The first rays of dawn crept through the vast windows of the penthouse, casting a golden glow over the room. The air was still thick with the remnants of the night before—heated whispers, tangled sheets, the aftermath of obsession and devotion.
Anastasia lay on her side, propped up on one elbow, watching Vincent. He was still asleep, his face relaxed in a way she rarely saw. The sharp, controlled mask he always wore had slipped away, leaving only the man beneath—the one who had given himself to her completely.
She ran her fingers down his bare chest, tracing the faint red lines left by her nails. Evidence of possession. Evidence of victory.
A slow smirk formed on her lips.
She had always known she would rule. That she would be the most powerful, the most feared, the most desired. But last night had solidified something else.
Vincent was hers. Completely.
The world would bow to her one day, but he already had.
A knock on the penthouse door pulled her from her thoughts. She sighed, her irritation flickering for just a moment before she gracefully slid out of bed. She didn't bother covering herself—why should she? She was a queen, and a queen had no shame.
She slipped on a silk robe, tying it loosely before making her way to the door.
When she opened it, she was met with one of her family's trusted men—one of the few who even knew how to contact her directly.
He bowed his head slightly. "Miss Vasiliev."
She arched a brow. "This better be worth interrupting me."
His expression didn't waver. "The Council is moving."
That caught her attention.
The Council—the unseen force that dictated the hidden world of power, wealth, and control. The men who had ruled for decades, believing themselves untouchable. The same men who had tested her and Vincent during the so-called 'game' just days ago.
She leaned against the doorway, her blue eyes sharp. "What kind of move?"
"They're gathering. A private meeting, more exclusive than usual. No leaks. No outsiders."
Anastasia tilted her head, considering. The Council was not an organization to be taken lightly. But that didn't mean she feared them. If anything, she had been waiting for this.
"They finally see us as a threat," she murmured.
The man nodded. "Yes. And from what we've gathered, they're divided. Some want to pull you into their fold. Others…" He hesitated.
"Others want to eliminate us," she finished for him.
The man's silence was confirmation enough.
Amusement flickered in her eyes. "Let them try."
A rustle from the bed signaled Vincent stirring. She didn't turn, but she could feel his presence before he even spoke.
"What's going on?" His voice was rough from sleep, but his tone was already shifting back to the careful, lethal control he always carried.
Anastasia glanced over her shoulder, watching as he sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. His green eyes locked onto hers, and she knew he was already assessing the situation.
"The Council is restless," she said, stepping back into the room. The man at the door took that as his cue to leave, disappearing like a shadow.
Vincent ran a hand through his hair, then smirked. "That was fast."
"They underestimated us," she replied, moving toward him. "They won't make that mistake again."
Vincent reached for her, and she let him pull her onto his lap, his arms wrapping around her possessively. "So, what's our move?"
Anastasia smiled, slow and calculating.
"We don't wait for them to decide what to do with us," she murmured, trailing her fingers down his jaw. "We make the first move."
Vincent's smirk widened. "And what exactly do you have in mind?"
Anastasia leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered.
By the time she pulled away, Vincent was grinning.
Cruel. Amused. Ready for war.
"Then let's begin."