AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Next, I head to clean the grand hall. Dusting each intricate carving and polishing every surface becomes a kind of meditation. The rhythmic motions keep my mind from wandering too far into dangerous territories of doubt and fear.
Lunch service comes and goes without incident. Valen’s presence is a constant undercurrent in my thoughts but I force myself to stay focused.
After lunch, as I’m wiping down tables, Mrs. Tamsin sidles up next to me.
“Heard you had a visitor recently,” she says casually.
My hand stills on the cloth. “You could say that.”
“Dangerous?”
“Potentially.”
She pats my shoulder. “Keep your head down and do your job well. That’s all you can control.”
Nodding, I finish cleaning the table with renewed determination. No matter what happens outside these walls or how confusing Valen may be, one thing remains clear: I need this job more than anything else right now.
And so I work silently, letting each task drown out the turmoil inside me.
The grand hall feels like a mausoleum today, every polished surface reflecting my sullen expression. Dusting the intricate carvings on the mantle, I catch a glimpse of movement in the corner of my eye. Valen strides into the room, his presence magnetic even in my periphery.
"How are you?" His voice cuts through the silence, calm but with an edge of impatience.
"Fine," I reply curtly, not looking up from my work. The word tastes bitter in my mouth.
He lingers for a moment, as if expecting more. When none comes, he nods slightly and walks away, his footsteps echoing through the vast space. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and continue dusting, focusing on each carved detail as if it holds the secret to keeping my emotions in check.
There's an ache in my chest, a constant reminder of what might have been. Our conversations were once filled with subtle flirtations and shared stories. Now, they’re stilted and professional, leaving a void that gnaws at me.
I move to the windows next, polishing the glass until it sparkles. The gardens outside are lush and meticulously maintained—a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me.
"Need any help?" Mrs. Tamsin’s voice startles me out of my reverie.
"No, I'm good," I say, forcing a smile.
She gives me a knowing look but doesn't press further. "Alright then."
She leaves me to my thoughts, which circle back to Valen like vultures to a carcass. I remember the warmth in his eyes when he tended to my cut hand, the gentle touch that spoke volumes more than words ever could. But now, those moments feel like illusions—mirages in a desert of formality and distance.
I finish the windows and move on to sweeping the floor. Each stroke of the broom is methodical, almost meditative. Buteven in this mundane task, memories of Valen intrude—his rare smiles, the way he looked at me as if seeing something precious.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath.
I can't afford to lose focus now. Not with bills piling up and an ex-boyfriend who won't take no for an answer. Valen's estate offers security and stability—two things I desperately need. But every interaction with him is a reminder of what we’re not discussing: the growing tension between us and the unspoken grief over a budding relationship now stunted by business pressures and secrets.
The day drags on, each task blending into the next. By late afternoon, exhaustion sets in but so does a grim resolve. If Valen wants to keep things professional and distant, fine by me. I'll do my job and keep my emotions buried deep where they can’t interfere.
"Mrs. Tamsin, do you need anything from the market?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. The need to escape the estate's suffocating atmosphere is becoming overwhelming.
She looks up from her pot of stew, arching an eyebrow. "You volunteering for an errand run? Must be a special occasion."
I chuckle, but it sounds hollow even to me. "Just thought a change of scenery might do me good."
She nods, wiping her hands on her apron. "Alright then. I put in an order with the baker this morning. It should be done. Make sure it's all there." She hands me a crumpled piece of paper.
"Thanks," I say, tucking the list into my pocket and heading for the door.
The market is bustling despite the dilapidated surroundings. Stalls line the dusty streets, each vendor calling out their wares in hopes of attracting a customer. The air smells of freshly baked bread and spices, mingling with the faint scent of sweat and desperation.
