Anastasia (Desire & Chance)

03: Alexei

Blonde waves cascade down her back, her fair skin dotted with freckles that make her look younger than she is. She’s always looked like that to me, whether she was seventeen or twenty-three.

Her green eyes have never lost their fire—especially when she glares at me. It's almost amusing, how this fierce little kitten is always on edge whenever I tease her. And honestly, I don’t even know why I do it. Maybe I just want to see something other than that icy silence, that stone-cold act like I’m her sworn enemy.

I can’t help but smirk after one of my usual jabs, watching as her eyes narrow, like she wants to devour me whole.

How cute. And how much it pains me.

I shift my gaze from her to the glass of rich wine in my hand. She’s still so young, so full of life. She doesn’t need to get caught up in my world if she becomes my wife.

I know she has her own dreams. Sokolov has already chained her down enough, and the thought of trapping her further—of seeing her take the Romanov name—twists my stomach into knots.

Because as much as I feel trapped, I can’t stand the idea of ruining her life, the way I ruined Jane’s.

Jane chose to marry me, at least we loved each other back then. But with Anastasia?

I’d only destroy her. Make her miserable.

She never chose this. She never chose me. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care.

I care. Damn it, I care. I’m not as heartless as people think. They don’t know me, not really. Business and personal life—those are two different worlds.

And this is where I’m weak.

"Do you know how dirty that sounds?" she whispered, her voice low with the kind of fear that comes from knowing our father could overhear, though they were already lost in their own conversation.

I raised a brow, giving her a brief glance but not turning fully toward her like before.

"I was just asking," I replied, keeping my tone casual.

"You seriously don’t get what I mean when I say ‘fuck you' like I swear on you?" she hissed, eyes narrowing, as if trying to make me understand without saying too much.

I chuckled under my breath, leaning back slightly, amused by her frustration. "I get what you mean," I said, keeping my voice just as low. "But I can't help it if you always take everything the wrong way."

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t back down. "You don’t just say things like that, not to me. Not ever. What if they hear you?" Her eyes flicked nervously toward our parents, still oblivious to the tension simmering between us.

"Relax," I muttered, leaning closer so only she could hear. "They won’t. And even if they did, do you really think they'd care? We're not kids anymore."

Her eyes flickered with a mix of frustration and something else I couldn’t quite place. "That's exactly the problem," she whispered back, her voice barely audible. "We’re not kids anymore, and you still act like this... like you can just—"

"Tease you?" I interrupted, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Like I always have?"

"Like you own me," she snapped, eyes flashing, her face inches from mine. "You think you can say whatever you want because you know I won’t fight back, but it’s not a game anymore. I’m not some toy you can play with, not some little girl you can control."

Her words stung more than I’d like to admit, but I kept my expression neutral. "I never said you were."

"Then stop acting like it," she shot back, her voice barely above a whisper but laced with enough venom to make me flinch.