The Raventhorn estate stood under the moonlight, its grandeur untouched by time. The vast corridors remained silent, stretching endlessly like shadows frozen in the stillness of the night. Beyond the arched windows, the gardens flourished in the silver glow of the full moon, the delicate scent of night-blooming jasmine lingering in the air.
Inside the heart of this empire of wealth and power, Anastasia Raventhorn Vasiliev lay wide awake in her lavish bedroom.
The room was a masterpiece of elegance—adorned with gold accents, crystal chandeliers, and silk-draped canopies. The grand bed, carved from the finest ebony wood, was fit for royalty. Every piece of furniture was carefully chosen, every detail handcrafted by the world's best artisans. The silk sheets beneath her were cool, smooth, flawless.
Everything was perfect.
As it always had been.
And yet—
Anastasia could not sleep.
The Frustration of the Unfamiliar
Lying on her side, she stared at the delicate embroidery on the pillow, her fingers lightly tracing the fine stitches. Her long golden hair spilled over the sheets like a river of sunlight, but she felt no comfort.
She turned onto her back. Then onto her side again.
Nothing.
The stillness of the room felt suffocating.
Anastasia prided herself on her control. Her thoughts were always calculated, her emotions a mere accessory she could discard at will. She was a Vasiliev. A Raventhorn. She was not someone who wasted time on trivial, meaningless things.
So why…?
Why was her mind so restless?
She shut her eyes. Willed herself to sink into darkness.
But the moment she did—
A face appeared.
Vincent Blackwood.
Her breath caught, irritation flickering in her blue eyes.
Why was she thinking about him?
Why now?