Substitute Bride To The Blind Billionaire

The room was silent except for the faint sound of Anastasia’s uneven breathing. She froze the moment he stepped closer. His presence was overwhelming, almost magnetic, and she felt rooted to the spot.

“Has the cat got your tongue?” Sebastian’s voice was low and firm. He could smell her presence instantly, the faint trace of her perfume unmistakable.

Anastasia’s eyes widened in terror. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. No sound came out. Her heart pounded harder. She wanted to apologize, explain, beg, but her voice had betrayed her.

“I will call my escorts,” she said finally, her tone trembling slightly.

The threat of silence hung in the air, pressing down on her. Sebastian did not move. He waited, watching her.

“No, sir, please do not do that,” she said quickly, stepping closer, desperate to calm him. Her heart raced as her eyes met his bright blue ones. They were sharp, unyielding, impossible to ignore.

“I am not a bad person,” she added hurriedly. “I do not know why I am here. I only remember feeling unwell and then… passing out.”

Sebastian’s lips curled slightly. “Or maybe you are an imposter. Maybe all you want is money.”

“That is not true, sir!” Anastasia exclaimed, shaking her head. “I don’t even know how I got here. I did not come here to steal or cheat anyone. I promise, I meant no harm.”

She tried to step past him, but Sebastian’s hand shot out, gripping her arm firmly. She froze, her pulse spiking as fear and curiosity collided.

“Let me go, please!” she pleaded. Standing so close, she could see every sharp line of his face, every piercing detail of his eyes.

“What is your name?” His tone was sudden and demanding, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Why do you need to know my name, sir? Do you want to take me to prison?” she asked nervously.

“Answer!” he snapped, his blue eyes burning into hers.

“Anastasia Parker,” she said carefully. Then she added quickly, “Please let me go. I promise I will disappear immediately if you release me.”

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, observing her. “The sun has not risen yet, and my hacienda is far from town,” he said thoughtfully. “You are awake, and yet you stand here, unafraid. I want to know more about you.”

“I have faced worse things in my life,” she said softly, trying to steady herself. “But I really need to go home now. I cannot stay here.”

“Is your husband waiting for you?” he asked boldly, loosening his grip slightly.

“I… I do not have a husband, sir,” she said, her hands trembling. “I am not running away. I only wish to leave safely.”

“I do not trust anyone,” he said bluntly.

“You will have to,” she replied firmly, though her voice quivered. “Because you are hurting me.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. He disliked being ordered or challenged.

“What exactly are you doing here?” he demanded.

Anastasia hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. In her profession, she always wore a mask, hiding her true self. “I am a maid, sir,” she said cautiously, weaving a small lie. “But sometimes I do not have steady work. I need to leave now, if that is acceptable.”

Sebastian studied her closely. There was something strange in her behavior, something he could not immediately place.

“I want to make you a proposition,” he said, and Anastasia felt her heart leap. Her mind raced with questions.

“You will pay me?” she asked cautiously, curiosity mingling with apprehension.

“I will pay you enough,” he said simply. “I am supposed to be married in two days, but I do not want questions. I need you to take the place of my ex-girlfriend.”

“What?!” Anastasia gasped, eyes wide with shock.

“You will earn a lot of money,” he continued. “Do you need it?”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“But nothing,” he interrupted sharply. “I need a concrete answer. Yes or no. Now.”

Anastasia hesitated. She needed money desperately. For her mother’s medications, for her daily survival. Maybe this man, this powerful stranger, could give her a lifeline. She swallowed her fear.

“Yes… I agree to be your substitute wife,” she said finally.

“You must be full-time for me,” he said sternly.

“Sir, please, I cannot,” she replied immediately, her hands pressed together nervously.

Sebastian’s silence was heavy, filled with implied disapproval. He wanted someone who could dedicate herself fully.

“But I want to do it,” she said quickly. “I only ask for a few hours off. The rest of the time, I will be available to you. Please give me this opportunity.”

“I will allow three hours off,” he said. “Everything else must be for me. What you see and hear is confidential. Do you accept this agreement?”

Anastasia nodded, her pulse racing. “I accept, sir. But… may I know your name?”

“Sebastian Parrow,” he said, as if it was obvious.

“Mr. Parrow, I promise you will not regret hiring me,” she said boldly, shaking his large hand with her small one. An electric jolt seemed to pass between them. She quickly withdrew her hand, cheeks burning.

“Be here at eight in the morning,” he said. “Do not be late. And while you are here, bring me a glass of water. Now.”

Anastasia’s eyes widened. He was commanding and intimidating, yet there was something magnetic about him. She exhaled and headed toward the kitchen, her mind racing.

The kitchen was huge and luxurious, unlike any place she had ever seen. She poured a glass of water, careful not to spill a drop, and carried it back to him.

“Here, Mr. Parrow,” she said, holding out the glass.

He took it with perfect precision, without a word of thanks, and walked slowly to his room. Anastasia watched him go, her heart racing and her mind swirling. A few words, a few moments with him, and she already felt a strange pull toward the powerful man.

For the first time in her life, she realized that the simplest interaction could ignite fear, curiosity, and admiration all at once.

***

The next morning, Sebastian Parrow could not shake a restless energy that clung to him from the moment he opened his eyes. He was a man who lived in control, who thrived on routine and certainty, but something about the deal he had made with Anastasia lingered at the edges of his thoughts. It made him uneasy, though he would never admit it aloud.

By the time the clock struck seven, he was already dressed, his valet having helped him into a charcoal suit that fit him as if it had been stitched to his frame. The faint scent of his cologne drifted in the air, sharp and clean, familiar to him by touch and repetition. With his cane in hand, he paced the living room, each tap against the polished marble floor echoing in the silence. The rhythm was steady, yet his movements betrayed an agitation he loathed.

He told himself he was not waiting for her. It was a transaction, nothing more. Still, when the silence stretched too long, his head tilted slightly, listening for footsteps that had not yet come.

Leandro strolled in, his usual unbothered presence filling the room. The sound of his shoes was casual, unhurried. Sebastian knew him well enough to picture him: shirt sleeves rolled, dark hair untidy, carrying an air of easy confidence that grated against Sebastian’s tightly wound composure.

“What are you doing here this early?” Leandro asked, amusement in his voice.

Sebastian’s jaw worked, but he did not answer right away. His fingers tightened on the silver handle of his cane.

Leandro chuckled softly. “Ah, I see. You’re waiting. For her.”

“I’m not waiting,” Sebastian replied flatly. His tone was firm, but the conviction was thinner than he intended.

Leandro moved closer. Sebastian could hear the faint brush of fabric and the light scuff of shoes against the floor. “Don’t bother denying it. You’re standing in your living room, dressed like a groom about to take vows. That doesn’t happen by accident.”

“You exaggerate,” Sebastian muttered.

“You deigned to appear before breakfast,” Leandro pressed, his words deliberately taunting. “And for Sebastian Parrow, who never stirs before the world bends to him, to be pacing with that cane like a caged wolf? There’s only one reason. Who is she? Or better yet, what mess have you stepped into this time?”

Sebastian adjusted his cufflinks, an unnecessary motion done out of habit more than need. “Her name is Anastasia. The intruder from last night. I offered her to be my wife.”

Leandro blinked, stunned into silence for a moment, then barked out a laugh. “You what?”

“If she doesn’t arrive by eight o’clock,” Sebastian continued, his tone clipped, “do not let her in.”

Leandro’s humor drained, replaced by disbelief. “Are you insane? You barely know this girl. You can’t just pull a stranger into your life and decide she’ll be your wife.”

Sebastian’s expression remained blank, his blind eyes fixed somewhere near Leandro’s voice. “I know what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t,” Leandro snapped. “You’re playing with fire. She’s not like the women you’ve toyed with before. She looks like a good girl, Sebastian. You could ruin her.”

“I don’t care,” Sebastian replied, voice sharp, cutting. “She will be useful to me for what I need.”

Leandro folded his arms, his frustration clear in the rough edge of his sigh. “Useful? She’s not a pawn on a chessboard. She’s a person. What exactly are you planning to do with her?”

“She will be my wife in name,” Sebastian said firmly, his cane clicking once against the marble as if to punctuate his words. “And she will be my chambermaid—the one who must do everything I tell her.”

Leandro shook his head, disbelief heavy in his voice. “You’re serious.”

“I do not joke about such matters.”

“That much is obvious,” Leandro muttered. He paced a step, then stopped, his voice lower but no less insistent. “This is madness.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “I am not asking for your opinion, Leandro.”

“You’re more bitter than a lemon, Sebastian,” Leandro said quietly. “I know what life did to you is cruel, but I hope this girl… I hope she finds a way to crack that stone heart of yours.”

“Never,” Sebastian said, voice like steel. “It’s dead.”

For a long moment, the two men stood in silence. Then Leandro let out a small laugh, the kind that came when he knew arguing further was useless. Yet behind his smile was something else—something softer. He had seen Anastasia yesterday. There was a quiet strength in her, one that Leandro suspected could shake even Sebastian.

Sebastian, of course, refused to entertain such foolishness. He turned slightly toward the window, his head angled as though he could see beyond it. In truth, he was listening to the faint rustle of leaves, the distant hum of a car and the ticking of the clock.

Though he had not eaten, his stomach twisted with a strange tension. He told himself again that it was only because he despised waiting. But deep down, something unspoken gnawed at him.

“You like this girl,” Leandro said suddenly, tone half-mocking, half-curious.

Sebastian turned toward the sound of his voice, his expression hard. “Don’t make foolish jokes.”

Leandro grinned, unbothered. “Then why do you look like a man awaiting judgment?”

Before Sebastian could answer, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Soft, steady steps approaching the living room. Both men turned their attention toward the door.

Anastasia stepped inside.

Sebastian couldn’t see her, but he heard the delicate fall of her steps, the faint rustle of her dress brushing against her legs as she moved further into the room. A faint current of air followed her, carrying her scent with it; a mixture of something sweet and flowery, soft yet distinct, like fresh petals after rain.

The air shifted with her presence, carrying something unfamiliar yet grounding.

Leandro’s gaze sharpened, taking her in. She was in a simple dress, hair falling softly, dignity in every line of her posture.

“Good morning, Mr. Parrow."