7. Ariana

CHAPTER 7

ARIANA

T he early morning light filters through the tall windows of Valen's estate, casting a soft glow over the polished floors. As I move through the grand hall, dusting and straightening objects that don't need it, I find my thoughts drifting back to Valen.

I pick up a crystal vase, its weight cool in my hands. I can't help but recall how, just yesterday, he noticed me struggling with a heavy tray and stepped in without a word. It wasn't just the action but the way he did it—quietly, almost intuitively. As if he could sense my weariness.

"Morning," comes a voice from behind me.

I turn to see one of the other staff members, Lisa, with her arms full of linens. "Morning," I reply, setting the vase down carefully.

"How’s it going?" she asks, her eyes curious but kind.

"Fine. Just... thinking."

"About him?" She doesn't need to say his name; we both know who she means.

I glance around to make sure no one else is listening. "He's... different."

Lisa chuckles softly. "Different how?"

"Kind," I say, feeling the word doesn’t quite capture what I mean. "And thoughtful. He pays attention."

She raises an eyebrow. "To you?"

Heat rises to my cheeks. "Well, yes."

Lisa nods knowingly and shifts the linens in her arms. "Just be careful, Ariana. Men like him..."

"I know," I cut in, not wanting to hear the warnings again. "But it's not just that he's rich or handsome. There's something else."

Lisa gives me a long look before sighing. "Alright. Just keep your eyes open."

As she walks away, I return to my work, polishing the already gleaming surface of a table. My mind wanders back to the moments when Valen’s thoughtfulness caught me off guard—the way he asked about my interests during dinner awhile ago, or how he seemed genuinely interested in my past.

His questions had been probing yet respectful, never crossing a line but always making me feel seen and heard.

A crystal punch bowl leftover from a recent party sits precariously on the table, delicate and perfect. I pick it up, lost in thoughts of Valen. His presence, his kindness—there’s something about him that keeps pulling me in.

Then, without warning, the bowl slips from my fingers.

Time seems to slow as it falls, shattering into a thousand sparkling pieces on the polished floor. Panic seizes me. My heart pounds, and I drop to my knees, frantically gathering the shards.

"Dammit," I mutter under my breath. "Stupid, stupid."

I barely notice the sharp pain in my hand until blood starts to drip onto the floor. Great. Just great. I had it so good here, too! But even with how kind Valen has been to me, there's no way a broken dish will go unpunished.

Tears prick at my eyes, both from the pain and the thought of returning to my old, sad life.

I try to stem the bleeding with my apron, but it's no use. The cut is deep.

Before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, Valen is there. His strong hands gently pull mine away from the broken glass.

"Stop," he says softly but firmly. "You’ll hurt yourself more."

"I’m so sorry," I stammer, tears threatening to spill over. "I didn’t mean to?—"

"It’s just a bowl," he interrupts, his voice calm and reassuring. "You’re more important."

He leads me to a chair and sits me down, his touch warm and steadying. I can’t meet his eyes; shame burns too hotly within me.

"I’ll lose my job for this," I whisper.

"No, you won’t," he replies instantly. "Look at me."

I force myself to look up, meeting his intense green gaze. There’s no anger there, only concern and something else—something softer.

"Accidents happen," he says, taking a clean cloth and pressing it gently against my wound. "Let me see."

His touch is careful as he cleans the cut and wraps it with a bandage he retrieves from a nearby drawer. His closeness sends a strange comfort through me, despite the pain.

"You’re very kind," I manage to say.

His lips curve into a faint smile. "Don’t tell anyone; it’ll ruin my reputation."

Despite myself, I laugh—a small, shaky sound that feels like relief.

"Thank you," I say softly.

"For what?" He looks genuinely puzzled.

"For not firing me."

"I’d be an idiot to let you go over a piece of glass." His tone is light but sincere.

I feel emotion swell in my chest—gratitude mingled with something deeper. He sees me as more than just a maid, more than just another servant in his grand estate.

Valen stands back up, still holding my hand lightly as if afraid I'll break apart like the crystal bowl if he lets go too soon.

"Take it easy today," he instructs gently but firmly. "And don’t worry about the mess."

I nod slowly, overwhelmed by his kindness and the unexpected gentleness beneath his brooding exterior. As he walks away to get someone else to clean up the shards, I realize something: Valen isn’t just different—he’s extraordinary in ways that both intrigue and confuse me.

And as much as I try to keep my guard up around him, moments like this make it increasingly difficult not to let him in.

I wander through Valen’s garden, the fragrant blossoms and manicured hedges offering a temporary distraction from my thoughts. My injured hand throbs slightly, but the fresh air helps. Valen insisted I take the rest of the day off. It’s kind of him, but it also gives me too much time to think.

I brush my fingers over a cluster of vibrant flowers, their petals soft against my skin. The garden is beautiful—an oasis in the middle of the post-war chaos that still grips Armstrong. I should be grateful for this job, for the stability it provides. Yet, Valen’s attention unsettles me.

He doesn’t treat anyone else on his staff like this. His focus on me is sharp, intense, and undeniably personal. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. I feel like a cornered animal being watched by a hungry wolf.

My footsteps crunch on the gravel path as I walk deeper into the garden. The birds chirp overhead, blissfully unaware of my turmoil. Lisa’s words echo in my mind: "Just be careful." Easier said than done when Valen’s kindness is so disarming.

I wander deeper into the garden, my thoughts tangled with worries about the staff. It’s obvious I’m getting special treatment, and that can only breed conflict. They’ll start to resent me if they haven’t already. Lisa’s kindness is rare, and I doubt everyone else will be so understanding.

I pause by a fountain, its gentle trickle providing a soothing backdrop to my chaotic thoughts. But I have to admit to myself that I kind of like it. It’s exciting to be doted on by a rich, handsome man with a mysterious past. Even if he might also be dangerous.

The sun climbs higher in the sky as I continue my walk through the garden, each step filled with uncertainty and conflicting emotions. Valen’s attention is thrilling but also terrifying in its intensity.

As I reach a secluded bench shaded by an ancient tree, I sit down heavily and let out a long breath. The allure of being doted on by Valen is undeniable—his wealth and mystery are intoxicating. But the danger that comes with it is equally real.

My fingers trace patterns on the cool stone bench as I wrestle with my feelings. It’s not just about the special treatment or the excitement; there’s something deeper pulling me towards him—something I can’t quite name but feel in every fiber of my being.

The soft rustle of leaves above me provides a temporary respite from my turmoil. For now, all I can do is take things one day at a time and hope that whatever lies ahead won’t shatter me like that crystal bowl.

The staff might resent me, but Valen's attention has become something I crave despite my better judgment. And maybe—just maybe—there's more to him than anyone realizes.

The day’s events replay in my mind as I sit at my small vanity, brushing my hair. Each stroke sends a calming rhythm through my nerves, but my thoughts remain anything but. The mirror reflects a face full of questions, eyes wide with uncertainty.

I wonder what Valen sees in someone like me. It’s a thought that has gnawed at me since the moment he offered me this job. His attention feels too personal, too intense. It’s almost as if he knows something about me that I don’t.

“Why me?” I whisper to my reflection, hoping for an answer that doesn’t come.

I set the brush down and look at the tiny room that now serves as my sanctuary. The opulence of Valen’s estate contrasts sharply with the modesty of my quarters, but there’s a comfort here I can’t deny. Financial stability is a significant factor, yes, but there’s more to it than that.

I feel bound to him in a way I can’t quite explain. It’s as if an invisible thread ties us together, pulling me closer with each passing day.

Valen is a mystery wrapped in a riddle, and every interaction with him only deepens my curiosity. His kindness today when I broke the bowl was unexpected but genuine. He didn’t scold or belittle me; instead, he cared for my wound with a tenderness that left me breathless.

“What do you want from me?” I murmur, the question hanging in the air like a ghost.

The rumors about his past linger in the back of my mind, but they only add to his allure. A war profiteer with mysterious investments—a man shrouded in secrets. And here I am, an ordinary girl from Armstrong, somehow caught in his orbit.

A sigh escapes my lips as I crawl into bed. Despite all the uncertainties and fears swirling within me, one thing remains clear: I want to figure out more about him. There’s something undeniably compelling about Valen that makes it impossible for me to walk away.

As I close my eyes and let sleep take over, one thought echoes through my mind: Whatever this connection between us is, I’m determined to understand it.