The world stretched beneath them, a sea of glittering lights painting the night with golden and silver hues. From the penthouse suite, the city appeared small—like a kingdom waiting to be ruled. But neither of them cared for the view outside. The true battle for dominance was taking place within the room.
Anastasia stood near the massive floor-to-ceiling window, her arms crossed, her ice-blue eyes gleaming with something dangerous. The glass reflected her face, regal and untouchable, a queen in every sense of the word. But there was something else in that reflection—just behind her, standing in the shadows, watching her with an obsession that burned hotter than fire.
Vincent.
He didn't move, didn't speak. He simply watched. He always watched her—because he belonged to her. Because his world, his entire existence, revolved around her.
She was perfection. A force of nature. And she knew it.
She turned slowly, the silk fabric of her dress hugging every perfect curve, and locked eyes with him. "Tell me something, Vincent," she murmured, her voice soft, teasing, but edged with something darker. "If I asked you to choose between me and the world, what would you pick?"
The question was a test, a dangerous one, but Vincent didn't even hesitate.
"The world is meaningless without you."
A slow, knowing smile curved Anastasia's lips. Not a soft, romantic smile—no, this was sharper. A smile of victory. Of possession. She took a few measured steps toward him, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor. The air between them crackled with something electric, something dangerous.
When she finally stood before him, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, she reached up and traced a single finger down the line of his jaw. "Good answer," she whispered, tilting her head as if examining him.
Vincent remained still, letting her touch him, his green eyes dark and unreadable. But Anastasia knew better. She saw the fire beneath that controlled exterior. She saw the hunger, the obsession, the way he burned for her and only her.
She let her hand trail down, sliding to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her palm. "But you see, Vincent… I would never ask you to give up the world."
His lips twitched, amusement flickering in his gaze.
"No, you can't give up the world "
She leaned in slightly, her breath warm against his skin as she whispered, "Because I want it."
His entire body tensed at her words, his fingers twitching at his sides as if restraining the urge to grab her. To worship her. To fall to his knees before her.
Of course. This was the woman he had fallen for.
Anastasia Vasiliev didn't surrender. She didn't need anyone to give her the world.
She would take it for herself.
And Vincent?
He would be the one to make sure she got it.
His voice was low, reverent. "ok ! we'll take everything."
Anastasia smiled, slow and wicked, and then—without warning—she grabbed his tie, yanking him down so their faces were inches apart. "You're mine," she whispered, her lips barely brushing against his.
Vincent's breath hitched. His hands moved before he could stop himself, gripping her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. "I always have been," he murmured.
And then, they collided.
Their lips met in a brutal, consuming kiss—nothing soft, nothing hesitant. It was fire and hunger, dominance and submission, a war fought with lips and tongues and the sheer force of their obsession.
Vincent's hands roamed, gripping, claiming, worshipping. Anastasia arched into him, her nails digging into his shoulders, dragging him down, demanding more, always more.
She broke the kiss first, breathing heavily but still in control. Always in control. "You belong to me," she whispered against his lips.
Vincent exhaled shakily. "Always."
And that was all she needed.
The night stretched on, their whispered words weaving together a future built on love and cruelty, devotion and power. A world that would soon be theirs.
And when dawn painted the sky in shades of gold and crimson, Anastasia lay beside Vincent, watching him with sharp, calculating eyes.
Because queens were never satisfied.
They only wanted more.
And so did she.
And Vincent?
He would give it to her. Again. And again. And again.