A/N: This chapter is all about power shifts and control—or the illusion of it. Christian starts off believing he's in control, but by the end, both Elena and Ana have him questioning his own footing. Elena is a master manipulator, and while Christian tries to brush her off, she still manages to get under his skin, planting doubts and pushing buttons only she knows exist. Her connection to Vance adds another layer of danger, making it clear that Christian is caught in something much bigger than he realized.

But the real shift in this chapter? Ana.

This isn't the same woman Christian thought he had figured out. She's adapting, evolving—assessing him in ways that unsettle him. She's not just pushing back; she's asserting her own control without demanding it, and that unnerves him more than Elena ever could. He's used to dictating the pace, but Ana is flipping the script without even trying. And the fact that he lets her? That says everything.

The tension between them isn't just about trust—it's about what they're both hiding. Christian is desperate to keep Ana from seeing too much, but the problem is… she already does.

And that changes everything.

Let me know what you think—are you Team "Christian Needs to Spill the Truth" or Team "Ana is Two Steps Ahead Already"?

Twenty-Seven:

Christian's point of view:

The moment I stepped into the living room and saw Elena standing there, I knew I'd made a mistake not revoking her access to the building. How did she know I was working from home?

I should've told her to leave and never come back.

But I didn't.

Because despite every instinct screaming at me to stay the hell away from her, I needed to know why she was here. Why now?

She walked in like she owned the place, a ghost from my past slipping through the cracks I thought I'd sealed shut.

I stepped further into the room and exhaled sharply, already exhausted. "What do you want, Elena?"

She turned to face me, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "Are you really going to pretend you don't know?"

I held her gaze, unwavering. "I have nothing to say to you."

Her lips pressed together in a thin line, but she didn't leave. Instead, she strode to the bar, pouring herself a glass of my wine like she owned the place. The sound of liquid filling the glass was the only thing between us for a beat too long.

Then, she turned back, swirling the deep red liquid in slow circles. "You've been ignoring my messages and my calls."

I didn't respond. Because it was true.

She took a slow sip, watching me over the rim of her glass. "I don't appreciate being shut out, Christian."

I let out a humorless laugh. "I don't care what you appreciate."

Her eyes narrowed, and for the first time, the mask slipped. "You're being reckless."

My jaw tensed. "With what?"

She set her glass down harder than necessary. "With everything. With your business, with your choices. And with her."

Anastasia.

I kept my expression unreadable, but she saw the flicker of something in my eyes, because she smiled. A slow, knowing curve of her lips.

"I knew it." She tilted her head, watching me like I was a puzzle she was about to solve. "You should be more careful, Christian. People are starting to talk."

I clenched my fists at my sides. "People like you?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "This isn't personal. I've always looked out for you. Always made sure you didn't get distracted." Her eyes darkened. "And right now? You're distracted."

I exhaled sharply. "I'm not having this conversation with you."

Elena ignored me, stepping closer. "You forget, I know you. I know what you need."

I held my ground, but she didn't stop.

"I lined up the perfect one for you," she murmured. "Someone experienced. Someone who understands the rules."

Disgust curdled in my stomach.

"Jesus, Elena." I dragged a hand through my hair, turning away from her. "I don't want—"

"What?" she snapped. "You don't want control anymore? You don't want the structure?"

I turned back, my voice ice. "I don't want you meddling in my life."

Her lips parted slightly, as if I'd struck her. But then she composed herself, smoothing a hand over her dress.

"You're making a mistake," she said, voice softer now, more measured. "You think this is real. That you can be—" she gestured vaguely at me "—normal. But you and I both know that's not who you are."

I didn't flinch. Didn't move.

Because I had nothing to prove to her.

She exhaled, eyes searching mine for something she wasn't going to find.

Then, as if flicking a switch, her expression changed. The anger faded, replaced with something cold.

"You'll see," she murmured, reaching for her wine again. "You always do."

I was about to tell her to get the hell out when she spoke again.

"Vance is watching you."

That gave me pause.

Elena saw it. Saw the shift in my stance, the tension in my shoulders. And she smiled like she'd won something.

I swallowed the sharp retort on my tongue, keeping my voice even. "What are you talking about?"

She swirled her wine again, slow, deliberate. "He doesn't like loose ends. And right now? You're one."

I exhaled through my nose, controlled. "And how do you know that?"

Her smile turned razor-sharp. "Because I know him."

I stared at her, waiting for more, but she just sipped her wine, unbothered.

"You don't have to believe me," she said lightly. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

I clenched my jaw, my mind already working through the angles.

Elena never did anything without a reason.

Michael Vance wasn't just a crime boss.

He was the kind of man whose name wasn't spoken loudly, even in the circles that knew him. He moved through Seattle's underbelly like a shadow, always a step ahead, always in control. Drugs, arms, money laundering—Vance had his hands in all of it. But what made him more dangerous than the average criminal was his network. He didn't just have money or muscle—he had influence. Cops, politicians, businessmen—people who should have had no reason to associate with him somehow always seemed to owe him favors.

And when Vance wanted something, he got it.

No one crossed him and walked away unscathed.

I first heard his name years ago, whispered among the high-profile elite—the kind of people who dealt with him behind closed doors, terrified of what would happen if they didn't hold up their end of the bargain.

But I never thought I'd cross his radar.

Vance didn't deal with people unless they were useful to him.

And Elena?

She had always been a master manipulator. A woman who knew how to align herself with power, how to play people like chess pieces to maintain control.

Now she was here, standing in my living room, telling me that Vance was watching me.

Why?

What the hell did she really know?

And more importantly—what wasn't she saying?

I stand near the windows, my back straight, my hands curled into fists at my sides. Tension coils in my muscles, sharp and unyielding. But I don't move. I don't turn. I don't look at her.

I hear Mia stiffen. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Elena's amused chuckle grates against my nerves. "Really, Mia, must you always be so dramatic?"

I school my features, force my breathing to remain steady. The sound of her voice is an unwelcome intrusion—one I should have stopped the moment she stepped through my door.

She turns her attention to Ana. I can feel it, the weight of her gaze.

Her smirk deepens. "Anastasia. We meet again."

Ana doesn't react. I know she won't. She just watches. Calculating. Assessing.

Elena tilts her head, her eyes tracing over Ana like she's piecing together a puzzle. "You know, I have to admit," she muses, "I was surprised when I first saw you. Something about you felt… familiar." A pause. Then, softly, "But now, I see it."

Ana's voice is smooth, unaffected. "See what exactly?"

Elena's smile sharpens. "You're not like the others."

That's enough. My control is fraying.

"Elena, leave." My voice is cold. Firm. Final.

She doesn't even flinch. "I came to talk, Christian. And since she's always around, I assume that means she's part of the conversation now?"

Mia crosses her arms. "She's more than you'll ever be."

Elena's smile falters, just for a second, before she masks it with another calculated smirk. Her focus settles back on Ana.

"You must be proud," she murmurs, her voice dripping with something insidious. "A woman like you, standing in this house, at his side."

Ana doesn't bite. She just holds Elena's gaze, waiting.

Elena leans in, her smirk razor-sharp. "Tell me, dear. How does it feel to know you're just another phase?"

I move before I can stop myself. "Enough."

My voice slices through the air, sharp and unyielding.

Elena sighs and stands, feigning nonchalance. "Fine. I can see when I'm not wanted." She picks up her purse, but before she leaves, she pauses beside Ana, lowering her voice.

I know the moment she says something. Ana doesn't react, not outwardly, but I feel the shift in the air.

And then Elena is gone.

The door shuts behind her, but the tension she leaves behind lingers, heavy and suffocating.

I exhale sharply, running a hand over my face, trying to push down the frustration boiling beneath my skin.

Mia turns to me, her eyes blazing. "Why the hell was she here?"

My jaw tightens. I don't want to say her name. I don't even want to acknowledge her existence right now.

"It doesn't matter," I grit out. "She won't be back."

A movement catches my attention, and I glance at Ana. She's watching me—closely. Her expression unreadable, but her eyes… they're searching. For what, I don't know. But the weight of her gaze settles deep in my chest, tightening something inside me.

Mia exhales sharply, shaking her head. "I swear, if she ever comes back here—" She stops herself, her fists clenching. With a frustrated sigh, she turns toward the hallway. "I need to call Mom."

Sawyer hesitates. His eyes flick to Ana—not to me, to her. Assessing. Concerned. Like I'm not standing right here.

"You good?" he asks.

Ana nods. "Yeah."

But that's not enough for him. He studies her for a second longer than necessary, like he doesn't trust her answer. Like he doesn't trust me.

My jaw tightens.

Finally, he follows Mia, leaving us alone.

The second the room is empty, Ana turns to me, and I already see the fire in her eyes.

This is going to be a fight.

"My office," I say, my voice low but firm. "Now."

I don't wait for her to respond—just turn and walk toward the hallway, knowing she'll follow.

As soon as the door clicks shut, she crosses her arms, her posture unyielding. "Why was she here?"

The interrogation was immediate. I launched into a summary: Vance, continuously hearing of Anastasia's distrust of Elena – the details I knew she'd want. Inside, I was calculating every word, desperate to keep the conversation away from her other real reason for being there, the submissive she apparently has lined up for me, and my connection to Anastasia. Her gaze, however, was sharp, dissecting me, searching for any tell in my expression or posture.

"Did Elena say anything else?" she asks.

I flex my fingers, trying to temper the frustration boiling beneath my skin. "No. Just that she came to warn me."

Ana lets out a quiet scoff. "You really think she's looking out for you?"

Doubt flickers in my mind, but I shove it down. "I don't trust her," I say finally. "But I needed to hear her out."

She watches me, arms crossed. "And what if this is all just another game? Another way to manipulate you?"

My eyes lock onto hers. "Then I guess we find out."

"I don't trust her," she says, steady and firm.

I drag a hand through my hair. "Neither do I."

"Then why let her in?" she presses.

I grit my teeth. "Because if she has information about Vance, I need to hear it."

Ana shakes her head. "You think she's suddenly decided to be helpful? After we saw her with him?"

Her silence is answer enough.

"She's playing you, Christian." Her words are measured, but I hear the warning beneath them. "She's moving pieces behind the scenes."

I inhale sharply, the doubt settling deeper.

"She said he's watching me," I admit. "That he's not done."

Ana stills, but her voice stays steady. "Why would he be watching you?"

I hesitate, my gaze meeting hers. And finally, I admit—

"I don't know."

The words taste wrong coming out of my mouth, bitter and foreign. I hate not having control, not having the answers she wants. The way she studies me makes my skin tighten, like she's peeling back layers I don't want exposed.

"You don't know," she echoes, slow, deliberate. "Or you don't want to say?"

My fingers flex at my sides, my whole body coiled with tension. "I don't have all the answers, Ana."

"That's not what I asked."

Silence.

She steps closer, unyielding. "Christian, you knew she was lying the second she walked through that door, and yet you still listened to her. Why?"

My jaw tightens, my thoughts churning.

"She knows something," I say for the how manyth time. "Something I don't."

Ana holds my gaze, weighing my words. "And you think she's just going to hand it over?"

"No." My lips press into a thin line. "But I'll figure out what she's hiding."

Ana exhales slowly, crossing her arms. "And in the meantime?"

I drag a hand over my face, frustration threading through my veins. "In the meantime, I stay ahead of her."

She doesn't look convinced. I can see it in her stance, in the way she sets her jaw. But she also knows I've already made up my mind.

She takes another breath, steady and measured. "Then you need to be careful."

My gaze sharpens. "I always am."

Ana shakes her head. "No, Christian. Not just with her." Her voice lowers, edged with something close to warning. "With me."

My brows pull together. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," she says slowly, "that I see more than you think. And if you keep keeping things from me, I will find out anyway."

A muscle in my jaw ticks, but I don't argue.

Damn. How much does she know? The thought sent a chill down my spine. I forced myself to remain calm. Play it cool. Don't give her anything.

Ana remains still, unreadable. But I can see it—the way her mind works, the gears turning as she processes the information. Assessing and calculating her next move.

And just like that, the dynamic shifts. I'm not the only target anymore.

But something else gnaws at me. Ana took control—asserted herself in a way I didn't expect. The way she commands the space, the way she doesn't hesitate to challenge me… it unsettles me. I'm always the one in control. Always the one dictating how things go. And yet, she flips that balance without breaking a sweat. It makes me uneasy. It makes me… curious. That conflict churns inside me, a silent battle between instinct and something I'm not ready to name

As the silence stretches between us, I realize something unsettling—Ana isn't just questioning me. She's testing me. Watching me with the kind of calculated patience I've only ever seen in men who know how to break others down piece by piece. It's not just suspicion. It's something sharper.

She's changed.

The shift isn't loud or obvious, but it's there. In the way she holds herself, the way she meets my gaze without hesitation. A few days ago, she would've been irritated, frustrated maybe—but now? She's completely in control, her expression unreadable, her presence deliberate.

And that's what unnerves me.

Because I don't know what she's thinking.

With anyone else, I'd know exactly how to handle this conversation. I'd steer it, dictate the terms. But with Ana, the usual rules don't apply. She sees through me in ways no one else ever has. It's like she's waiting for me to slip up—to reveal something I don't even realize I'm hiding.

And the worst part?

I almost do.

I don't like this feeling. This lack of control. It coils inside me, tight and restless, a whisper of something dangerously close to fear. Not of her—but of what she might already know.

Elena thought she had me figured out. That she could manipulate me the way she always has. But Ana? She doesn't need manipulation. She doesn't demand control.

She just takes it.

And I let her.

That realization settles deep in my chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. I don't let anyone have power over me. Not since Elena. Not since I clawed my way out of the life she convinced me I needed.

So why is Ana different?

Why do I want her to see me, to understand me, even when I know it's dangerous?

I shake the thought away, focusing on the moment. I need to regain control, to push this conversation where I want it to go.

But when I look at her again, I know—

I've already lost this round.