Chapter 3 Marked

Anastasia point of view

The night air was thick with silence, the kind that pressed against your skin like velvet-and suffocated you if you let it.

I couldn't sleep.

Not that I expected to. The Winston estate was bigger than anything I'd ever seen, but the room I was assigned still felt like a cage. A gilded, expensive cage-but a cage nonetheless.

I paced barefoot across the cold marble floor, dressed in a silk robe they'd laid out for me. My thoughts swirled too fast to hold onto. Everything about the last twenty-four hours felt like a hallucination.

I signed a contract.

I agreed to carry a billionaire's child.

I agreed to never speak about it again.

And tonight... he would come for what he paid for.

The knock came just after midnight. No warning. No lead-up.

Just three soft, deliberate knocks.

My body stilled.

I opened the door slowly, already knowing who stood behind it.

Vincenzo.

Tall. Calm. Controlled. Like always. Except... something in his eyes was different tonight. He didn't speak, but the look he gave me was clear enough.

He walked inside without invitation, closing the door behind him. The click of the lock echoed louder than I liked.

"You knew this was coming," he said simply.

I nodded once, arms still crossed tightly over my chest. "I read the contract."

He stared at me. "And you're not going to fight it?"

"I need the money."

He took a slow step forward. "You're not afraid?"

"I've been afraid for months," I replied. "This isn't the scary part. This is the price."

His lips twitched slightly, almost like a smile-but it never formed.

He reached for the belt of my robe, tugging gently. I didn't stop him. My body stiffened as the robe slid open, silk falling off my shoulders.

His eyes dropped to my skin. His hand reached out to touch me.

Then he stopped. Completely.

I looked down, following his gaze. His hand hovered inches from my left shoulder.

He didn't blink.

He stepped closer, brows drawing together, and gently brushed his thumb over the pale mark just below my collarbone.

"The scar," he murmured.

I blinked, startled. "What about it?"

His voice dropped to a whisper, like he was speaking to himself more than me. "It's exactly the same."

I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

He said nothing for a beat. Then, as if he couldn't hold it back anymore, he stepped back, unbuttoned his shirt, and turned around.

There it was.

A scar. A long one, jagged and deep, trailing across his back.

I stared.

"I was nine," he said slowly. "There was a fire at the orphanage. You were trapped under a burning beam. I pulled you out. A piece of the ceiling hit my back. Another struck your shoulder."

He turned back to me. His eyes burned with something I couldn't name.

"I carried you outside. You wouldn't let go of a little stuffed rabbit. You called it Lemon."

My stomach twisted, but I forced my expression to stay neutral.

I shook my head. "You've got the wrong girl."

"You had pigtails. You followed me everywhere. You used to make me promise to never leave you behind."

I looked away. "I don't remember any of that."

"You called me Firo," he added. "You said 'Vincenzo' was too hard to say."

"That's nice," I muttered flatly.

He flinched slightly, as if expecting more. But I didn't give it to him.

I kept my voice cool. "I had an accident when I was seven. I don't remember anything before that. Childhood, orphanage-none of it. Just a scar I've always had and no explanation for it."

He stared at me like he was trying to pull the memories out of my skull with his eyes.

But I was blank. I felt nothing.

"I don't know you," I said finally. "And whatever story you're telling yourself doesn't change anything."

His jaw tensed. "You don't feel anything? Nothing at all?"

I shrugged. "What am I supposed to feel? Grateful? Guilty? Sorry you can't have your emotional reunion?"

Silence.

I turned away from him. "Look, I didn't sign up for a love story. I signed a contract. The deal was clear. One night, half the money. A baby, the rest."

I turned back to face him. "You want the heir, right? Let's not complicate things."

He stared at me, something unreadable shifting behind his eyes.

Then he moved.

Without another word, he crossed the room and kissed me.

Hard.

It wasn't gentle. Or tender. It wasn't meant to be. It was possessive. Raw. Like he was staking a claim.

I didn't stop him.

Because this was part of the price. One night. That's all it was supposed to be.

His hands slid down my back, pulling me against him as his mouth moved over mine. I let him. My brain shut off. My body took over. I let him lay me on the bed, silk sheets cool against my skin.

His fingers trailed along my waist, my thigh, my scar. He kept looking at it.

Kept touching it.

Like it haunted him.

Like it anchored him.

I didn't ask why.

I didn't want to know.

Because I couldn't afford to care. All I need is the half payment and I'm out of here.

He kissed down my neck, my shoulder, my chest-and finally moved over me like he was sealing a fate that had been years in the making.

And even as he whispered my name like a prayer, like a curse-

I didn't say a word.

When it was over, I turned away from him. My fingers clutched the blanket. I stared at the wall.

He sat up beside me, breathing rough. But his hand reached out again. Not for my body. For the scar.

He touched it like it was sacred.

"I swore I'd find you," he said quietly.

I didn't respond.

"I swore I'd never let you go again."

Still silent.

"I don't care if you don't remember. I'll make you remember."

That's when I turned my head to look at him, my eyes flat. "You can try."

He didn't speak again.

He rose, dressed without another glance at me, and walked to the door.

At the threshold, my next words made him pause.

"Do well to have my half payment processed in the morning."

Without any response, the door clicked shut behind him.

I lay in the dark, breathing hard.

I knew something had changed in him.

And if I was smart, I'd find a way to get my payment and escape before it got worse.

"Would he give me the payment after not remembering him?"