16. Valen

CHAPTER 16

VALEN

I find her at the end of her shift, meticulously arranging the silverware in the dining room. Her back is stiff, and her movements mechanical. She’s been avoiding me, I know.

"Ariana," I call out softly. She turns, her eyes wary.

"Valen," she replies, keeping her tone neutral.

"Can we talk?" I ask, stepping closer.

She hesitates but then nods. "Alright."

We move to my study. I pour us both a drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. Our fingers brush as I hand it to her. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.

"Why did you want to talk?" she asks, taking a small sip.

"Because if we’re going to move forward, you need to know why this matters so much to me." I gesture around the room, indicating more than just the study. "Why it's so vital that my business here on Armstrong is a success, and why this upset has me so stressed."

Her eyes narrow slightly, curiosity piqued. "Go on."

"I wasn’t always wealthy," I start, leaning against the edge of my desk. "When I was very young, I signed up to work in a factory. It was my only way out from under my father and older brother. They made it a point to make my life hell. So I made it a point to do everything I could to escape."

She nods slowly, encouraging me without words.

"I worked hard," I continue. "Saved every credit I could until I had enough to escape." My jaw tightens at the memory. "But not before realizing what that factory produced."

"What was it?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Weapons," I say bluntly. "Weapons that were used to destroy my home."

Her eyes widen, and she sets her glass down carefully. "Your home? You mean...?"

"Yes," I confirm. "Just like you, everything I had was lost. I saw the smoking crater of my childhood home and felt the deepest passion to change everything. This planet, Armstrong, reminds me of my home. Of that destruction. I think of it as a second chance."

She looks down at her hands, processing my revelation. "So that's why you're here now? To rebuild what was lost?"

"In a way," I admit. "But it's more than that. It's about making sure no one else has to go through what I did. A booming economy built on industry instead of war. An honest pay for honest work. That's what I want to establish here."

Her eyes meet mine again, softer now but still guarded. "That’s... noble."

"Noble or not, it's the truth," I say with a shrug. "And it’s why I can’t afford distractions."

She flinches slightly at the word 'distractions,' and I curse inwardly for my poor choice of words.

"Ariana," I say more gently this time, reaching out and taking her hand in mine. "You’re not a distraction. You're... something else entirely."

Her fingers tremble in my grasp, but she doesn't pull away.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" she asks quietly.

"Because it's not easy for me to open up," I admit, my voice rough with honesty. "But if we're going to make this work—whatever 'this' is—I need you to understand where I'm coming from."

She studies me for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Alright."

I can sense Ariana's skepticism, a tension in the air that I can almost taste. She's not convinced I've told her everything. Hell, I haven't. But I've opened the door, and now she stands on the threshold.

"You can ask me anything," I say, meeting her gaze steadily. "From now on."

She takes a moment, her eyes searching mine as if weighing the truth of my words. "How did you make your fortune?" she finally asks. "Factory work doesn’t make anyone a billionaire."

I smile, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. "No, it doesn’t." I take a deep breath, leaning back against my desk. "I used what little I had to start making investments."

"Investments?" Her brow furrows.

"Yes," I say, my voice low and steady. "But not the kind you read about in business magazines. Shady businesses, places most people wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole."

She shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t interrupt.

"I got my hands dirty," I continue. "Even bloody at times. I learned how to use gossip to my advantage, how to manipulate situations to get what I wanted."

Her eyes widen slightly, but she says nothing.

"I knew exactly when to cash out," I say, a bitter edge creeping into my tone. "Right before a business was busted or lost everything. It was a game of high stakes and higher risks."

"That sounds... dangerous," she says quietly.

"It was," I admit. "But it was the only way to build something from nothing. The only way to make sure I’d never be powerless again."

She looks down at her hands, processing my words. "So you are a war profiteer," she murmurs.

"Exactly," I reply. "And it paid off. But it left its mark."

She glances up at me, her eyes searching mine for something—perhaps honesty, perhaps remorse.

"And now?" she asks softly.

"Now?" I echo, feeling the insecurity behind her question. "Now I want to use what I've built to make a difference here on Armstrong."

Ariana studies me for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Alright," she says finally.

It's not full acceptance, but it's a start. And for now, it's enough.

"Thank you for telling me," she adds, her voice softer.

"You deserved to know," I say simply.

We fall into silence, shared truths hanging between us like an unspoken pact. For once, it feels like we’re standing on even ground—both scarred by our pasts but looking toward a future that might just be worth fighting for.

As I look into her eyes, I realize the weight of my confession. She might think worse of me for admitting my faults, and that thought gnaws at me.

"Ariana," I say, my voice low but steady. "No matter what I've done in the past, my business now is honest. All I want is to build Armstrong into something great, and to protect you."

Her eyes soften slightly, but I can still see the doubt lingering there.

"And more than anything," I continue, stepping closer and taking her hand in mine, "I want you by my side. I want to learn about your dreams, support them. You deserve that much."

She blinks rapidly, her guard momentarily slipping. "You... you really mean that?"

"I do," I say firmly. "Every word."

Ariana moves closer and wraps her arms around me in a warm embrace. Her head rests against my chest, and I can feel the rapid beat of her heart. I hold her tightly, relishing the closeness.

But there's a hint of stiffness in her embrace—a shadow of doubt she can't quite shake off.

"Valen," she murmurs against my chest, "it's just... it's hard to reconcile everything. The rumors, your past... It's a lot."

"I understand," I reply softly. "But I'll prove myself to you. One step at a time."

The evening stretches on, a quiet bubble of intimacy around us. I light a few candles, their flickering light casting warm shadows on Ariana's face. She looks beautiful, ethereal almost, and I feel an overwhelming urge to protect her.

"Do you ever get tired of all this?" she asks, breaking the silence. "The wealth, the parties, the constant vigilance?"

I chuckle softly. "More than you know. It's all a game, really. A tiring one."

She raises an eyebrow. "Then why play it?"

I take a moment to think. "Because stepping away means losing everything I've built. And right now, Armstrong needs stability."

Ariana nods slowly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "And what about you? What do you need?"

Her question catches me off guard. What do I need? The answer seems so simple yet impossibly complex when it comes to her.

"I need..." I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. "I need to know you're safe and happy here."

She gives me a small smile, but there's a shadow of doubt in her eyes. "It's hard to trust when there are so many secrets."

I reach out, taking her hand in mine again. "Then let’s take it one step at a time. I'll be as open as I can be."

Her gaze softens slightly, and she squeezes my hand gently. "Alright," she says quietly.

We lapse into a comfortable silence, just enjoying each other's presence. It's strange how natural it feels to be with her, like some part of me has always known this moment would come.

"I used to dream about places like this," she murmurs after a while.

"Oh?" I prompt.

"Yeah," she says with a wistful smile. "Growing up in Armstrong's ruins... it wasn't easy. I'd imagine grand estates and gardens where everything was perfect."

I squeeze her hand reassuringly. "It's not perfect here either," I say softly. "But maybe together we can make it close."

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, there's an unspoken understanding between us—a fragile bridge built on shared dreams and whispered promises.

As the night wears on, we talk about everything and nothing—childhood memories, favorite foods, silly anecdotes that make us both laugh until our sides ache. It's easy with her; the weight of my responsibilities lifts just a little in her presence.

I feel like I can trust her with my burdens; all of them. And perhaps one day I will. I can only hope she feels the same way about me.

But trust is earned slowly and lost quickly—I'll have to tread carefully if I want this fragile bridge between us to grow stronger.