5. Ariana

CHAPTER 5

ARIANA

T he job offer from Valen looms over me like a shadow. The memory of his touch at the party sends a shiver down my spine, not unpleasant but certainly unsettling. There's an intensity about him, something that whispers danger even as it draws me in. The rumors I overheard about his past—the war profiteering, the mysterious investments—echo in my mind, clashing with the image of the man who steadied me when I stumbled.

I need advice. Good, honest advice. So, I head over to Kaitlyn’s place. She lives in a slightly less decrepit building nearby my home. When she opens the door, her face lights up.

“Ariana! You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Close enough,” I mutter, stepping inside.

Kaitlyn’s apartment is cozy in a way mine could never be—cluttered but clean, with the smell of something savory simmering on the stove. We're both struggling, but it's easier for her to find steady work. And it shows.

Kaitlyn was a trained chef before everything went to shit here. Her skills are in much higher demand, and it dawns on me that she might not quite understand how desperate of a situation I'm in.

“So, what’s up?” She flops onto her worn couch and gestures for me to sit.

“Valen offered me a job,” I blurt out, sitting beside her. “Full-time at his estate.”

Her eyes widen. “ The Valen? As in mysterious-billionaire-Valen?”

I nod.

“Wow. Didn’t see that coming.” She tilts her head. “Why you?”

“Beats me.” I shrug. “He seemed... interested at the party. But there’s something about him, Kaitlyn. He’s kind but... there are so many rumors.”

She crosses her arms and leans back. “Like what?”

“War profiteer, shady investments. Stuff like that.”

Kaitlyn whistles low. “Sounds like a soap opera villain.”

“Exactly! And yet... he was kind to me when I almost made a fool of myself.”

“He probably wants to make sure his expensive rugs stay clean,” she says with a smirk.

“Maybe,” I admit, unable to help smiling back.

“But seriously,” she continues, her tone softening, “what do you think?”

“I think I’m desperate enough to consider it.” The words taste bitter in my mouth.

She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Look, Ariana, I get it. Bills don’t pay themselves. But this guy... he sounds dangerous.”

“I know,” I sigh. “But what choice do I have?”

“There are always choices,” she says firmly. “Just be careful, okay? Don’t let his money or those smoldering eyes blind you.”

“You think his eyes smolder?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh please,” she laughs. “Even from afar he’s got that brooding thing going on.”

I laugh too, feeling some of the tension ease out of my shoulders.

“But seriously,” she says again, more quietly this time, “keep your guard up.”

“I will,” I promise.

We sit there for a while longer, chatting about safer topics—her latest kitchen disaster and my attempts at knitting—until it’s time for me to head back to my tiny apartment and face the decision waiting for me.

As I walk home through the dimly lit streets of Armstrong, Kaitlyn’s words echo in my mind: keep your guard up. But as much as I try to steel myself against whatever dangers Valen might pose, there’s no denying the magnetic pull he has on me—a pull that feels almost... inevitable.

The phone feels heavy in my hand as I dial the number for Valen's estate. My heart races with each ring, and I'm almost relieved when a butler answers, his voice smooth and detached.

“Valen’s residence. How may I assist you?”

“Hi, this is Ariana. I’ve decided to accept the job offer,” I say, my voice steady despite the whirlwind inside me.

“Very well, Miss Ariana. Please pack your belongings and be here at dawn. You’ll start immediately.”

“Dawn?” I echo, a bit thrown off by the abruptness.

“Yes, ma’am. Is that acceptable?”

“Uh, yes. Of course.”

“Excellent. We’ll see you then.” He hangs up without another word.

I stare at the phone for a moment, feeling the gravity of what I’ve just agreed to. This is it—no turning back now. I pack my few belongings quickly: some clothes, toiletries, and a couple of keepsakes. My small apartment looks even more barren as I zip up my bag.

Morning arrives too soon. The sky barely lightens as I make my way to Valen's estate, a sprawling fortress that seems to mock the decaying city around it. The gates open silently at my arrival, and a butler—probably the same one from the phone—greets me.

“Miss Ariana,” he says with a curt nod. “This way.”

He leads me through hallways that seem to stretch forever, each one more opulent than the last but never crossing into ostentatiousness. The air smells faintly of polished wood and something floral.

“This will be your room,” he says, opening a door to a modest but comfortable space. “You’ll find your uniform in the closet.”

I nod and step inside, setting my bag down on the neatly made bed. The uniform—a simple dress in muted colors—hangs in the closet as promised.

After changing quickly, I’m led to meet one of the maids who’ll show me around.

“Welcome, I'm Lila,” she says with a bright smile that feels like sunshine cutting through fog.

“Ariana,” I reply, trying to match her enthusiasm but feeling more like a creature caught in a hover car's headlights.

“Don’t worry,” she says with a wink as if reading my mind. “You’ll get used to it.”

We walk through various rooms—the grand dining hall with its massive table that could seat an army, the kitchen bustling with staff preparing breakfast, and several sitting rooms that look like they belong in a palace rather than someone's home.

“The estate is huge,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.

Lila laughs lightly. “Yeah, but you’ll find your way around soon enough.”

We stop by a large window overlooking manicured gardens that seem out of place on war-torn Armstrong.

“What exactly will I be doing?” I ask.

“A bit of everything,” Lila replies. “Cleaning mostly, but also serving meals when there are guests and helping maintain order around here.”

“And everyone’s okay?”

Lila’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Well-behaved enough not to bite.”

As we continue our tour, meeting other staff members who offer nods or brief smiles, it strikes me how functional everything is despite its luxury. Each piece of furniture serves its purpose without cluttering space; every hallway is meticulously clean yet devoid of unnecessary decoration.

“So,” Lila says as we finish up near what she calls ‘the nerve center’—an office where daily schedules are planned out. "Any questions?"

I shake my head slowly. “Not right now.”

She pats my shoulder reassuringly before heading off to her duties. Alone for the first time since arriving here this morning; uncertainty gnaws at me again—but there’s also an odd sense of belonging settling in my bones.

One step at a time.

The task list for the day is waiting for me when I arrive at the staff room. It's extensive, but not surprising. My eyes scan the list: wash windows, polish floors, dust the library. I grab a bucket, fill it with soapy water, and head to the first set of windows.

The estate is a labyrinth of glass. Each pane is like a tiny portal to another world—a world far removed from Armstrong's ruins. I start on the ground floor, methodically scrubbing each window until it sparkles. As I work, I feel eyes on me. It’s an odd sensation, like a gentle pressure against my back.

Glancing up, I catch a glimpse of Valen through the glass. He stands in the hallway, arms folded across his chest, watching me with that intense gaze. His presence is commanding even from a distance. He doesn’t speak, just observes before turning and disappearing down the corridor.

I get back to work, focusing on each streak and smudge. The day stretches on as I move from room to room. Occasionally, I spot Valen again—always in passing, always silent. His scrutiny makes me self-conscious, but also determined to prove my worth.

By late afternoon, my arms ache from scrubbing and polishing. But there's a strange sense of accomplishment in seeing the estate gleam under my efforts. The sun dips low as I finish the last window on my list.

I sit on the edge of a fountain in the courtyard to catch my breath. The water’s cool spray refreshes my tired face. Valen appears again, standing at a distance by one of the grand archways leading into the garden.

I stand up quickly, smoothing out my dress as best as I can with damp hands.

He nods once—a small gesture of acknowledgment—and then walks away without a word.

As night falls and I retreat to my modest quarters in the staff wing, I reflect on this new life I've stepped into. It’s exhausting but oddly satisfying. There’s security here that I've never known before—an unsettling comfort amidst opulence and mystery.

My thoughts drift to Valen again—his silent observations, his unreadable expressions. The man is an enigma wrapped in layers of wealth and secrecy. Despite myself, I'm growing more curious about him by the hour.

Who is he really? And why do I feel this inexplicable pull towards him?

I shake off these thoughts and focus on settling into bed. Tomorrow will bring more tasks and likely more questions about my enigmatic employer.

For now, all I can do is rest and prepare for whatever comes next in this strange new chapter of my life on Armstrong.