s they lay there together, their bodies close, the weight of the night finally settling, Anastasia's thoughts began to drift, and she broke the comfortable silence that had lingered between them.
"Vincent," she started, her voice soft, almost as if testing the waters, "I've been meaning to ask you something."
He turned his head toward her, his curiosity piqued. "What is it?" His voice was low and gentle, but his mind had already been working on the question, anticipating what might come next.
Anastasia hesitated for a moment, her fingers tracing small patterns on the sheets as she gathered her thoughts. "Why did you really decide to become an actor?"
Vincent blinked, surprised by the question. He had anticipated this moment in some way but had never really imagined it would happen so soon. Why had he done it? He thought he knew the answer, but now, with her asking, he felt a strange mix of uncertainty and nostalgia.
Vincent took a deep breath before speaking. "Well... I thought you liked actors." He chuckled softly, but his voice carried an almost shy tone, as though he hadn't quite let go of the feeling of insecurity that had driven him all these years. "I thought your ideal type was an actor—someone who could live in the spotlight, someone who could perform, someone who was constantly admired."
Anastasia frowned slightly, a touch of confusion crossing her features. "An actor?" she repeated slowly, looking at him with an almost playful curiosity. "Where did you get that idea?"
Vincent shifted, sitting up a little as he looked at her more seriously. "I... I guess it was because of what I heard." He looked down for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts. "I heard people talk about your ideal type, your preferences. Everyone said you liked actors, someone who could be in the public eye. And when I found out about it, I thought, maybe that's what I should be. Maybe that's what you'd like."
Anastasia blinked, realization hitting her. So, all this time, Vincent had been trying to mold himself into someone else—someone he wasn't—just to fit into what he thought she wanted.
She shook her head slowly, a small smile curving her lips. "Vincent," she said softly, her eyes meeting his with a gentle sincerity. "I never said my ideal type was an actor."
Vincent's brow furrowed, surprised by her words. "But... I heard you say—"
"I never said that," she interrupted him gently. "You misunderstood. I never said that an actor was my ideal type."
There was a beat of silence between them as Vincent processed what she was saying. It dawned on him then—the truth of her words, the weight of his own misunderstanding. "Wait..." he said, his eyes widening slightly, "so... you didn't want an actor?"
Anastasia shook her head slowly, her voice unwavering. "No. My ideal type... it's someone much more than that. Someone who doesn't need to pretend to be someone they're not. Someone who understands power and ambition. Someone who doesn't live for the spotlight, but who lives for what they can build, what they can create—someone who can stand beside me, as my equal, not just as a figure to be admired."
Vincent's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected her to say this—he hadn't expected her ideal type to be someone who didn't fit the role he thought he needed to play. His mind raced as he thought back to all the choices he had made, all the effort he had put into becoming an actor for the wrong reasons. He had been so focused on being what he thought she wanted that he never once stopped to consider that what she really wanted was something far deeper, something more meaningful.
"So... what you wanted was someone who could match your level?" Vincent asked quietly, a hint of wonder in his voice.
Anastasia smiled softly, her eyes steady on him. "Yes. Someone who could match me, someone who could understand what it means to build something extraordinary, to challenge the world and win. Someone who knows that it's not just about appearances. It's about intelligence. Strength. Vision."
Vincent's mind was spinning. He felt like a fool for not having understood this sooner. His heart was racing, but not from regret. No, it was from something else—a deeper, more profound feeling that he couldn't quite put into words.
"You've always known me better than I gave you credit for," he whispered, his voice full of gratitude. "I guess I thought I had to become someone else for you, when all this time, all I needed to be... was myself."
Anastasia's smile widened, a touch of warmth filling her expression. "You're more than enough, Vincent. Always have been."