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Anastasia turned over in bed for what felt like the millionth time that night. She sighed deeply and groaned into her pillow, the frustration bubbling up inside her. Sleep was elusive, slipping through her fingers like sand. This was the third time that week Victor was sleeping out, and it disturbed her. Every chance she got to leave the house without Catherine’s hawk-like vigilance, she made her way to the Pierce mansion. But Victor always has something to do, spending little time with her before disappearing and returning only by morning. He never explained where he went, always coming up with a another discussion to divert her attention or simply avoiding the conversation altogether. It was becoming more than just disturbing; it was infuriating.

Now, at midnight, she lay awake, worry chewing on her insides. She had sent him a text earlier, and there was still no reply. Sitting up, she grabbed her phone and checked it again—still nothing. Her anxiety spiked as she sent another messa