Vincent Blackwood had never experienced helplessness.
From the moment he was born, he was destined to stand above the world—an unparalleled genius, the son of two of the most powerful and beautiful people on the planet. He had lived with the unwavering certainty that there was nothing beyond his reach, nothing he couldn't control.
But Anastasia Raventhorn Vasiliev had undone him in ways no one else could.
He had spent years maneuvering, playing every game necessary to prove his devotion. He had changed industries, abandoned his business empire, and thrown himself into acting—all because he believed it would bring him closer to her.
And yet—
One month.
Thirty days.
Seven hundred and twenty hours.
Not a single glance.
Not a single moment where she had acknowledged his existence.
Vincent had waited at first. He convinced himself that it was only a test, that Anastasia was simply toying with him as she always did. She wanted to see how far he would go. She wanted to see if he was worthy of her.
But as the days turned into weeks, the silence remained.
And Vincent was forced to confront the possibility that she wasn't testing him.
That, perhaps, she had erased him completely.
It was not jealousy that consumed him—jealousy was too shallow, too meaningless to describe the abyss swallowing him whole.
It was possession.
It was the unshakable truth that Anastasia belonged to him.
Not because of something as fragile as love. Not because of the world's expectations.
But because it was the only reality that had ever existed.
From the moment she had placed her hands in his as a child, from the moment she had unknowingly bound herself to him with her mere existence—Vincent had known.
She was his.
And now, she was trying to rewrite that truth.
He would not allow it.