8. Valen

CHAPTER 8

VALEN

T he late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the estate, painting the grounds in hues of gold and crimson. I stand at my bedroom window, looking out over the expanse. Movement catches my eye. Ariana. She’s returning from the market, arms laden with grocery bags, her steps hurried and uneven.

Something’s wrong.

Her usually graceful gait is frazzled, and she looks as though she’s barely holding herself together. My chest tightens at the sight. What happened?

I turn sharply and head for the door, calling out as I go.

“Tragan,” I bark, summoning my aide.

He appears almost instantly, ever efficient. “Yes, sir?”

“Ariana,” I say, motioning toward the window. “Find out what happened to her.”

Tragan nods and leaves without a word. I pace my room, fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. The image of Ariana’s distressed face lingers in my mind, unsettling me in ways I didn’t anticipate.

An hour later, Tragan returns.

“Well?” My voice is sharper than intended.

“She was harassed at the market by a man. Supposedly, an ex-boyfriend,” he reports. “She’s shaken but unharmed.”

The words ignite a fury within me. My jaw tightens, and I breathe slowly to steady myself.

“Thank you. That will be all,” I order, my tone brooking no argument.

Tragan nods again, his expression neutral but knowing. “Understood.”

As he exits, I turn back to the window, eyes scanning the grounds for any sign of Ariana. How dare anyone disturb her peace? The thought of her being vulnerable enrages me more than I care to admit.

I stride to my desk, the polished surface reflecting the determined set of my jaw. The pile of reports on the mining operation looms large, but today, one priority overshadows all else: Ariana's safety.

Settling into my chair, I tap a sequence on the holo-screen. The administrative data for Armstrong's mining operation unfurls before me. Personnel files flicker to life, displaying names, ranks, and areas of expertise.

“Let’s see who’s worth their salt,” I mutter, scrolling through profiles.

The security experts' dossiers catch my eye. Each one a seasoned professional tasked with keeping the mines secure from thieves and saboteurs. But now, their expertise will serve a more personal purpose.

I zero in on two names: Darius Kellen and Selene Voss. Both have extensive backgrounds in discreet operations and personal protection. Their records are spotless, their capabilities beyond question.

“Perfect,” I say under my breath.

I hit the comm button, connecting to the security director. His face appears on the screen almost immediately.

“Yes, sir?”

“I need Darius Kellen and Selene Voss reassigned,” I begin, leaning forward. “Effective immediately.”

The man raises an eyebrow but says nothing, waiting for further instructions.

“They’ll be handling the personal security for a member of my staff whenever she leaves the estate,” I continue. “Discreetly. I don’t want her feeling like she’s under constant surveillance.”

“Understood. Anything specific you want them briefed on?”

“Just make sure they know this isn’t up for discussion,” I reply curtly. “And remind them of the consequences should they fail.”

“Consider it done,” he says with a slight incline of his head before the screen goes dark.

I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled under my chin. The thought of anyone harming Ariana ignites a protective fire within me—a fire that demands action.

My eyes drift to a photograph on my desk—an image of Armstrong before the war ravaged it. The vibrant landscape is now reduced to ruins. It's a reminder of why I came here, even if my current motivations have somewhat evolved.

I stride through the corridors of the estate, my boots echoing off the polished marble floors. The soft hum of the automated lights switching on in my wake provides a familiar, almost comforting backdrop. As I approach the dining hall, I catch sight of Ariana arranging the table settings with meticulous care. Her movements are calm and composed, belying the turmoil I know she faced earlier.

She looks up as I enter, offering a smile that sends a wave of relief washing over me. Her warm brown eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the tension in my chest eases.

“Do you have everything you need for tonight’s preparations?” I ask, keeping my tone casual. I lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her closely.

Ariana nods, her smile widening just a fraction. “Yes, everything’s in order.”

“Good,” I reply, unable to stop a small smile from tugging at my lips. “Let me know if you run into any issues.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “I’m sure I’ll manage just fine. But thanks for asking.”

Her confidence soothes the last remnants of my anger. I push off from the doorway and walk further into the room, pretending to inspect the arrangements but really just wanting to be closer to her.

“You’ve done well here,” I say, picking up one of the crystal glasses and examining it under the light.

“Thank you,” she replies, a hint of pride in her voice. “I’ve had good teachers.”

I raise an eyebrow at that. “Modesty doesn’t suit you. Take some credit.”

She laughs again, this time more freely. “Alright then, thank you for noticing my hard work.”

“There’s that confidence,” I say with a smirk.

She blushes slightly and turns back to her task, but not before giving me another grateful look.

I linger for a moment longer than necessary, enjoying the rare sense of peace her presence brings. When she’s focused on setting out the cutlery with precise care, I take my leave.

As I walk away, a sense of calm settles over me. Knowing Ariana is safe and composed is enough to quell the storm inside me for now.

The party is in full swing, the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air. But my mind isn't on my guests; it's on Ariana. I watch her from across the room, noting the tension in her shoulders as she moves among the crowd.

I make my way over, weaving through clusters of people. When I reach her, I gently touch her elbow. “Ariana, can we talk for a moment?”

She looks up, surprise flickering in her eyes before she nods. “Of course.”

I lead her to a quiet alcove away from the noise and offer her a drink from a nearby table. She accepts it with a grateful smile, her fingers brushing mine as she takes the glass.

“Thank you,” she says softly, taking a sip.

I lean against the wall, studying her. “You seemed... distracted earlier.”

She shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s nothing.”

I tilt my head, not buying it for a second. “Nothing usually doesn’t leave someone looking like they’ve seen a ghost.”

Ariana hesitates, then sighs. “It’s just... this place brings back memories.” She glances around the opulent surroundings. “Memories of what Armstrong used to be.”

I nod, understanding more than she realizes. The weight of past actions hangs heavy in places like these.

“Why did you come here?” Her question is sudden and brave, her eyes locking onto mine with a mix of curiosity and something deeper.

I take a moment to answer, choosing my words carefully. “I’ve spent most of my life involved in destruction,” I begin slowly. "I've seen many places, many lives, end in ash and flames."

I pause, searching her face for judgment but finding only quiet attention. “I came to Armstrong because I wanted to be part of building something that will last.”

Her eyes widen slightly at my admission, and she looks down at her drink as if considering what to say next.

“I didn’t expect that,” she murmurs after a moment. “But it makes sense.” She looks up at me again, her gaze steady and unflinching. Her expression softens as she reaches out and lightly touches my arm.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For helping bring life back to my home.”

Her sincerity catches me off guard, and for a moment, all the defenses I've built around myself seem unnecessary.

“You’re welcome,” I reply simply.

We stand there in comfortable silence for a few moments longer before the sounds of the party draw us back to reality. Ariana finishes her drink and gives me a small smile.

“I should get back to work,” she says reluctantly.

I nod, watching as she slips back into the crowd with renewed grace and purpose.

The party swirls around me, but my mind is stuck on Ariana. How close I came to spilling my darkest secrets, to revealing the man behind the mask. Damn, she deserves better than the truth. But the reality of it would crush her.

I watch her navigate through the guests, a graceful wisp of calm amidst the chaos. She’s laughing at something another maid says, her eyes crinkling at the corners. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to be part of that world—her world—untainted by my past.

But reality slams back into me like a freight ship.

I turn away, leaning against a column and letting my gaze wander over the room. The opulence, the glittering lights—all distractions from the emptiness inside me. The darkness I've tried to bury.

“Valen.” A voice snaps me out of my reverie. Tragan stands at my side, his expression unreadable as always.

“Yes?” I keep my tone even, masking the turmoil within.

“Everything’s in place,” he reports quietly. “Darius and Selene are ready.”

I nod curtly. “Good.”

He hesitates for a moment, then lowers his voice further. “Are you sure about this?”

I meet his gaze, letting the steel in my eyes answer for me. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Tragan nods once before melting back into the crowd. I exhale slowly, responsibility settling on my shoulders like an old friend.

My eyes find Ariana again. She’s moved to another group, chatting animatedly with one of the younger guests. The light catches in her hair, making it glow like a halo.

If she knew who I really am... Would she still look at me like that? With warmth and curiosity instead of fear and disgust?