Chapter 51
ANASTASIA
I’m trapped. His shadow looms over me, hot breath at my ear, hands pressing down, pinning me like I’m nothing more than a broken doll.
My throat locks when I try to scream. No.
Please— His voice snakes through the darkness, Sebastian’s drawl, thick with menace. “You’re mine. You’ll never escape me.”
I thrash, clawing at the sheets, but they twist into ropes, binding me tighter. My chest burns, I’m suffocating.
“Senorita!” A sharp voice cuts through the haze. Hands shake me. I jolt awake, heart slamming against my ribs, drenched in sweat. The woman’s wide eyes meet mine, her face glows in the morning light.
“You were screaming,” she whispers, a little breathless herself.
I drag air into my lungs, my body trembling. The room is too big, too silent. I wrap the blanket around myself, staring at the shadows in the corners, half-expecting him to step out of one.
The woman hovers, uncertain. She’s wearing a maids uniform.
“Come on, nina. Why don’t you freshen up?
” She smooths the sheets like she can erase what just happened, then slips quietly from the room.
She returns a few minutes later with two others, dressed the same, their voices are soft but businesslike.
“Senorita, it’s time to get ready. The fitting waits. ”
Another swings open the curtains letting the sunlight flood in.
I sit stiffly at the edge of the bed, still shaking, their careful hands brushing out my tangled hair, as though nothing had happened. They roll in two garment racks lined with dresses, a seamstress following behind.
The first gown slips over my shoulders in a whisper of silk.
The fabric pools at my feet like liquid moonlight, shimmering with every shift I make.
It’s breathtaking, objectively—an off-the-shoulder masterpiece that makes me look like I belong in some fairy tale.
But the mirror betrays me, my smile won’t come.
The girl reflected back looks like a stranger trapped in satin.
The second dress is heavier, embroidered with tiny pearls that glimmer like tears caught in lace.
The seamstress fusses over the bodice, tugging it tighter until I can barely breathe.
I trace the delicate pattern with my fingertips, unable to ignore how exquisite it is, even as a weight presses down on my chest. Beautiful prison bars sewn from ivory thread.
The third gown is simple, almost ethereal.
Sheer sleeves, soft chiffon, the kind of dress that would make another bride weep with joy.
I can see how radiant I should look—how any other woman might glow beneath its purity.
But all I see is my own eyes, wide and sad, the shimmer of the dress mocking the ache in my throat.
Each dress is lovelier than the last. Each one reminds me that this moment in another life is supposed to be the happiest of my life. And yet, standing here in white, I feel only like I’m being dressed for mourning what will never be.
The main maid, the one who woke me up this morning, Maria, looks at me in awe. “Ese vestido se ve hermoso en ti, senorita. ese es el.”
“Tal vez, pero no lo siento.” I step out of the dress, back into my robe. I’m fighting back tears.
Just then Sebastian walks in intruding. “Ahh, you’ve seen the dresses. I trust you’ve picked one?”
I just stare at him.
“Does it really matter?”
He doesn’t flinch, “No, I supposed not. Wear a dress, walk out naked, makes no difference. A dress will be better for the pictures though. Doubt you’d want our wedding announcement, to be of you in nothing but skin,” he smirks, “plus, your father will be here tomorrow.”
That makes me stop, “What do you mean he’ll be here?”
“Who else would walk you down the aisle?”
That bastard, he has fucked my whole life up, he thinks he can just pawn me off like a bargaining chip.
“Someone will be by later with a change of clothes. We’re having dinner tonight. I’ll be expecting you by seven.”
Then he leaves.
“Don’t worry senorita. Everything will be ok.” She gives me a weary smile.
I let the first tears fall.
The knock comes, just after six. Maria brought me the garment bag for tonight’s dinner. She laid it across my bed and unzipped it with careful hands, revealing a deep red satin gown that glimmers in the setting sun.
It’s the kind of dress that would make any girl be enamored by its elegance.
But I know better, this isn’t for me. It’s for him.
I hate how beautiful it is. How it has to be wasted on such a pathetic man.
The plunging neckline, the slit that climbs indecently high up the thigh, the way the fabric is cut to cling like a second skin. This is a leash.
Maria helps me slip into it, I stand still as her hands smooth the gown over my hips, and fasten the tiny hooks along my back.
She slips heavy gold earrings into my ears, clasps a necklace at my throat that feels more like a shackle than jewelry.
Each piece chosen by Sebastian. Each piece another reminder of who holds the power here.
I’m going to kill him.
When she finishes, she reminds me that dinner is at seven sharp. I thank her politely, and dismiss her, then sit on the edge of the bed staring at the clock. Six forty-five. Six fifty. Six fifty-five. I don’t move.
I guess the brat in me is still alive.
I know I’m playing with fire, but I don’t care. If he expects me to come running at his summons like an obedient pet, he’s forgotten who I am. I smooth the satin over my knees, take a slow breath, and wait until the hands of the clock strike seven-ten before I rise.
Let him stew.
The corridors are quiet as I walk, the satin whispering around my legs with each step.
I don’t rush. The heels he chose pinch, but I keep my chin high, my stride unhurried.
I’m not his doll as he claims, and I won’t let him control me or dictate any part of my life.
I will always fight him every step of the way.
The double doors of the dining hall stand open.
Candlelight spills out, painting the marble floors in gold.
He’s already there, of course, Mr. Punctual.
Sebastian sits at the head of the long table, posture immaculate, a glass of wine resting in his hand.
His eyes lift as I enter, dark, sharp, assessing.
For a heartbeat, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You’re late,” he says, his voice smooth as silk, but I catch the steel underneath.
“Sorry, based on the trajectory of the sun and the moon, I just didn’t give a fuck about your request,” I reply, gliding to the seat opposite him.
I don’t ask permission, don’t falter. My fingers brush the edge of the chair before I sit, arranging the gown so the slit shows just enough leg.
He wants a spectacle—I’ll give him one on my terms.
He watches me as though weighing how far to push. Then, with a soft clink, he sets his glass down and gestures. At once, servants appear, carrying silver trays.
The first course is laid out—delicate plates of ceviche, garnished with cilantro and thin slices of lime.
The citrus tang sharpens the air. Another servant pours wine into my glass, though I don’t touch it.
Sebastian raises his glass again. “To beauty,” he says, eyes never leaving me. “And obedience.”
I let a slow smile curl at my lips. I lift my glass, tilt it ever so slightly toward him. But when the rim brushes mine, I don’t drink.
The silence that follows is thick.
The ceviche disappears with barely a word spoken. I pick at mine delicately, savoring the tang of lime more than the meal itself. Sebastian eats slowly, with the kind of precision that makes every movement feel staged, like he’s performing civility.
The second course arrives—filet mignon, rare, the juices staining the porcelain plate. The scent is rich, almost cloying.
“You look stunning tonight,” he says finally, his tone casual but edged. “The next time I tell you to be somewhere at a specific time, don’t be late.”
I spear a piece of steak and lift it to my lips, meeting his eyes as I chew, unhurried. “I thought the wait might make me more memorable.”
His jaw flexes. He swirls his wine instead of drinking, the deep red liquid catching the candlelight.
“Do not mistake indulgence for tolerance, Anastasia. I’ve allowed you this…
rebellious streak. I’m a patient man, I’ve waited three long years to claim you, but my patience is running thin.
Don’t poke the bear, if you’re not ready for his bite. ”
I smile sweetly, set my fork down, and fold my hands on my lap. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t act like a beast.”
The stem of his glass snaps beneath his hand.
Crimson wine spills across the linen, seeping toward the edge of the table.
The servants flinch at the sound but freeze in place, awaiting his signal.
His eyes, which are cold, furious, snap back to mine.
The silence is suffocating, heavier than any shout.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low, deliberate. “Do not test me.”
I lean back in my chair, letting the satin whisper against the floor, unbothered by the shattered crystal or the spreading stain. “No?” I murmur. “But I thought you liked tests.”
The servants rush forward, trying to clean up the spilt wine, but he stops them.
Sebastian watches me, as though deciding whether to cage me tighter—or if breaking me entirely would be quicker.
“Your father did say you had a mouth on you. Your little boyfriend must have never corrected the behavior. Do I need to fuck the brat out of you?”
“Comé mierda.”
He laughs a humorless laugh, “Si te que daste con hambre,” he gets up from his seat and takes slow paces towards me. A vacant look in his eyes. When he reaches me, he grabs me by my chin and strokes my hair with his other, “Solo tienes que decir eso muneca.”
“Let me go!” I struggle against his hold.
“Déjennos,” he commands at the staff, and they all scurry to leave the dinning room. Defiance in my eyes, “Oh aren’t you so honorable, letting them leave so they won’t see you—”
His hand strikes me across my face. The hit is so hard that I’m knocked off my chair.
“You need to learn to shut your fucking mouth.” He takes his neck tie, restraining my hands behind my back.
He undoes his belt. I see it slide through each belt loop until it’s fully in his hands, then takes the belt and loops it around my neck.
I try to fight him but it’s useless. He fastens it to the tightest notch.
My breath catching, as he constricts my airway.
“Let’s see you talk back with your mouth filled.” He unzips his pants pulling out his dick, stroking himself slowly.
I keep my eyes trained on his, unmoving.
“Open your mouth Anastasia.”
I don’t move. Fuck. Him.
He brings his fingers to my face and pinches my nose.
“You want to do this the hard way, fine by me. Let’s see how long you last before you need to take a breath.
And don’t think passing out will save you, that’ll just make everything else too easy.
” A sickening smile on his face. I hold my breath refusing to give in.
Refusing to let him win, but black dots cloud my vision and I can’t hold off any longer.
I take a breath.
The moment my mouth opens, he forces himself in, “You bite me and I’ll break your fucking jaw.” I have no option but to sit there and let him. Let him use my face. My body. Like I’m some fucking doll. Just like he said he would.
I feel fucking sick.
With the belt tightly around my neck, I can’t help but choke and gag around him. Spit dribbling off my chin. Mascara running down my face.
“Just like that hermosa,” he grunts, “guess this mouth is good for something other than mouthing off.” He holds my head with both hands as he drives in deeper, ruthlessly.
His grunts will haunt my nightmares. “You feel so fucking good. Just like I knew you would.” His fingers threading through my hair.
“Mm, if only,” thrust, “you could see,” thrust, “yourself right now.” Thrust. “The way your tears are running down your face.”
With a few more thrusts he pulls out, stroking himself as he comes on my face and chest. I sit there quietly, trying to catch my breath. Murder on my fucking mind.
“What, nothing to say, doll?”
He tucks himself away, grabs a napkin from the table and throws it at me. “Clean yourself up, you’re a mess.” Then he walks away, leaving me broken and dirty on the floor. I’m not sure how much time passes, but the next thing I know Maria is rushing over to me.
“?Senorita! Ay, diosito... Santa María, madre de Dios,” she mutters under her breath as she does the sign of the cross, “mi dulce nina, vámonos, let’s get you cleaned up.”
She leads me back to my room where she draws me a bath.
Maria’s hands are gentle as she wipes my face with a warm cloth, the faint scent of lavender clinging to the steam.
I sit on the edge of the tub, silent, letting her work as though I’m a child being tended to.
The satin gown lies puddled at my feet, discarded, a skin I’m glad to shed.