The mansion was silent when Valerie returned.
Not the peaceful kind of silence, but the empty kind—the kind that echoed, that swallowed you whole. She walked in still wearing the wine-stained peach gown, her heels clicking against the marble like angry punctuation marks. The grand chandelier glittered mockingly above her as she stepped into the vast sitting room.
Lucien wasn't home yet.
She didn't change. She didn't sit. She didn't cry.
Instead, she waited—like a storm gathering at the edge of a quiet sky.
She stood stiffly by the fireplace, arms folded tightly, as if holding herself together was the only thing keeping her upright. Her eyes, once soft and unsure, now burned with unspoken fury. Her dress still carried the dark red stain across her bodice, dried and glaring, and she didn't care.
It was past midnight when the doors finally opened.
Lucien walked in, unhurried, dressed in a dark suit, his cufflinks still gleaming. He looked exhausted, but composed—as always. He paused when he saw her, one brow arching faintly at the sight of her standing there, stiff as marble.
"You're awake," he said flatly, removing his coat.
"I waited," Valerie replied. Her voice was calm—but beneath it was thunder. "I wanted to talk to you."
Lucien didn't stop walking. "We can talk in the morning."
"No," she snapped, making him pause mid-step. "Now."
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. "What is it?"
She stepped forward. Her fists clenched. Her chin tilted upward, defiant. "Why did you bring me into this world, Lucien? A world where people hate me. Where I don't belong. Where they laugh at me like I'm some animal in a dress."
He stared at her, unmoved. "It was a party."
"It was humiliation," she hissed. "And your mother planned it. You knew what kind of people she surrounded herself with—you knew they wouldn't accept me. So tell me—why did you drag me into this? Was it to punish me?"
Lucien's lips curled slightly—not in a smile, but in something crueler. "Punish you? You think you're the victim here?"
"I am the victim!" she shouted. "You control everything—where I go, who I see, even when I can visit my grandmother. You hold everything over my head like I'm a prisoner—"
His voice cut through hers like steel. "And what exactly do you think is paying for your grandmother's hospital bills?"
Valerie flinched.
Lucien stepped closer, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark and cold. "You cry about not fitting in? About people mocking you? That's nothing compared to what I've dealt with from the people in that room my entire life. But I don't whine—I fight. I win."
"You mean you buy," she spat bitterly. "That's what you do. You bought me, didn't you? Just like one of your properties. And now I'm just another possession to display in your cold, perfect life."
"You agreed to the deal."
"I agreed to see my grandmother again," she hissed. "Not to be paraded like a fool in front of people who think I'm dirt."
He stepped closer. "Then leave."
Her breath caught.
He was standing just a foot away now, tall and unmoving, like a wall she could never climb. His voice was low and calm, dangerous in its detachment.
"No one's stopping you. Walk out that door, Valerie. But don't come crying to me when the hospital bills stop being paid. When your grandmother's doctor doesn't return your calls. I don't owe you anything."
For a long moment, she just stared at him. Her hands trembled. Her heart thundered in her chest.
Then she laughed—bitter and short. "You really are heartless."
"Maybe" he replied. "I hear that from a lot of people."
Silence fell like a guillotine between them.
Valerie stepped back, and for a second, Lucien thought she might cry. But she didn't. She straightened her shoulders, the fire in her eyes still burning.
"I hate this marriage," she said quietly. "I hate you."
Lucien didn't flinch.
She turned and walked out of the room, leaving behind the sharp scent of dried wine, perfume, and betrayal.
Upstairs, she finally changed out of the ruined dress. But even in her nightgown, she felt like the stain remained—deep in her chest.
Downstairs, Lucien poured himself a drink. His hand hovered over the glass for a moment before putting it down untouched.
---
The restaurant was a towering glass marvel in the heart of the city—one of those places where every seat was velvet and every plate looked like a portrait. Valerie never imagined she'd set foot in such a place, much less work there.
But here she was, apron tied snugly around her waist, name tag crooked, and hair pinned up in a rushed bun. The staff was friendly enough, though most of the chefs were fast-talking, sharp-edged types who barely looked up from the flames and orders they juggled.
Still, it felt good to do something. To wake up for something. And best of all—make her forget her unfortunate life.
Lucien hadn't noticed her absence. Not that she expected him to.
Her shift had started as usual. She baked pastries during the morning prep, helped organize kitchen supplies, then shadowed some of the more experienced staff during lunch service. It was almost dinner time when the restaurant manager rushed into the kitchen, looking half-wild.
"Marcos just called—his kid fell and cracked her head open," the manager said, wiping his face with a napkin. "He's off for the night."
The sous-chef grunted. "We've got the VIP reservation in thirty."
The manager turned around, eyes landing on Valerie. "You. Can you handle a tray of wine glasses without tripping?"
Valerie blinked. "Yes… sir?"
"Good." He pulled a neatly folded white uniform jacket from a shelf. "Put this on. Table 7. VIP private room. You'll just be pouring and standing by. Don't say too much. Smile if they look at you. You'll get a good bonus if you do great"
A good bonus, she accepted immediately, she needed to start saving money so she could repay Lucien who was currently paying her grandmother's medical bills.
Before she could ask anything, he was gone again. The VIP room? That sounded important. She swallowed hard and quickly changed into the crisp jacket, brushing lint off the sleeves.
Inside, her nerves buzzed like electricity. The city's elite came here. What if she messed up? What if she spilled wine on someone in a suit worth more than her entire life?
She took a deep breath and practiced her soft smile in the mirrored kitchen door.
Then she stepped out and walked toward the private wing.
—
Lucien straightened the cuffs of his charcoal-gray suit, his back leaning against the plush leather of the booth. He hadn't wanted to come out tonight. The deal could've been handled via phone, but some partners insisted on "face-to-face rapport." He found the whole social charade tiring.
Around him were three men and one sharply dressed woman, all in their late forties, laughing and sipping from tall glasses. They talked about overseas expansion and tax strategies.
"Mr. Blackmoor, we've heard of your recent acquisition," the older man across from him said with a grin. "Congratulations. Another win."
Lucien offered a brief nod. "Temporary asset. But useful."
He didn't like smiling when he didn't mean it.
Just then, the door to the room opened silently. The waiter stepped in holding a silver tray with poise—and Lucien's eye moved to her face, lazily at first… then froze.
Time stopped.
Valerie.
She didn't see him at first. She was focused on pouring the red wine with steady hands, the tray balanced elegantly on her palm. She moved to the next man, still unaware.
Lucien's fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass.
She was wearing a white server's jacket with the restaurant's logo embroidered on the chest. Her hair was pinned up, little wisps falling near her ears. Her lips pressed together with concentration. Her cheeks were slightly flushed.
She looked… different. Stronger. More composed.
Valerie turned to him next.
Her eyes met his.