Malvor strolled—no, pranced—into the space, the perfect picture of broody masculinity.
Anastasia was lounging in a chair, legs crossed, a flowy sundress draped over her, looking ridiculously serene.
The sunlight—not real, but real enough—made her hair glow, and the sunglasses added a touch of effortless cool.
She looked so content.So happy.
It would be a shame if someone ruined that.
Smirk.
He cut in front of her, moving with purpose, power, and the carefully cultivated air of tortured masculinity.
She barely reacted.
Just paused, slid a finger into her book, and raised a brow.
A small smirk curved her lips.
That was all the encouragement he needed.
Anastasia gave him a once-over—slow and deliberate.
The tattoos. The body. The confidence.The ridiculously tight outfit in all the best ways.The boots. The rings.
Damn.
He actually looked really, really good.
Her eyes flicked back up to his smug, self-satisfied expression.
"Did you come up with this look on your own?"
Malvor grinned, running a hand through his hair like he was in a dramatic slow-motion montage.
"No, Arbor helped me."
The lights overhead flickered sharply.A clear, annoyed betrayal flash.
Anastasia chuckled, turning her attention upward.
"Arbor? I've just been calling it House."
She nodded to the space around her.
"Nice to meet you, Arbor."
The fireplace sparked, a warm flicker of approval.
Malvor huffed.
"Enough about the damn house. How do I look?"
Anastasia exhaled through her nose, lips twitching.
"I want to lie."
Malvor's golden-tan eyes sharpened. His usual teasing smirk faded slightly.
"Annie," he said, voice low—serious, "never lie to me."
Something about the way he said it made her pause.
She studied him. Then nodded once.
"I promise. Never."
For a moment, there was just silence between them.
Then—
She sighed, tilting her head with reluctant admiration.
"You look perfect. Like a thirst trap come to life."
Malvor's grin was immediate.
"Oh, Annie, you flatter me."
She rolled her eyes, lifting her book again.
"Don't get used to it."
"Annie," he whined, like a naughty child denied dessert.
She ignored him, flipping a page.
"Annieeeeee."
Still nothing.
He huffed, dramatically throwing himself into a chair beside her.
"We could spend all day at the beach here. Have you ever been to the beach?"
Her eyes stayed on her book as she answered.
"Yes. I have been. I was maybe fourteen."
That got his attention.
Malvor's golden eyes brightened.
"Fourteen?! Where? When? Why? Tell me everything."
He wiggled his fingers, eager.
Anastasia sighed, lowering her book slightly.
"As part of my rune process, I traveled to each Pantheon member's temple. When I was thirteen, I went to Vitaria's temple."
Malvor's brows furrowed, fingers tapping the arm of his chair.
"There are a lot of beaches in Greece," she added absently.
"Why thirteen?" he asked, his voice edged with something uneasy.
She hesitated for a beat. Then lifted the hem of her dress just enough to reveal the matching blue shorts beneath.
Her stomach, normally hidden, was now visible—intricate runes swirling in delicate patterns, stretching down to her pant line.
Malvor stilled.
"I became a woman that year."
Her voice was flat, but heavy.
"It was for blessings. Blessings of fertility, blessings from the goddess Vitaria."
Her lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"More like… they took away my ability to have children."
Malvor's entire body tensed.
"They what?"
His voice wasn't loud.It wasn't sharp.
But it was soft with rage—the kind of quiet storm before something explodes.
Anastasia met his gaze, calm. Unshaken.
"Pregnancy would've ruined my line of work. So my fertility was given to the goddess as a gift."
Malvor's jaw clenched, his grip white-knuckled against the chair.
A gift.
Her own body, given away like it didn't belong to her.
His fingers twitched.
But for once, he had nothing to say.
Anastasia continued, voice even.
"The process took just over a year."
She exhaled, eyes flickering as if watching something long past.
"One night, after a long session, one of the priestesses-in-training took me out of the temple. My pretty prison."
Malvor's brows furrowed.
"She snuck me to the beach. It was beautiful. Took my mind off the pain."
Her lips twitched—faint. Almost wistful.
"We stayed and watched the sunrise together."
A beat of silence.
Then—
"They sacrificed her to the gods the next day."
Malvor's breath stilled.
Anastasia leaned back in her chair, rolling her shoulders like she was recounting the weather.
"I have no idea where she ended up. Probably as a disposable plaything."
Her gaze shifted to him—unreadable.
"A burnt sacrifice. Or a blood offering."
Malvor felt the air crackle around him.
"That was their reward for kindness?" he murmured.
She didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
"I'm sorry, Annie."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Malvor froze.
When was the last time he had apologized for anything?Had he ever?
Anastasia turned to him, curious—but silent.
"You didn't deserve any of that," he said. Voice low. Rough.
"Or any of this."
He gestured vaguely—at her, at himself, at the whole tangled mess.
She still said nothing.
Just watched him.
Too knowing. Too calm.
And he realized something.
She deserved better.
Better than this.
Better than him.
Better than the chaotic mess of a god she'd been handed by fate.
And that thought?
That gods-damned thought?
Sat in his chest like a stone.