Few months later...
She was going to school from home for some reasons...
The next morning dawned quietly at the Varonin estate.
Light leaked through the big arched windows. It painted the polished floors in gold. Sunlight kissed the walls. Yet the dining room air felt thick.
Anastasia toyed with her croissant, using a silver fork. Her eyes were distant. She only half-heard the hushed talks of staff and security. Her mind wasn't on the spread before her. Eggs, caviar, fresh juice meant nothing. She was thinking of Aleksandr Volkov.
Specifically, how he looked the night before.
The flex of his jaw when she defied him haunted her.
His voice dropped so low when he warned her not to walk alone. It echoed in her mind.
The way he said her name like it mattered. Deeply.
And how she wanted to loathe him for it, but couldn't. Not at all.
"You seem distracted," her father said, his eyes fixed on the newspaper. "Is everything okay, sweetheart?"
Anastasia lifted her chin, smiling to hide her inner turmoil. "No, Papa. Everything's fine."
Across the room Aleksandr stood by the glass wall. His arms were crossed. The black t-shirt clung to his chest. His tactical pants fit like a dream. He looked straight out of a military magazine. His dark eyes missed nothing as they scanned the room. She was included in his scan.
She saw him watching.
He didn't look away.
She didn't either.
Their eyes locked across the marble floor. It felt wrong, forbidden. A secret game of tension stretched. One breath became too long.
Finally, he turned away. A loss washed over her.
---
Later, that day…
The university halls throbbed with energy. Anastasia tried to focus during political science. But her mind kept drifting with each tick of the clock. She could feel Aleksandr, even when he wasn't near. He was outside the door, she knew. Yet his presence seeped in, under the cracks. It got into her veins.
After class, she walked out like she owned the place, because she did.
Then she saw Aleksandr leaning against the wall. His arms were folded. His eyes scanned the students with trained precision. Her breath caught.
He looked far too good.
Far too still.
Far too focused.
And somehow… far too hers.
"Enjoying yourself?" she muttered as they started walking down the hall.
"I don't enjoy work," he said. No look in her direction.
"You look like you enjoy scaring the whole student body."
A small smirk played on his lips. "If they're scared, maybe they should be."
"That's not normal," she snapped.
"I'm not normal, Princess."
God. Why did it sound hot when he said that?
---
Later, back at the Varonin estate…
Aleksandr went back to the guest house, his own space. Her father wanted him on the property. He said it was "for emergencies."
Anastasia told herself she wasn't at the window checking for his light.
She told herself she wasn't staring at the moonlit garden. She wasn't lovesick.
She told herself she didn't care.
But the lies stung.
And when she saw the soft amber glow of his lamp, a chill went through her. Knowing he was close wasn't comfort now.
It was pure temptation.
---
Meanwhile, inside Aleksandr's suite…
He watched the estate's security feed.
But his mind wasn't on danger.
It was only on her.
Anastasia.
The girl he was sworn to protect.
The heiress who made his blood race. He lost all sense of reason.
She was forbidden. That was the only rule. A cardinal sin of protection. Aleksandr had never broken protocol. Never in his life.
But no job had ever looked like her.
No job had lips that haunted his sleep, or eyes that called out to his soul.
He stood, dragging a hand through his hair. He tried to push the thoughts back. Then he looked out his window, and saw her. Her shape was at her own window. Everything stopped.
She watched him.
He knew it, even across the garden.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
Something inside him broke.
Anastasia squeezed the windowsill tighter.
What was she up to?
Why was she out here, dressed in silk shorts along with a loose top? She was watching the man hired to protect her. It seemed as if he was the danger.
Because he is, whispered a voice inside her head.
But not to your life.
To your control.
Aleksandr glanced up, his stare intense. She should have looked away then.
She didn't turn away.
Tilting her head, her lips slightly parted, eyes soft and vulnerable.
He moved across the garden, taking a single step closer to the glass. Just a small movement.
But that was all it took.
A powerful heat went through her. All because of that simple move. It was intoxicating.
Anastasia slowly pulled the curtains shut.
She would allow him to think about her if that's what he wanted to do tonight.
She got into bed. Her heart was racing. Aleksandr Volkov's face burned behind her eyelids.
---
The next morning…
He was icy cold.
Stoic. Distant. All business.
Aleksandr walked behind her in the university halls as though he hadn't spent the night replaying her outline in his mind. Like he didn't notice how her perfume lingered in the air much longer than usual.
"You're so quiet today," Anastasia said in a casual manner, flipping her white-blonde hair over her shoulder.
"I'm doing my job," he said. He didn't slow down.
Her heels clicked faster on the floor. "Me too. It takes a lot of effort to ignore half the student body asking why I have a Russian sniper following me around like a shadow."
Aleksandr raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a sniper."
"You might as well be one, for all they know."
"Then perhaps they should fear me."
She turned quickly, making him stop just inches away from her face.
"Are you always like this?" she asked in a whisper.
His jaw tightened. "Like what?"
"Emotionally closed off."
A faint twitch at his lips. "Are you always this reckless?"
"Only when I am bored. Or when someone keeps pushing my buttons."
"I'm not here for games, Princess."
"But I am."
---
Later that evening…
Anastasia was reading on the garden patio when a branch broke behind her.
Before she could react, Aleksandr was right there. His gun was out, his eyes scanning the trees.
"Stay put," he barked. His voice was full of tension.
Anastasia's heart skipped a beat. Adrenaline rushed through her. "What is it?"
"Movement to the northeast. Might be nothing… could be a scout."
"Scout?" she asked, gripping his arm tightly.
He spoke quietly. "Someone is trying to see what we have for defenses."
Instantly, the estate's security lights lit up brightly.
Guards quickly went around the grounds.
Aleksandr didn't move at all.
He stood, protecting her. Like a human shield.
It was the first time she noticed how big he was compared to her own size.
He was tall, solid. He was built like a wall of muscle. He was all intent.
All of it... for protecting her.
Ten minutes later, the all-clear was given. Aleksandr finally relaxed, but just a little.
"I said this wasn't a joke," he said. He still scanned the garden.
Anastasia swallowed with some difficulty. "I knew it wasn't."
"You act like nothing can hurt you."
"Because I'm tired of living in fear."
He turned to face her directly then. His voice was deep. Full of danger.
"You think it's brave to walk straight into harm without any fear? That's just dumb."
Her eyes became narrow. "Do you think hiding behind rules makes you brave?"
He took one step. Then another.
Until they were close. Hardly any space between them.
"I think knowing I'd kill for you if I had to… makes me the best shot you've got at making it through this alive."
She couldn't breathe.
The night cooled, but the heat between them was growing. It was more than she could bear.
---
Later that night…
She couldn't sleep at all.
She stepped onto her balcony in a thin robe. She felt pulled by something she didn't want to name.
Then she saw him.
Below, across the lawn, no shirt on. He was doing push-ups in the moonlight.
God help her to resist.
She had to go back inside.
But she didn't move.
She leaned over the rail. She watched the muscles move in his back, the tightness of his arms. She spotted a tattoo she hadn't seen. A blot of dark ink.
As if he felt her watching, Aleksandr stopped. He stood up.
He looked up at her.
Their eyes locked together again.
Neither of them smiled at all.
But something was burning. It was hotter than a fire in the space between them.
It was a line neither of them was supposed to cross, but they were both getting closer.