Anastasia POV

Anastasia’s Point of View

After finishing breakfast, I wiped my hands on a napkin, feeling oddly satisfied with how the morning had gone. For a first meal together, it wasn’t as awkward as I had expected. Christopher had eaten without much complaint—though, knowing him, even if he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t have said anything.

As I got up to clean the table, Christopher reached into his wallet and pulled out a bank card, placing it on the table between us.

I frowned, looking at him with a raised brow.

“You need money to buy things,” he said, his tone flat, as if this were just another business transaction. “This card is for household expenses. The password is here.”

He scribbled a number onto a piece of paper and slid it across the table toward me.

I stared at the card, then at him.

“In the future, any money for this house comes from that card,” he continued. “I’ll transfer money into it every month after I get my salary. I don’t mind how much you spend, but I expect an account of everything you buy. I want to know where the money goes.”

My stomach twisted.

His words weren’t cruel, but they carried an underlying distrust.

I wasn’t naive—I knew this was his way of keeping tabs on me, of making sure I wasn’t after his money. But the way he phrased it, the way he looked at me as if I needed monitoring, made my blood boil.

I pushed the card and the slip of paper back toward him without even glancing at the number.

“Mr. Zane, this isn’t just your home. I live here, too. You bought the house, yes, but if I live here, I’m saving on rent, so it’s only fair that I cover daily expenses,” I said evenly.

Christopher’s expression didn’t change, but I could tell he hadn’t expected that.

“I don’t need your money for groceries or household items,” I continued. “Unless we need something big, like furniture over two thousand dollars, I’ll cover the small things myself. If it’s a major purchase, we’ll discuss it together, and you can contribute whatever you see fit.”

His gaze sharpened slightly, studying me.

I could tell he was recalculating—reevaluating his assumptions about me.

There was a long pause before he finally spoke.

“I know how much money a small bookstore makes,” he said, his tone softer this time. “Even if you’re managing well, why should you have to cover everything?”

I crossed my arms. “Why should you?”

Another pause.

After a moment, Christopher let out a low exhale, then slid the card back toward me.

“Take it,” he said. “If you don’t like keeping track of expenses, then don’t. Just use it for the household when necessary.”

His tone had shifted—less commanding, more understanding.

I hesitated for a second, then reluctantly took the card, slipping it into my pocket.

“Good,” he murmured.

He leaned back in his chair, watching me thoughtfully.

“What about the car?” he asked.

I blinked. “What about it?”

“I told you before—I can help with the down payment,” he said. “With your income, you can easily handle the monthly payments. It would be more convenient for you than an electric scooter.”

I snorted. “In theory, yes. But in reality? The traffic here is horrible. I’d be sitting in gridlock while my scooter zips past everyone.”

Christopher hesitated, then sighed.

“Fair point,” he admitted.

I smirked, but he wasn’t done yet.

“It’s still more practical for long-distance trips. You could take your sister and Caleb out for the weekend,” he added casually.

I stilled for a second.

Christopher rarely mentioned my family. The fact that he brought it up at all meant he knew how much they meant to me.

For a moment, I considered it.

A car would make visits easier… but no.

“Maybe later,” I said. “For now, I want to save for a house. A home is more important to me than a car.”

Something flickered in Christopher’s gaze—an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

Before I could analyze it, he nodded.

“Fair enough,” he said simply.

I exhaled, relieved that the conversation had gone better than expected.

“Oh,” I added. “My sister wants to meet you. I told her you were on a business trip, but we’ll have to set a date soon.”

Christopher didn’t look thrilled, but he nodded. “Just let me know.”

With that settled, I grabbed my bag. “I’m heading to my sister’s place before work. What time will you be home?”

“Unless I’m on a business trip, I’ll be back every night,” he replied.

“Okay,” I said. “Let me know if you’ll be late so I don’t lock you out again.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face before he caught himself.

“Anastasia,” he said suddenly.

I paused, looking back.

He stepped closer and pressed the bank card into my hand.

“I was out of line earlier,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

For the first time, his apology felt genuine.

I studied him for a moment, then finally slipped the card into my pocket.

“I’m leaving now,” I said, before the moment got too strange.

“Alright.”

I headed out, but I could feel his gaze on me until the door clicked shut behind me.

After finishing breakfast, I wiped my hands on a napkin, feeling oddly satisfied with how the morning had gone. For a first meal together, it wasn’t as awkward as I had expected. Christopher had eaten without much complaint—though, knowing him, even if he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t have said anything.

As I got up to clean the table, Christopher reached into his wallet and pulled out a bank card, placing it on the table between us.

I frowned, looking at him with a raised brow.

“You need money to buy things,” he said, his tone flat, as if this were just another business transaction. “This card is for household expenses. The password is here.”

He scribbled a number onto a piece of paper and slid it across the table toward me.

I stared at the card, then at him.

“In the future, any money for this house comes from that card,” he continued. “I’ll transfer money into it every month after I get my salary. I don’t mind how much you spend, but I expect an account of everything you buy. I want to know where the money goes.”

My stomach twisted.

His words weren’t cruel, but they carried an underlying distrust.

I wasn’t naive—I knew this was his way of keeping tabs on me, of making sure I wasn’t after his money. But the way he phrased it, the way he looked at me as if I needed monitoring, made my blood boil.

I pushed the card and the slip of paper back toward him without even glancing at the number.

“Mr. Zane, this isn’t just your home. I live here, too. You bought the house, yes, but if I live here, I’m saving on rent, so it’s only fair that I cover daily expenses,” I said evenly.

Christopher’s expression didn’t change, but I could tell he hadn’t expected that.

“I don’t need your money for groceries or household items,” I continued. “Unless we need something big, like furniture over two thousand dollars, I’ll cover the small things myself. If it’s a major purchase, we’ll discuss it together, and you can contribute whatever you see fit.”

His gaze sharpened slightly, studying me.

I could tell he was recalculating—reevaluating his assumptions about me.

There was a long pause before he finally spoke.

“I know how much money a small bookstore makes,” he said, his tone softer this time. “Even if you’re managing well, why should you have to cover everything?”

I crossed my arms. “Why should you?”

Another pause.

After a moment, Christopher let out a low exhale, then slid the card back toward me.

“Take it,” he said. “If you don’t like keeping track of expenses, then don’t. Just use it for the household when necessary.”

His tone had shifted—less commanding, more understanding.

I hesitated for a second, then reluctantly took the card, slipping it into my pocket.

“Good,” he murmured.

He leaned back in his chair, watching me thoughtfully.

“What about the car?” he asked.

I blinked. “What about it?”

“I told you before—I can help with the down payment,” he said. “With your income, you can easily handle the monthly payments. It would be more convenient for you than an electric scooter.”

I snorted. “In theory, yes. But in reality? The traffic here is horrible. I’d be sitting in gridlock while my scooter zips past everyone.”

Christopher hesitated, then sighed.

“Fair point,” he admitted.

I smirked, but he wasn’t done yet.

“It’s still more practical for long-distance trips. You could take your sister and your nephew out for the weekend,” he added casually.

I stilled for a second.

Christopher rarely mentioned my family. The fact that he brought it up at all meant he knew how much they meant to me.

For a moment, I considered it.

A car would make visits easier… but no.

“Maybe later,” I said. “For now, I want to save for a house. A home is more important to me than a car.”

Something flickered in Christopher’s gaze—an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

Before I could analyze it, he nodded.

“Fair enough,” he said simply.

I exhaled, relieved that the conversation had gone better than expected.

“Oh,” I added. “My sister wants to meet you. I told her you were on a business trip, but we’ll have to set a date soon.”

Christopher didn’t look thrilled, but he nodded. “Just let me know.”

With that settled, I grabbed my bag. “I’m heading to my sister’s place before work. What time will you be home?”

“Unless I’m on a business trip, I’ll be back every night,” he replied.

“Okay,” I said. “Let me know if you’ll be late so I don’t lock you out again.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face before he caught himself.

“Anastasia,” he said suddenly.

I paused, looking back.

He stepped closer and pressed the bank card into my hand.

“I was out of line earlier,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

For the first time, his apology felt genuine.

I studied him for a moment, then finally slipped the card into my pocket.

“I’m leaving now,” I said, before the moment got too strange.

“Alright.”

I headed out, but I could feel his gaze on me until the door clicked shut behind me.

After grabbing breakfast for my sister and nephew, I arrived at Emily’s apartment.

She looked exhausted when she opened the door.

“Late night?” I asked, stepping inside.

“More like a long one,” she sighed. “Caleb had a fever all night.”

I frowned. “Is he okay?”

“He’s better now, but it was a rough night,” she admitted.

I handed her the food containers. “Then eat first. You need the energy.”

As she ate, we talked—mostly about her struggles with her husband, Thomas.

It was the same complaints I had heard before.

How he refused to help. How he belittled her for being a stay-at-home mom. How he made her feel like she was worthless just because she didn’t bring in a paycheck.

I clenched my fists.

“Emily, you should think about going back to work,” I urged. “You’re a trained financial analyst. You could make more money than Thomas if you wanted.”

She hesitated. “He doesn’t want Caleb in daycare yet…”

“Screw what he wants. What about what you want?”

Emily went quiet.

I knew she was thinking about it.

Maybe one day she would take that step.

For now, I left it alone.

“I should get to the bookstore,” I said.

She nodded, hugging me before I left.

As I rode my scooter through the morning traffic, my thoughts were still on Emily.

I was so distracted, I didn’t see the black car turning into the intersection until it was almost too late.

I swerved at the last second, my heart slamming against my ribs.

The car braked hard, tires screeching.

For a second, everything was silent.

I turned to glance at the vehicle—a Rolls-Royce, with a line of identical luxury sedans behind it.

My stomach dropped.

Shit.

I quickly made an apologetic gesture, then sped off before I could be yelled at.

Christopher’s Point of View

I was just leaving a business conference when my driver suddenly slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching against the pavement.

“What the hell was that?” I snapped, my gaze immediately shifting to the road ahead.

A small electric scooter had swerved dangerously close to the front of my car. The driver, a woman, had barely avoided a collision, her body jerking to the side before she steadied herself.

For a second, I felt my pulse spike.

Then, I got a clearer look at her.

The helmet obscured most of her face, but I still recognized her immediately.

Anastasia.

“That was your wife, sir,” my driver muttered.

My fingers tightened on the armrest.

Of course, it had to be her.

She was distracted—probably deep in thought, completely unaware of what had just happened. Instead of stopping, she hurriedly gestured an apology before taking off down the road, her scooter weaving through traffic like nothing had happened.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my muscles to relax.

If she had been one second slower…

I didn’t let myself finish the thought.

“Drive,” I said, my voice flat.

The driver hesitated. “Sir, should we—”

“I said drive.”

The last thing I needed was Anastasia realizing that she had nearly crashed into my Rolls-Royce.

She still believed I was just an ordinary businessman.

For now, I wanted to keep it that way.