Chapter Three:
Anastasia POV:
My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat as I struggle to find a way to explain this mess. Sure, I've been in the military, faced life-and-death situations—but this? Explaining how Mia hid my cell phone and then manipulated me into taking her out for something as mundane as her so-called emergency? This is a different kind of battle.
"I'm waiting, Miss Steele," Christian says emphasizing my name, his tone sharper than a knife.
I bite my lip, my mind racing for the right approach. A sigh escapes me, and I decide to stick to the facts—or at least most of them. I see something darken in his eyes, it is enough to make the hairs on my neck rise.
"Miss Grey and I were at Escala earlier, reviewing plans for your parent's anniversary," I begin, keeping my voice calm and professional. "Then she got a text. She told me it was an emergency."
Christian's glare intensifies, his frustration palpable. "So you've been gone half of the day and haven't answered your cell phone?" he bellows, his voice thunderous.
I steel myself, my posture unwavering. "Sir, Mia… temporarily confiscated my cell phone," I admit, my voice level despite the absurdity of the situation.
"You, a CPO, are telling me that my sister—a girl who couldn't win a game of hide-and-seek—stole your cell phone?" His disbelief is almost laughable, but I don't flinch.
"Yes, sir," I reply with a curt nod, lowering my eyes to the floor as he takes another step forward.
I look up at him again, his eyes narrow. "And what, exactly, was the emergency?"
I take a slow breath, preparing myself for the next part. "She told me she had a stalker," I say, my tone serious.
His expression shifts slightly, the sharp edge softening as he processes the weight of my words.
"And?" he presses, though his voice has lost some of its bite.
"She claimed the stalker had been following her to a club she sometimes goes to. She begged me to go with her, to confirm if he was there." I pause, letting him absorb this. "I wasn't about to ignore a potential threat, sir. So I went."
Christian's jaw clenches, his eyes flicking toward the door as if he's imagining Mia's face on the other side.
"And?" he says stepping another step forward, I step back, the sink now pressing against my back.
"I didn't see anyone matching the description she gave. No sign of anyone following her. But I stayed long enough to make sure she was safe before bringing her back," I finish, keeping my voice calm but firm.
The room falls silent, his anger still simmering but tempered by the new context. I cross my arms, meeting his gaze head-on, he is towering over me.
"I made a judgment call, sir. And while I agree communication could have been better, Mia's safety was my priority. As it always is."
Christian's hands are on each side of me, his fingers drum against the kitchen counter, his impatience radiating through the room. The stainless-steel appliances gleam under the overhead lights, a stark contrast to the storm brewing between us. This storm however is like a tornado, tension and confusion chasing each other around.
Upstairs, the faint sound of Mia's light snoring drifts down the staircase. I envy her ability to sleep so peacefully after dragging me through today's chaos.
"Let me get this straight," Christian says, his voice low and controlled, which is somehow worse than when he shouts. "Mia lied about a stalker. You, a trained professional, fell for it. And then you spent hours chasing her whims while ignoring your responsibility to communicate with me?"
I straighten my spine, my military training kicking in. "Sir, at the time, her claim seemed credible. I had no reason to doubt her. And once I realized the truth, I prioritized her safety and brought her home immediately."
His lips press into a thin line. "You prioritized her safety? By indulging in her manipulation? By leaving me in the dark? You're supposed to be the voice of reason, not her enabler." he says looking into my eyes, gray and blue meeting each other.
"With all due respect, sir," I reply, my voice calm but firm, "I made a judgment call based on the information I had. If I had ignored her claim and it turned out to be true, the consequences would have been far worse."
Christian exhales sharply, pushing away from me, and pacing the length of the kitchen. His absence made me hyper-aware of the electricity that radiated between us.
His gaze flicks to the ceiling, where Mia sleeps blissfully unaware of the reckoning below. "She stole your phone," he mutters again in disbelief, more to himself than to me. "That girl…"
I decide to press forward before his anger fully reignites. "Sir, I take full responsibility for my actions. But if you're going to be angry with someone, direct it at Miss Grey She's the one who—"
"I'm angry at both of you," he snaps, cutting me off. "Mia for her antics, and you for letting them work. You're supposed to be better than this, Anastasia."
The sting of his words is sharp, but I don't flinch. "I made a mistake, sir. It won't happen again."
He stops pacing, his eyes locking on mine. For a moment, the kitchen is silent except for the distant whirring of the refrigerator. Finally, he sighs, running a hand through his already tousled copper hair. "It better not."
We both turn at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Mia appears, rubbing her eyes, her hair a mess of waves. She blinks at us, clearly disoriented.
"What's going on?" she mumbles, stifling a yawn.
Christian's glare sharpens instantly. "What's going on, Mia," he begins, his voice deceptively calm, "is that you owe both of us an explanation."
Mia freezes, her sleepiness vanishing. "I… um… I didn't mean—"
"You didn't mean to what?" Christian cuts her off. "Lie about a stalker? Steal Ana's phone? Waste an entire afternoon on one of your childish whims?"
Mia's gaze darts to me, searching for backup, but I keep my expression neutral. This is her mess to clean up.
"I just thought…" she starts, her voice small. "I thought it would be fun. I didn't mean to cause trouble."
Christian's laugh is humorless. "Fun? You think risking your safety and Ana's job is fun?"
"I wasn't in any danger!" Mia protests. "I just wanted to get out of the house for a bit, and I figured Ana wouldn't say no if she thought—"
"Let's pause for a moment," I say gently but clearly, stepping in.
Christian turns to me sharply, his brow furrowing in confusion, and what looks like intrigue.
"I wasn't finished, Anastasia," he says, again emphasizing each syllable of my name, his voice low, edged with that familiar authority.
I meet his gaze, holding steady but respectful. "Mr Grey," I reply, my tone even, "I think Miss Grey needs to hear this differently."
His jaw tightens for a beat, and I see the flicker of hesitation before he gives a curt nod, though his dominant presence still fills the room.
I turn back to Mia, keeping my voice calm but firm. "Mia, I understand wanting freedom and a bit of fun, but your choices today put me in a very difficult position. I'm here to protect you, and that means balancing your safety with the trust your brother has in me. It's not always easy, and I need your help to make it work."
She bites her lip, guilt flashing across her face. "I'm sorry," she whispers.
"Sorry doesn't cut it," Christian growls. "This stops now. No more lies, no more games. Am I clear?"
Mia nods, her shoulders slumping. "Clear."
Christian exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We'll talk more in the morning."
Mia hesitates, glancing at me. I nod once, and she trudges back upstairs, her footsteps lighter than before.
As the door to her room clicks shut, Christian turns back to me. "Steele," he says, his tone softer but still firm, "this can't happen again."
"It won't," I promise, meeting his gaze.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then he nods, his expression unreadable. "Good."
"Take me home," he says, walking out of the kitchen. If it weren't for our circumstances, I might think there was a double meaning in his words.
I follow him out of the Grey residence.
He descends the stairs with a kind of effortless grace, a faint spring in each step. His long legs carry him to the black SUV in no time, where he stops and waits, irritation practically radiating off him.
When we reach the car, I unlock the doors and open one for him. He should feel honored to have a lady like me opening his door, but all I get is a glare.
Sliding into the driver's seat, I glance at him through the rearview mirror. To my surprise, a broad grin spreads across his face, like he's found something amusing. Then, I could swear I heard him mutter, "Found it."
I quickly look away, unnerved. Just another layer to the enigma that is Christian Grey.
As I pull away from the estate, I cast one last glance at the house. A real-life dreamscape—timeless, elegant, untouchable. This is probably the last time I'll ever see it.
The drive to Escala is mostly silent, besides the sound of the engine. Every so often, I steal glances at him. The dark circles under his eyes are more noticeable tonight. Lack of sleep, no doubt. I've seen the toll his nightmares take on him—how they shape his moods and silence his usual precision.
And yet, those same nightmares have a pull. The melancholic strains of the piano often drift from his penthouse, drawing me from the staff quarters. I've stood in the shadows, watching as his long fingers dance across the keys, coaxing life from the ivories even in the depths of night.
"Miss Steele quit staring at me and focus on the road," he says suddenly, breaking the silence and my train of thought.
Oh no. Caught red-handed. My face heats instantly, and I wish I could disappear into the seat. "Sorry," I mutter. "Just trying to figure out what's been bothering you."
"You," he replies curtly.
"Me?"
"Yes. You. Everything about you."
His words sting, sharper than I expect. I swallow against the knot forming in my throat. So I am bothering him. Great.
"Well," I say, forcing nonchalance into my tone, "I'm sorry, for being a pain in the ass."
"I never said pain in the ass."
"Well, you've been walking like you've got one," I mumble under my breath.
The silence that follows is heavy, I am sure now that he heard my smart mouth overflow. Crap, Ana! Why does your mouth always outrun your brain?
Thankfully, we reach Escala before he can grill me further. I park, kill the engine, and practically leap out of the car.
Hugh Reynolds and Luke Sawyer are already waiting by the elevator.
I open the back door for Mr. Grey, but his cold, piercing glare is waiting for me. "We'll talk about this later, Miss Steele," he says icily.
I nod, barely moving my head.
As he steps out, he hands me the heels that had been sitting on the seat beside him.
"Thanks," I mutter, awkwardly slipping them on.
We approach the elevator, and Sawyer catches my eye, offering a subtle look that says, Don't take him too seriously. I return a weak, one-sided smile and position myself beside him.
Luke's been a rare bright spot since I started this job. He's the only one on the team who hasn't treated me like an outsider. But tomorrow—or technically, later today—everyone else's wish will probably come true.
The rest of the team will finally get to break out the banner I know they've been hiding somewhere: Hooray, Steele is gone.
The elevator doors slide open with a quiet chime, and the four of us step inside. It's spacious and sleek, but the tension between Christian and me makes it feel oppressively small.
Luke and Hugh exchange a quick glance before positioning themselves near the front, leaving Christian and me standing awkwardly in the back. He doesn't look at me, but the energy radiating off him is impossible to ignore—sharp, electric, like a storm barely contained.
The sound of the elevator coming to life fills the silence as we ascend. I keep my eyes trained on the glowing numbers above the door, willing them to move faster. Anything to escape this unbearable proximity.
"Miss Steele," Christian says suddenly, his voice low and controlled, "you have a remarkable talent for testing my patience."
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His arms are crossed, his jaw tight, but there's something else beneath his frustration—something unspoken and heavy.
"I wasn't aware patience was a virtue you possessed, Mr. Grey," I reply, unable to stop myself. My tone is calm, but my pulse is racing. I blame my witty comebacks to the exhaustion his sister condemned me to.
Luke coughs softly, poorly masking a chuckle. Christian's sharp glance in the direction of the sound silences him instantly.
"You think this is funny?" Christian growls, directing his irritation at Luke for a moment before his piercing gaze settles back on me.
I meet his eyes, refusing to back down. "No, sir. I'm simply trying to understand why my presence seems to trouble you."
His eyes narrow, the steel-gray depths darkening. "It's not your presence that's the problem, Miss Steele. It's your inability to stay out of trouble."
"Trouble finds me, not the other way around," I snap before I can stop myself.
His lips twitch—almost imperceptibly, but enough to make me wonder if he's fighting back a smirk. "That's the problem, isn't it?" he murmurs, his voice softer now, more dangerous.
The elevator dings, interrupting whatever quarrel we're building toward. The doors slide open to reveal the luxurious penthouse floor, but neither of us moves immediately.
"Sir?" Sawyer prompts, stepping aside to allow Christian to exit first.
Christian straightens, his expression hardening once more as he steps out. I follow close behind, acutely aware of his presence as we enter the grand foyer of his penthouse.
The moment the doors shut behind us, he turns sharply to face me. Luke and Hugh tactfully disappear down the hall, leaving us alone.
"Miss Steele," he begins, his tone clipped, "A word. Now."
I watch as he turns and strides away, his movements deliberate and precise. For a second, I stand rooted to the spot, my pulse quickening. Then, I follow, my heels clicking softly against the polished floor as I trail him through to the spacious living area.
I cross my arms, matching his intensity. "I'm all ears, Mr. Grey."
His eyes flash, and for a moment, I can't tell if it's anger, amusement, or something far more dangerous.
"Sit." He commands, gesturing to the sofa behind me, I comply without hesitation, which makes a hint of a smile appear on his face.
"Anastasia," he says sitting down on the dark wood coffee table in front of me. His eyes meet mine, he is deeply intimidating now. "If you were mine, you wouldn't be able to sit for a week after the stunt you pulled today," He says leaning forward, his voice low. To which I raise my eyebrows. If I were his?
We hold a gaze for a moment, goosebumps forming on my skin.
"And that smart mouth of yours -" he clears his throat before continuing.
"No more pushing boundaries, Am I clear?" he says pulling back from me.
I hold his gaze, refusing to let him see the impact his words has on me. "Crystal," I reply, my voice a tad unsteady.
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he might say more. But then he rises, the tension between us taut as a wire.
"Good," he says finally, turning away. "You're dismissed."
Without another word, I rise from the sofa and head down the hall toward the staff quarters, my pulse pounding in my ears.
The man is infuriating. Utterly and completely infuriating. And yet, as much as I want to hate him, I can't help but wonder what lies beneath that carefully controlled exterior.
Taylor was waiting for me around the corner in the open plan kitchen of the staff quarters.
"Not now, Dad. I know I'm in heaps of trouble, but can your chastising wait until tomorrow? That way, I can soak everything up at once," I say, forcing a small, tired smile.
Jason Taylor's usually unyielding expression softens slightly, his fatherly concern breaking through.
"Ana," he says, his tone quiet but firm, "you know you're like a daughter to me," this was not a question. This was his way of stating his disapproval of today's shenanigans.
I nod, guilt tightening my chest. "I know."
"This job's not easy—I won't sugarcoat that. But you've got to stand your ground. You've got what it takes, Ana, but you need to prove it." he says, his expression is a mix of disappointment and concern, a look I've seen from him far too often lately.
"Easy for you to say," I mutter, slipping off my shoes. "You've got decades of experience. Meanwhile, I'm just the screw-up everyone's counting down the days to get rid of."
Taylor frowns, his voice firm but steady. "You're not a screw-up, Ana. You've got potential, but you've got to stop letting people walk all over you. Like I said, stand your ground, or you'll keep feeling like this."
"I'll try, Jason," I say quietly, my voice heavy with weariness. "Thanks for… not piling on."
His posture relaxes slightly, and a trace of a smile touches his lips. "Get some rest, Ana. Tomorrow's a fresh start."
With that, he turns and heads toward Christian's office, leaving me standing there to process his words.
Dragging my feet, I finally reach the bedrooms, only to find Samantha Prescott poking her head out of her door, her smug smile already in place.
"Little Ana, always there to fuck things up," she says with a chuckle, her voice dripping with mockery. "Can't you do anything right?"
I straighten my posture, meeting her gaze with unflinching calm. "Funny, coming from someone who specializes in creating chaos," I reply smoothly, my voice steady. "At least when I step in, things actually get handled," I say unlocking my door.
Samantha's voice carries down the hallway as I leave her standing in the door of room, her tone dripping with mockery. "Oh, running away now, Ana? That's what you do best, isn't it?"
I don't bother turning around. Instead, I toss a reply over my shoulder, my voice calm but sharp enough to cut. "I'd rather walk away than waste my time arguing with someone who enjoys creating problems more than solving them."
I hear her scoff, followed by the distinct sound of her heels clicking against the floor as she paces in irritation. For a second, I think she's going to follow me. But I step inside and close the door firmly before she can respond.
Leaning back against the door, I take a deep breath, the tension in my chest finally starting to ease. The muffled sound of her pacing fades, leaving only the blissful quiet of my room.
I kick off the memory of that exchange along with the stress of the night. Right now, this room is my sanctuary, and not even Samantha's biting words can follow me in here.
I throw the shoes that I have been carrying on the floor in front of my dresser and flop onto the bed without bothering to change, the sticky shirt no longer bothering me. The familiar walls of my room feel more like a cage tonight, closing in as my thoughts spiral.
I close my eyes and let out a long breath. Tomorrow, I'll deal with the consequences. But right now, I need this moment to feel it all—the anger, the exhaustion, and the bitter taste of defeat. And the peculiar exchange Christian and I shared in his living room.
