FAZER LOGINAnastasia’s Point of ViewAfter 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 ev
Since Christopher clearly didn’t cook, I had placed a large order online for kitchenware. Pots, pans, utensils—everything I needed to make the space functional. I would stock the fridge tomorrow.As for the balcony, I wanted to add a few plants and flowers, maybe even a small garden. It would bring life to this place.But for that, I needed to ask Christopher first.After all, this was his house.Shaking off the thought, I stood up and grabbed my keys and phone. I needed to head back to the bookstore before the after-school rush.By the time I arrived at my store, it was right before dismissal, the time when students poured out of their classrooms and flooded the streets.As soon as I stepped inside, Claire Sullivan, my best friend and business partner, looked up from behind the counter. Her eyes widened in curiosity.“Where did you disappear to this morning?” she asked, tilting her head.I hesitated. “I moved.”She blinked. “Moved? Why? You were fine at Emily’s place.”I glanced outs
Christopher’s Point of View“What a waste of time.”I pressed my fingers to my temple, inhaling deeply as I forced my focus back on the meeting. The voices of my executives droned on, discussing profit margins, investment risks, and market projections—important matters, yet today, they felt like background noise.Because of her. Because of the woman my grandmother had forced into my life.Anastasia Reed.I had spent the last thirty years of my life avoiding entanglements, focusing on my business empire, ensuring that nothing and no one could disrupt the structure I had built. And in one afternoon, with a single piece of paper, my grandmother had managed to throw a wrecking ball straight through my carefully ordered life.I was now a married man. To a woman I barely knew.A quiet sigh escaped me, so soft that only the man seated closest to me caught it.“Still in shock, big brother?”I turned my head slightly, leveling a sharp glare at Ethan Zane, my cousin and the second son of the Za
If someone had told me yesterday that I would wake up in the morning as Anastasia Reed and go to bed as Anastasia Zane, married to a man I barely knew, I would have laughed. But here I was, standing outside my sister’s apartment with a marriage certificate in my purse and a new set of house keys in my hand.I had officially left one life behind and stepped into another.I took a deep breath and dialed Eleanor Zane’s number.“Grandma, I will,” I said when she reminded me to call her if I ever needed anything.Her warmth was reassuring, but I knew better than to rely on it. She might care for me now, but at the end of the day, I was just her grandson’s wife. If things ever went wrong between Christopher and me, would she really take my side?I doubted it.I had seen this story unfold before—firsthand, in fact. My sister, Emily, had married a man who promised her the world, and for a while, his family had adored her. But the moment there were problems in the marriage, they turned on her.
Anastasia’s Point of ViewNew 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 corne







