapter.

The day before my interview, Mia, bless her heart, filled me in on the company owner.

"He's loaded, but doesn't flaunt it," she said. Truth be told, I couldn't care less about his wealth. I was thoroughly over billionaires and their bad attitudes. After all, my experiences with the rich hadn't exactly been sunshine and roses.

Take Matthew's parents, for example. The first time I met them, they acted like I wasn't good enough. His mother kept droning on about a "classy wedding" and an "A-list planner," while eyeing me up and down through her fake eyelashes.

She touched the fabric of the dress I was putting on, "honey," she said, "you really need a stylist." Matthew just sat there and listened while the mom talked down to me, he didn't say a word in my defence.

I arrived for the interview, very nervous and disoriented. Reaching the waiting area, I spotted a man already sitted there. He was ridiculously handsome, like a model with dark, curly hair that brushed the collar of his perfectly tailored grey suit. He looked like he belonged on a magazine cover, not waiting for a job interview.

"Here for an interview?" he asked, in a deep barritone voice that sent shivers down my spine – not in a good way. I wasn't even remotely ready to date, let alone deal with a potentially charming distraction. So, I simply nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

The next thing that came out of my mouth surprised even me. "If you are here for an interview," I blurted out, "you might want to go home and change."

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Do I look bad?"

I shook my head quickly. "No, you don't look bad," I stammered, "but... you look like the owner of the company. And from what I've experienced, rich people don't like sharing the spotlight. They're not just arrogant, they can be downright mean, with no regard for how their actions affect us 'normal' folks."

A short laugh escaped his lips. "Maybe the owner of this company is different," he said, standing up and straightening his already impeccable suit.

"Yeah, I doubt it," I muttered under my breath. He chuckled again, a warm sound that made me want to kick myself for being so suspicious. "You're a character," he said with a final smile before walking away.

Five minutes later, my name was called. Heart pounding, I entered the interview room. There, seated right in the middle of the three interviewers, was the man in the grey suit. My jaw nearly hit the floor. It couldn't be... could it?