Chapter 5 5

ANASTASIA'S POV

Driving into my parents' estate, I found my father and his assistant outside, waiting on Mother, as usual. Her delays were as predictable as they were frustrating, and Father's expression was a blend of annoyance and resignation.

"Anastasia, finally," he said, glancing at his watch. "Your mother will be out shortly. Are you ready?"

I nodded, smoothing the soft fabric of my dress. "I'm ready," I said as I leaned against the hood of my sports car.

Minutes later, Mother emerged from the house, her assistant trailing behind. She walked past me, her heels clicking on the stone pavement, without so much as a glance in my direction. She slid into the car, and I entered mine. I waited as my parents' car and their security detail led the way, and then we were off to the Russo estate.

The ride was silent except for the soft hum from the engine of my car. The weight of the night's expectations pressed heavily on my shoulders. As much as I'd prepared myself for this moment, the reality of it felt suffocating.

When we arrived at the Russo mansion, its size was almost the same as ours-as expected. Their entire compound screamed wealth and the suffocating expectations that came with it. I guess that was expected of three generations of wealth and power.

We stepped out of our cars as the Russos appeared on the grand porch. My parents and I walked toward them.

"Dominic, good to see you again," my father said, extending a hand to the man I assumed to be Nolan's father.

"Always a pleasure, Viktor," the man replied, his tone polished but sharp.

A slender woman in a sleek navy gown turned her attention to my mother. "Elena, as radiant as ever. That dress is divine," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. I guessed this must be Nolan's mother.

Standing slightly apart, I observed the exchange of pleasantries. Then Mrs. Russo's gaze shifted to me, her smile softening into something more calculated.

"And you must be Anastasia. Oh my, you've grown into such a lovely young woman. I've heard so much about you." She said as she held my hands. She had a more gentle aura compared to the other parents. She almost looked like she didn't fit into our world.

"Thank you, Mrs. Russo," I said with a polite smile. "It's lovely to meet you."

"Please, call me Livia," she insisted, patting my hand lightly.

"And this," Mr. Russo said, gesturing toward a figure emerging from the house, "is Nolan."

Nolan Russo.

He appeared at the doorway, his posture casual but composed, hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored trousers. His dark eyes scanned the gathering before landing on me. His stare lingered, piercing through my composure as if searching for a crack in my exterior. I felt exposed, as though he could see through me.

"Nolan," his mother prompted, her voice almost scolding, "come greet Anastasia properly."

He stepped forward, extending a hand. "Anastasia," he said simply, his voice low and steady.

There was an air about him calm yet commanding, as if the world tilted slightly in his favor. His tailored suit highlighted his broad shoulders and lean frame, but it was his eyes that held me. Dark and probing, they seemed to take in everything without revealing a single thought in return.

"Nolan," I replied, taking his hand firmly. His grip was strong, but so was mine. I refused to let him think he held the upper hand.

"Shall we head inside?" Mrs. Russo said, clapping her hands lightly. "Dinner is ready, and there's no need to linger out here."

We were ushered through the grand entrance, the chandeliers' warm glow reflecting off the polished marble floors. I kept my face composed, determined not to let my discomfort show.

The dining room was a masterpiece of opulence. The massive table was set with gleaming silverware and delicate china. My parents and the Russos settled into their seats with practiced ease, their conversation flowing effortlessly. Nolan and I sat opposite each other, silent players in a game neither of us wanted to join.

Throughout the meal, I couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized. Nolan's gaze lingered on me, intense and unyielding. It wasn't mere curiosity; it was something deeper. It felt like he was probing and assessing me. I couldn't help but feel the unease that came with his stare.

"Anastasia," Mrs. Russo said, trying to get me involved in the ongoing conversation. "How do you feel about this arrangement?"

All eyes turned to me and I could feel the weight of my parent's expectation for a poised and diplomatic response.

"It's... unconventional," I said carefully, keeping my tone even. "But I trust our families know what's best."

Nolan let out a sharp, derisive laugh. "That's rich. Did you rehearse that in the car, or do you always sound this scripted?" He said with a straight face.

I stiffened as I met his gaze with a glare. "I'm sorry, Nolan, were you under the impression this arrangement was my idea? Or are you just looking for someone to blame?"

"And you, Nolan?" my father interjected trying to diffuse the tension in the room, his tone firm. "What are your thoughts?"

Nolan leaned back, his jaw visibly tightening. "My thoughts? Fine. I think this whole thing is ridiculous. But I'll do what's expected, like a good little pawn. Right Father?"

"Good to know you're capable of at least that much," I muttered as I looked at him with disdain.

His sharp gaze snapped to mine, dark and narrowing. "Careful, Anastasia. You're awfully confident for someone just along for the ride."

I leaned forward slightly, matching his intensity. "And you're awfully bitter for someone benefiting just as much as I am."

"Benefiting?" He said as he let out a humorless chuckle. "Forgive me, Anastasia, I didn't realize having my life being dictated to me was supposed to feel like a blessing."

"At least you don't have to deal with giving up almost everything!" I shot back, my voice laced with venom. "You're not the only one being dragged into this circus, so spare me the pity party."

From my peripheral view, I saw Nolan's siblings trooping out of the room as I locked eyes with Nolan, a silent war playing out between us. The air felt heavy, the weight of our unsaid words pressing down on the table.

"Enough," Mr. Russo growled, his sharp voice cutting through the room.

But Nolan was already pushing back his chair, the screech of wood against tile grating on my nerves. "This is a waste of time," he said, standing abruptly. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Anastasia. I'm sure you would do a great job cooking this ridiculous agreement with our parents."

I refused to look away, even as I could feel anger burning in my chest. "Run away then. Great to know that's what you're best at. At least I get to see one real thing tonight." I said as I folded my hands on my chest.

His dark eyes flashed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Careful, sweetheart. You might actually make me believe you're as tough as you pretend to be."

And with that, he stormed out, leaving a heavy silence behind. My hands clenched as they were trembling with suppressed anger. The air in the dining room felt even heavier, the echoes of our confrontation hanging in the air.

I can't help but feel angry at my parents because, on any other day, a man wouldn't dare speak to me in such a ridiculous way. If he did, he wouldn't live to see the next day.

If this is the man I'm to marry, then we are both doomed. This wasn't a union-it was a battlefield, and I was already preparing for war.

As the door closed behind him, I took a sip of water, glancing around the table. "Well," I said lightly, "that went about as expected," I said, dropping my napkin on the table and looking at my mum with a smirk as I saw her angry face.

"He's... spirited." Mrs. Russo said with a tight smile