Page 3

Anya stood quietly in the grand hall of the Kingsley estate. The manor was massive. Elegant, expansive, and intimidating. Polished marble floors, crystal chandeliers, towering ceilings. Every corner screamed wealth.
The Fox family was rich, yes, but the Kingsleys were on an entirely different level. They weren’t just wealthy—they were one of the wealthiest in the entire country.
She stood quietly, her eyes scanning the luxurious space, suitcase gripped tightly in her trembling hand. Her heart was pounding from exhaustion and nerves. The place was beautiful, but intimidating.
“Anya?”
She turned around, startled, and found herself face to face with a sharply dressed man. His white hair was perfectly combed, and his green eyes—so familiar—held warmth. He looked to be around her grandfather’s age. On any other day, she might’ve laughed and told him how much he looked like her grandfather.
He was probably Griffin Kingsley.
He approached her and took the suitcase from her hand with ease, a small frown forming on his face.
“You dragged this all the way up the estate?” he asked. “You should’ve asked one of the staff to help.”
Anya simply shook her head, offering him a polite, grateful smile. “It wasn’t that hard.”
“You’re soaked too,” he added, his frown deepening. The worry on his face mirrored her grandfather’s, and something inside her softened.
“James told me everything that happened at your home,” the man said gently. “Don’t worry. This is your home now. You don’t need to think about anything else. Grandpa will take care of you.”
Her lips trembled. His words cracked the wall she had been holding up. She nodded slowly, eyes glassy with gratitude. “Thank you, Grandpa.”
“Good girl,” Griffin said, beaming. The moment she called him ‘Grandpa,’ his bright smile lit up the hall. Then he patted her shoulder. “Go up to the first floor. The room right next to the stairs is empty. Take a warm bath. I’ll have someone bring your suitcase up.”
Anya paused, lifting her gaze to his face. Despite the cold and how her voice shook, she whispered, “Thank you for taking me in, Grandpa. I promise... I’ll move out as soon as I can. I won’t be a burden.”
His smile faded, replaced by a stern expression. He stepped closer, his cane tapping against the marble with every slow, firm step.
“You let me decide that,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “Do I look like a man who lacks space or money to take care of you?”
He placed a hand on her head, just like Grandpa James used to. The gesture undid her. Hot tears spilled over her cheeks, no longer held back.
“Don’t cry, child,” he said softly. “Don’t think about tomorrow or the day after. Right now, just take care of yourself. You’ll be alright.”
Anya bit her lower lip, forcing back the rest of her tears, and nodded. “Thank you.”
She turned and climbed the grand staircase, her legs heavy with exhaustion. At the first floor, she paused. There were rooms on both sides of the stairs. For a moment, she hesitated.
‘Maybe both sides are empty,’ she thought. ‘That’s why Grandpa didn’t mention left or right.’
She was too tired to think any more than that. Her head was throbbing, and every part of her body ached. She turned right and tried the nearest door. It opened easily.
‘No lock? Must be mine,’ she assumed.
She stepped inside.
The room was pristine—black walls, white furniture, a black headboard. Everything was sharp, modern, and cold. The kind of space made for someone who valued privacy and solitude. Anya, in contrast, preferred warm colors, flowers, and sunlight.
She walked in and peeled off her damp shawl, placing it on the table near the TV.
Her hand reached up to the wet dress clinging to her skin, pulling at it slightly. She pulled her hair into a messy bun with no rubber band, then began heading toward the washroom.
She had barely crossed half the room when the bathroom door suddenly opened, and a man walked out.
Naked.
Anya froze. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened in horror. Her mouth parted, but no sound came.