The sun had long slipped behind the tall skyline, casting a soft orange hue across the city. In the CEO's office, Genevieve sat by the window with a delicate porcelain cup in hand, her eyes half-lidded as she admired the city's tranquil chaos. The sharp click of heels on the marble floor made her turn.
"How was the meeting?" she asked, her voice calm but watchful.
Anastasia walked in, sipping on her coffee as well, eyes darting behind to ensure Dante hadn't followed. "It's under control. For now. But it won't be for long."
Genevieve gave a slow nod, placing her cup on the nearby glass table. "They're not letting up."
"No," Anastasia murmured. Her footsteps grew quieter as she approached her mother. "I'm sorry. For letting you go through all this. Just give me more time. I'll do everything I can to make sure they don't take the seat."
There was a pause. Genevieve studied her daughter carefully, the weight of years visible in her quiet gaze.
"There's something I've been meaning to ask," Genevieve said. "Do you know where your father might have hidden the blueprints and those crucial strategic files?"
Anastasia hesitated. Her grip on the coffee cup tightened for a brief second before she lowered it. "No. I don't."
It was a lie. A necessary one. Her father had entrusted them to her—while her mother was still in the picture. And now, with the weight of secrets heavier than ever, Anastasia chose silence over truth.
She pressed a soft kiss to her mother's cheek and left with a quiet, "Goodbye."
The hallway outside buzzed with low voices and distant ringing phones. As she stepped out, she spotted Dante at the end of the hall, on a phone call. For a second, her gaze lingered on him—polished, calculated, and emotionally unreachable.
But then she saw her.
Juliette.
Tall, elegant, and falsely sweet, Juliette stood in front of Dante with an inviting smile and manipulative poise. Anastasia froze.
Juliette tucked her hair behind her ear, lowering her voice. "I just wanted to invite you home for dinner."
Dante arched a brow.
"I meant… you and Anastasia," she corrected, though Anastasia's name sounded like venom on her tongue.
"We'll be busy," Dante answered curtly, "with wedding preparations."
His eyes shifted briefly—catching Anastasia standing at the end of the corridor.
Juliette's expression didn't falter. She pressed further, "Then perhaps I can help with the preparations?"
Dante turned back to her, cold and unforgiving. "No."
Anastasia walked up to them, schooling her features into something pleasant. She threw a look Juliette's way, part amusement and part disdain, then stepped into the elevator with Dante.
Inside the elevator, silence grew loud.
Anastasia didn't look at him. He stood tall beside her, hands in his pockets, posture rigid as always. She could feel the coldness between them—something that never melted, not even when the world believed they were in love.
"Jealous, are we?" he asked dryly, voice barely above a whisper.
She turned, her lips parting as if ready to snap—but her phone rang.
She frowned, pulling it out. The screen flashed 'Caroline.'
The second she answered, a familiar dramatic wail met her ears.
"Stassi! I need you to come get me right now! I just moved out and my dad won't even let me take one of the cars! Can you believe that? He practically tossed me out like a failed audition for a reality show!"
Anastasia blinked. "Wait, you what?"
"I left, babe! Packed my bags. I'm done. But I'm stranded and I swear to God if I have to walk a single step in these heels, I'm setting something on fire!"
Anastasia sighed, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth despite herself. "I'll be there in fifteen."
"Make it ten! Love you, byeee!"
The line went dead.
Dante tilted his head slightly toward her, curiosity flickering across his face. But he didn't speak.
Anastasia just turned to face forward, expression once again blank. Whatever warmth Caroline had brought out of her was gone again. It was easier that way.
Pretend. Survive. Play your role.
Until it was time to do more.