11. SOUR DESIRE.

ANASTASIA’S POV. The moment I stepped inside, the sight nearly stole the breath out of me. The grand entrance stretched upward, the ceilings impossibly high, lined with intricate panelling that caught the golden afternoon light. A sweeping staircase with a curve. Its carpeted steps drew the eye upward toward a wall of glass where the autumn leaves blazed outside like a painting. My heels clicked softly against the polished floor, and the sound was swallowed by the hush of the space. The air smelled faintly of fresh paint and cedar, mingled with the clean, expensive scent that seemed to linger. A massive urn of flowers sat at the base of the stairs, its orange blooms vivid against the cool tones of the walls, as though even the décor demanded attention. Everything in here felt carefully chosen, nothing out of place like him, controlled and perfect. I couldn’t stop staring. The space wasn’t just a home. It was a statement of wealth. My chest tightened. This was his world, his life. An