Chapter 4 Four

Anastasia’s POV

Two weeks have slipped by in a blur, and my life has settled back into its usual rhythm of sadness, boredom, and misery. Damon is barely ever home anymore, most of his time is spent with Penelope. I catch glimpses of her texts to him, endless streams about their upcoming vacations, dinner dates, shopping sprees, and, worst of all, the amazing sex they celebrate each night with.

Every word cuts my heart into shreds, but I still can’t bring myself to confront Damon. After all, I forfeited that right the moment I let myself get swept into his father’s arms. My guilt weighs just as heavily as his betrayal. And Penelope… I can’t face her either. I love her too much, despite everything. She may have hurt me, but she still holds a soft, unshakable place in my heart. It’s foolish, I know, but it’s there all the same.

So I bottle it all up, the guilt, the heartbreak, the shame. I try to avoid being alone, because solitude always drags me back to that night with Victor. When I’m left with my thoughts, I find myself reliving every touch, every command, every moment he claimed me as his. And sometimes, shamefully, my body responds before my mind can stop it. The guilt afterward is unbearable.

To keep myself sane, I throw everything into my Luna duties. Which is why, right now, I’m seated on the terrace with three well-dressed businesswomen of our Pack, sipping coffee while we discuss a new project.

We’re launching a clothing brand aimed at the elegant women of our pack, those who crave the bold yet graceful fashion of the 90s. Not flashy, not Gen Z, but something timeless, confident, and refined.

We comb through every detail fabrics, textures, colors, seamstresses, business partners, and even the models for our launch.

“Here,” one of the women says, sliding a catalog toward me. “We’ve narrowed down the top ten models in the fashion world.”

I smile, accepting it with poise, flipping through the glossy pages. Each face stares back with its own promise of perfection.

Then, the sharp beep of my phone sends a shiver down my spine. My heart hammers as I force myself to look calm, though I already know who it is. My body betrays me instantly, an ache building low inside me before I’ve even checked the screen.

I reach for the phone, careful and discreet, and open the message.

Victor: You’re gonna have to see me, one way or the other.

I reread it over and over, my breath quickening. His words send both heat and dread rushing through me.

Since that night, Victor hasn’t stopped trying to reach me. He’s come to the house countless times, but I always send the maids to turn him away. My phone is flooded with his calls and texts-desperate, relentless.

Victor: Please call me. I need to know that you’re alright.

He’d sent that the morning after, when I locked myself in my room and refused to face him.

Victor: You can’t pretend like it didn’t happen, because it did. Ignoring me won’t change anything.

That came a week later, after endless attempts to get to me.

And then the one that nearly broke me:

Victor: You’re on my fucking mind, Anastasia. Please call me. I beg you.

That night I cried until dawn, aching for him, my hand hovering over the dial button. It had taken everything in me not to give in.

Now, staring at this latest message, I know something’s changed. He isn’t pleading anymore. His words feel like a promise, a threat even. One way or another, I will see him again. The thought terrifies me as much as it excites me.

A dangerous part of me longs for it. But the rational part knows better. Another night with Victor could trap me forever in his dark, possessive web. And I may never escape.

“Hi, honey.”

Damon’s voice snaps me back. I shove the phone down and plaster on a smile. He leans down to kiss me, and the taste of red wine lingers on his lips. Mixed with lemon mint.

Penelope’s.

The realization makes me sick. I wipe my lips discreetly as he turns to greet the women with his polished, empty charm.

“I’ll be inside, honey,” he says smoothly. He tips his head to the ladies before disappearing indoors, carrying Penelope’s scent with him.

I force myself to focus. “This one,” I say, pointing to the third model in the catalog. She radiates the exact kind of confidence and poise we’re aiming for.

“Brilliant choice, Luna,” they chorus with approval.

The meeting ends, and the women leave. I return to my bedroom, only to find Damon on the phone, chuckling in a hushed, sultry tone.

Penelope’s giggle answers him from the other end.

I stand frozen in the doorway, swallowing my fury. He notices me, mutters something about calling her back, then tosses the phone aside.

“Should I have the maids prepare dinner?” I ask calmly, though inside I’m a storm barely contained.

He shrugs out of his shirt, flexing his arms as though I should be impressed. Once, maybe I would have been. But now, all I see are Victor’s hands, Victor’s strength, Victor’s touch that still burns across my skin.

Stop it, Anastasia. Stop thinking about him.

“No need,” Damon replies casually. “We won’t be having dinner here.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father invited us to his house. Exclusive dinner party. Get ready.”

He disappears into the bathroom without a glance back.

My stomach lurches.

Victor’s message wasn’t just a threat. It was a warning. He knew this was coming. He wanted me to know.

Oh, God.