Revenge is My Love Language novel Chapter 3

“Mary, please escort Mrs. Lancaster upstairs.”

Anastasia’s nerves, which had been a tangled mess, suddenly calmed.-

Swept up in a surge of emotion, she rushed forward and threw her arms around Harrison in a quick, impulsive hug. Her voice, soft but resolute, brimmed with promise. “I’ll take good care of you. I mean it.”

It was just a hug—brief, almost clumsy—but for Anastasia, it was the closest she’d ever been to him, in this lifetime or the last.

She hadn’t thought much before acting, but the moment her arms wrapped around him and she caught his scent, her cheeks flushed hot. She let go as quickly as she’d grabbed on, then darted away without a backward glance.

Upstairs, her face was still burning, and she found herself both embarrassed at her own impulsiveness and worried. Harrison was a man known for his aversion to physical contact; what if he hated her now?

Downstairs.

It took Harrison a moment to recover after Anastasia disappeared from view, her graceful figure vanishing up the staircase.

Protect him…?

He could still feel the lingering softness of her embrace, oddly novel and strangely pleasant. It was the first time anyone had said something like that to him.

Standing nearby, Logan was doing his best to hide his shock.

Mr. Lancaster wasn’t angry? Not even a little put off?

Last time, when Ms. Lancaster had thrown herself at him, he’d looked like thunder and nearly kicked her out the door.

Upstairs.

Mary, the housekeeper, led Anastasia to her room. Anastasia could sense the woman’s disapproval; she wore it like a badge.

Stopping at the doorway, Anastasia hesitated. “I’m staying here?”

She’d spent years in Rosewood Manor in her previous life and knew the place inside out. This was just a standard guest room, far from Harrison’s quarters.

And yet, wasn’t she supposed to be the lady of the house now?

Anastasia’s eyes softened with a trace of nostalgia—she recognized it immediately. This was Harrison’s room.

“Alright, you can go,” Anastasia said without a second thought, stepping inside and casually adding, “Bring me a set of clean clothes, would you?”

She hadn’t packed much, having originally planned to elope with Aaron, so she didn’t have a change of clothes. But she knew Rosewood Manor always kept fresh clothing for guests.

Meanwhile, downstairs—

Penelope had been barely able to contain her excitement since stepping through the front door.

Most women steered clear of Mr. Lancaster as if he were cursed, but not her.

Mr. Lancaster—who was he? Even if he was ill, even if he didn’t have long to live, being his woman meant unimaginable privilege.

It stung—she was a Sterling too. Why wasn’t she good enough to marry into this family?