Anastasia's POV

Anastasia’s Point of View

New York in October was still warm, the heat lingering as if summer refused to let go. Only in the early mornings and late evenings did the crispness of autumn whisper through the air. Standing by the kitchen window of my sister’s apartment, I let my eyes drift over the city skyline, bathed in the golden glow of sunrise. It was a city of dreams, of wealth and ambition, but for me, it had become a place where I no longer felt at home.

I turned back to the task at hand, carefully plating the breakfast I had made for my sister, Emily, her husband, Thomas, and their five-year-old son, Caleb. The apartment was silent except for the soft clatter of dishes as I placed everything on the table. I knew my sister would wake up soon, exhausted as always from juggling work and taking care of her family. She never complained, but I could see the fatigue in her eyes.

I bent down, picking up Caleb’s scattered toys from the living room floor, stacking them neatly in the corner before grabbing the mop to clean up the mess from last night. My movements were efficient, practiced. I had lived here long enough to make myself useful. Too long, if I were to believe Thomas.

His voice from last night echoed in my head.

“From now on, we split everything fifty-fifty. The mortgage, the car payments, all of it. Your sister lives here—she should pay half. What’s the point of giving her two thousand a month? She’s eating and living here for free!”

I had stood frozen in the hallway, unseen, listening as my sister tried to defend me.

“She’s my sister, Thomas! She helps out, she takes care of Caleb—”

“That doesn’t pay the bills, Emily.”

I knew I was causing tension between them. No matter how much I tried to contribute, it wasn’t enough for Thomas. He didn’t know that I gave my sister five thousand dollars every month—he only saw the two thousand she told him about. I had asked her to save the rest, to put it away in case she ever needed an escape.

Now, it was time for me to leave.

I had known this day would come, but the reality still stung. My sister had always been my safe place, my only family since our parents passed away. I had stayed because I didn’t want to leave her, didn’t want Caleb to grow up without me around. But I couldn’t stay where I wasn’t wanted.

And there was only one way to leave without Emily worrying about me.

Marriage.

Not love, not romance—just an arrangement. A contract that would allow me to move out, to have a place of my own, and to silence my sister’s concerns.

I slipped my household registration book into my purse, grabbed two steamed buns for breakfast, and quietly stepped out of the apartment.

The streets were already alive with the early morning rush. People in suits hurried toward the subway, coffee in hand, while others hailed cabs, their voices blending into the city’s endless symphony of movement. As I reached the sidewalk, a bus pulled up to the curb, its destination list scrolling across the screen.

It was heading toward the Civil Affairs Bureau.

I took it as a sign and climbed aboard.

Settling into a window seat, I stared out at the city passing by. Tall glass buildings lined the streets, each one a monument to power and wealth. It was a city that belonged to men like Christopher Zane—the man I was about to marry.

I had never met him.

All I knew was what his grandmother, Eleanor Zane, had told me.

He was thirty years old, the eldest grandson of the Zane family. He was still single, unable—or unwilling—to find a wife.

That was where I came in.

I had met Eleanor Zane three months ago when I found her collapsed on the sidewalk. She had been out alone, disguised to avoid attention, when she fainted from exhaustion. I had taken her to the hospital, stayed by her side, and refused to accept anything in return.

She never forgot that.

Two weeks ago, she approached me with an offer.

“Marry my grandson, Anastasia. It will be a quiet, private arrangement. You’ll have a home of your own, and I promise you’ll never want for anything.”

At the time, I had laughed. The idea of marrying a stranger was ridiculous. But now, as I held my purse tighter, knowing I was walking away from the only family I had left, it didn’t seem so crazy anymore.

Twenty minutes later, I stepped off the bus in front of the Civil Affairs Bureau.

“Anastasia!”

The familiar voice called my name before I even had a chance to look around.

I turned to see Eleanor Zane, her elegant frame standing proudly despite her age. Next to her stood a man—tall, cold, and completely unreadable.

Christopher Zane.

The moment our eyes met, I felt a chill run down my spine.

He was nothing like I had imagined.

I had assumed that any man who remained single at thirty despite his wealth must be either unattractive or unbearably difficult. But Christopher was neither. He was devastatingly handsome, with sharp features, piercing blue eyes, and an air of absolute authority. He carried himself like a man who had never been told no in his life.

I felt my throat go dry.

“This is my grandson, Christopher,” Eleanor said warmly, patting his arm. “A thirty-year-old bachelor still sitting on the shelf. But don’t worry, Anastasia, he may be cold, but he’s a good man.”

Christopher let out a small sigh, clearly used to his grandmother’s jabs. His gaze flicked over me, assessing, calculating.

I squared my shoulders. If I was going to do this, I wouldn’t cower.

I extended my hand. “Mr. Zane, I’m Anastasia Reed.”

He didn’t take my hand right away. Instead, he gave me a slow, deliberate once-over, from the top of my head down to my shoes, before finally shaking my hand. His grip was firm, but impersonal.

“Christopher Zane,” he said, his voice low and unreadable.

He checked his watch and then said, “I’m very busy. Let’s get this over with.”

I clenched my jaw. No need to pretend this was anything but a transaction.

Eleanor smiled, unbothered by his coldness. “Go on, then. I’ll wait here.”

Christopher turned and walked toward the building without another word.

I followed.

Inside, the marriage registration office was quiet, the staff accustomed to couples coming in for civil ceremonies. As we sat down to sign the paperwork, Christopher spoke for the first time.

“If you’re having second thoughts, now’s the time to back out.”

His voice was steady, but there was something else underneath—something unreadable.

I met his gaze. “I don’t back out of decisions I’ve already made.”

A flicker of something passed through his eyes, gone before I could place it.

Neither of us spoke as we handed over our documents. The staff reminded us multiple times that this was a legal marriage, that we should be sure before signing. But we were both unwavering.

Minutes later, I held a small red booklet in my hands.

A marriage certificate.

I was now Anastasia Zane.

I barely had time to process it before Christopher handed me a set of keys.

“The house is in Westchester. It’s fully paid for. If you have a driver’s license, I’ll arrange a car for you. If not, I’ll cover your transportation expenses. I’ll send household funds on the tenth of every month. You won’t need to worry about money.”

I took the keys, still stunned by how quickly this was happening.

Then he added, “We keep this marriage a secret. No public appearances, no questions from the media. Understand?”

I nodded.

“Good.” He checked his watch again. “I have a meeting. Take a cab home. I’ll reimburse you.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

I watched him leave, my new husband—a stranger in every sense of the word.

Eleanor’s voice rang in my head.

“One day, he’ll love you more than anything. Just wait and see.”

I doubted that. But for now, I had a home. And that was enough.