The Voss estate hosted a private dinner.
Only family.
Only power.
Only strategy.
Aansi sat at the long dining table beside Zaid, posture straight, expression neutral.
Across from her sat Leonid Voss.
Watching.
Not casually.
Not politely.
Watching.
It wasn't the gaze of a father-in-law.
It was evaluative.
Curious.
Too aware.
Aansi felt it before she looked up.
When she did, Leonid smiled faintly.
"You're adjusting well," he said.
"I'm learning," she replied carefully.
Zaid remained silent beside her, cutting his food with precise movements.
Leonid rose midway through dinner and walked around the table.
Slowly.
Purposefully.
He stopped behind Aansi's chair.
Too close.
"You carry yourself differently from what I expected," Leonid murmured.
His hand came down lightly on the back of her chair.
Not touching her.
But close enough that she felt the presence.
Zaid's knife stopped mid-cut.
Leonid leaned slightly closer — as if inspecting a rare acquisition.
"You have resilience," he added quietly.
Aansi's spine stiffened.
"Thank you."
His hand shifted.
Not inappropriate.
But not necessary either.
His fingers brushed the edge of her shoulder as he straightened.
Too familiar.
Too intentional.
Before Aansi could react—
The chair beside her scraped sharply across marble.
Zaid stood.
Calm.
Controlled.
But something in his eyes had darkened.
"Father," he said evenly, "she doesn't enjoy being hovered over."
Leonid's gaze shifted slowly to his son.
"I was complimenting your wife."
"You were standing too close."
The air changed.
Cold.
Leonid's lips curved slightly.
"Is that concern I hear?"
Zaid didn't blink.
"It's preference."
A long pause.
Leonid stepped back.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "She is yours now."
The word hung heavy.
Yours.
Aansi felt the tension beside her like a live wire.
Later That Evening
The dinner ended.
Guests dismissed.
Servants retreated.
Aansi walked toward the grand staircase alone.
"Mrs. Voss."
Leonid's voice echoed behind her.
She stopped.
Slowly turned.
He approached — hands clasped behind his back.
"You must understand," he said, "this family operates on influence."
"I'm aware."
He stepped closer.
Close enough that she instinctively took half a step back.
His eyes sharpened slightly.
"You don't need to fear me."
She didn't answer.
Because fear wasn't the right word.
Discomfort was.
His hand lifted as if to adjust the lace of her bra that was showing off near her shoulder.
Before he could—
Another hand caught his wrist.
Firm.
Unmoving.
Zaid.
He had appeared without sound.
His grip wasn't aggressive.
But it wasn't gentle either.
"Father," Zaid said quietly, "she can manage her own clothing."
Leonid's gaze dropped to the grip.
Then lifted to his son.
"You're overreacting."
Zaid released him slowly.
"I dislike repetition."
Silence.
The tension between father and son wasn't loud.
It was controlled.
Measured.
Leonid gave a thin smile.
"Very well."
He stepped back.
But his eyes lingered on Aansi for a second too long before turning away.
Upstairs
The bedroom door shut behind them.
Aansi exhaled shakily.
"You didn't have to do that," she said.
"Yes," Zaid replied calmly, removing his watch, "I did."
"He was just—"
"He was not just anything."
His tone sharpened slightly.
For the first time since the marriage, something flickered clearly beneath his composure.
Not affection.
Not tenderness.
Possession.
"No one," he said quietly, "stands that close unless I allow it."
She looked at him.
"Allow?"
His jaw tightened.
"You're my wife."
"And that gives you authority over me?"
"It gives me authority over who approaches you."
The honesty was blunt.
Unfiltered.
"And your father?" she asked softly.
His eyes darkened.
"He will remember boundaries."
The air between them felt different now.
Not just tension.
Protection.
Control.
Ownership.
And for the first time—
Leonid's interest had shifted something inside Zaid.
Not love.
Not yet.
But something dangerously close to territorial instinct.