E I G H T E E N

~ ANASTATIA ~

Fuck.

I'd overslept.

When I woke up, Damien was standing before the floor to ceiling mirror, adjusting his cufflinks. I throw the covers away and plant my feet to the ground, shooting his back a glare as I rearrange the pillow I'd arranged between us - talk about Damien's influence.

“Why didn't you wake me up?” I ask with a huff.

He glances at me over his shoulder, adjusting his cufflinks. “I don't remember getting a nanny job.”

Okay, fuck you.

I say nothing as I brush past him to the bathroom but not before checking my phone. I'm super duper late. The thought of Prof. Saunders unleashing hell on me makes me chuckle in self pity as I splash my face with water, trying to jolt myself fully awake.

But that's it.

It didn't work. Or, it worked but didn't really work like I'd wanted. That's one of the disadvantages of pulling an all nighter, now I need coffee to fully start my day.

I glare at my reflection in the mirror, flossing my mouth as I pat my hair which looks like a bed nest. I spit the water into the sink and step out of the bathroom.

Damien was not there. The only lingering scent is the smell of his expensive cologne.

With another huff, I step out and round the corridor which leads to the sitting room. My eyes land on his broad back where he stands before the cooker in the open kitchen.

I step closer towards the coffee machine, watching him from the peripheral of my vision as he expertly flips a pan cake, my breath hitching in my throat.

Can he flip me like that while he takes me from behind?

I add extra cubes of sugar to the coffee, watching him as he takes his pancake and fried egg to the table at the centre of the kitchen. He sits, facing me.

I glare at him furiously while sipping my bitter coffee. No manners at all. Will it hurt if he asks me if I wanted some?

There's nothing gentlemanly about Damien Vicenzo. Just a body built to kill, expert fingers and tongue, and an aura that does nothing but annoy me even without him speaking a word.

I continue to sip my coffee, eyes on him.

He lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine.

“Can you make me a cup of coffee please?” He asks, pointing to the coffee machine with his fork.

Huh?

“Do I look like Starbucks?” I ask in confusion.

He shrugs casually as he resumes eating.

I hiss before pausing, an idea prickling my mind. My lips stretches into a wicked grin as I place my cup which is still filled with my half drunk coffee on the kitchen's counter.

With eyes fixed on him, I cradle a clean mug, my other hand snaking to the bottle of salt on the other counter.

Through the little hole on the bottle's head, I pump the salt into his mug like milk before hurriedly dropping it.

I let out a nervous laughter as I move to the coffee machine and pour some on the salt. I pick a spoon and mix the perfect mixture together before licking the spoon eliciting a wince.

“Here.” I say as I place the mug before him.

His eyes darts between me and the mug and I smile sweetly.

“You are my husband. You should start enjoying married life my dear.” I say, beaming at him.

He says nothing as I walk back to the counter and pick up my coffee. I lean my back against it as I sip it, eyes fixed on him.

I watch in anticipation as he picks up the mug and takes a gulp.

His widened eyes snaps to mine and a flicker of something dark passes through them.

I grin, hiding it behind the cup as I hold his gaze. Then, I watch in horror as he gulps it down and takes another gulp, eyes still fixed on me.

No no. He… he's supposed to spit those out. The salt is really much. He's supposed to spit it out and clean the floor. That's the goal.

But he didn't do such.

Instead, he gulps it down like the devil he is.

I down my coffee and flashes him a nervous smile as I hurriedly rinse my cup. I need to get away from here.

After that, I rush to the room to get dressed.

I settle for a knee-length black gown, a black ribbon, and white snickers. I hang my Tote bag which has my iPad and a stylus pen in it as I apply lipgloss.

I'm good to go.

I step out of the room with my car key. Damien was sitting on the long sofa, his laptop on a pillow on his lap.

“I will be back in a few.” I say, hurrying towards the door.

“Where to?”

“School.” I say.

“Wait.”

I glance at him over my shoulders, not stopping one bit. “Huh?”

“I said that you should wait Anastatia.” He says, his voice low.

And oh my gosh, there's something about Damien speaking in his low voice that makes my stomach tingle with… no, not butterflies. It's bats from hell.

I halt, turning to glare at him, hands crossed over my chest. “What?!”

“You can't go to school alone. You have to take a driver and guards.”

“What the fuck?” I snap, marching towards him, my hand gripping the strap of my tote bag tightly.

“Are you kidding?”

“Was I wearing a colorful wig with a red nose and painted face?”

“No, but your words look like a clown’s. Because what do you mean I must have someone drive me. That's even small, guards?!”

He sighs, rubbing his forehead with his index finger. “You are my wife Anastatia.”

“I've forgotten, thanks for reminding me.”

“The Irish and greek are not happy about our merging. We've already deduced that they are waiting for the perfect time before striking. You need security.”

“I can protect myself.” I say firmly.

“Yes you can. That's how Enzo almost pushed you to your death under our fucking nose and you tell me your can protect yourself?”

I'm huffing now.

“You are going with the guards and drivers Ana. They are waiting for you downstairs.”

My gaze lingers on him for minutes, wondering the best way to murder a six feet four inches wall of muscles with a fine ass face. And with a hiss, I storm out of the apartment.

I can't oppose him.

He's right.

And him being right only angers me.

_ _ _

“Drop me here.” I say, leaning to peek at the driver.

However, the fucker acts like he didn't hear me as he continues to step on the accelerator until he stops at my school's main gate.

He turns to me with a smile. “I will wait for you here, Donna.”

Fuck you. Fuck Damien.

I give him a tight smile that doesn't reach my eyes as I step out of the car, sparing the other car behind me a glance. I watch as one of the men in the other car steps out.

“What?” I ask with raised brows.

“You need a round the clock security if you are alone Donna.”

“I don't.” I retort.

“I'm sorry, but that's what boss said.”

Okay, fuck Damien sideways.

I say nothing, my eyes raking over his body, a little grateful that he's in casual clothings.

Then, I grab my tote bag and start walking away from the car with him behind me.

I can feel eyes on me. But I know the main reason is my social anxiety.

I take the elevator and he follows. As soon as the elevator dings open, I step out with him behind.

When we round a corridor, my breath hitch in my throat as my eyes lands on him.

Fucking Hector.

He was leaning against the railings, overlooking the vast ground of Stanford with the red head beside him. They were laughing about something but when they heard footsteps, they turn to me.

Rose's eyes lands on me first since she's the one facing the corridor I'd stepped out of.

“Well well… what do we have here?” She asks with a sneer.

Hector turns to me. “Wassup Annie?”

I flash him a sarcastic grin that clearly says ‘go fuck yourself’ as I whisk past him.

I'm already late. I don't have time to waste on a community prick or man whore.

After a few minutes of walking, I stop before Professor Saunder's door and turn to him.

“Wait here will you?”

I didn't wait for his response before knocking. Her reply comes shortly and I step inside, closing the door behind me.

My eyes land on the frail woman sitting behind her desk in her high back chair. Who knew my academic nightmare was an old woman?

I bow slightly.

“Good morning prof.”

Her eyes rakes over my body before coming to land on my face. “Definitely not a good morning Zhukov seeing that you are late.”

“I… I was caught up with stuff.”

“Of course. That's what happens when someone gets married at nineteen in the twenty first century.”

I bite my lip, forcing myself to stay calm. For the marks. Yes, only for the marks.

I pull out my laptop as I walk closer and place my hand on the chair opposite her.

“Yes yes. Take a seat my dear.”

“These are…..”

.

.

.

Hours later, I stagger out of professor Saunders office with an aching head.

Good. Just good.

I didn't know the little hour I'd planned to put on submitting assignments, receiving more assignments, receiving unsolicited subtle insults, would turn to long hours of lectures.

And now?

My head is splitting mehn.

Talking back at professor Saunders won't get me anywhere. There's no way in hell I would want to fail a four unit course. My background doesn't intimidate her either. I believe she's just harsher with me. She's the second weapon fashioned against me.

I didn't spare the guard a glance as I round the corridors and take the elevator again. I try to keep my mind as blank as possible throughout the car ride.

I can only hope I won't go crazy while trying to chase this degree.

The car pulls to a stop before the penthouse and I clutch my tote bag which was heavier than how I'd left this morning to my chest.

I wince as my eyes land on a neon green buggati.

Who the fuck drives such air polluting vehicle these days and a neon green one for fucks sake?

My brows raise in confusion as I sight the cloth Damien had worn this morning. He's leaning against a black cardillac parked beside the neon green buggati.

I say nothing as I continue to walk forward. Then, a series of annoying tiny laughs pierce my ears.

As soon as I whisk past my them, I hear a voice say,

“Is that you wife? Introduce her to us.”

“Yes, you should.”

Wow. They are even two.

“Anastatia.” Damien calls.

You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you and your introductees.

The only thing that floods my mind was the pre-scene of a pornographic orgy as I walk towards the entrance and step in without looking back.

Am I jealous?

Abso-fucking-lutely NO!