Whispers in the Royale Mansio
The Royale Mansion stood in silent grandeur, its towering walls lined with gilded frames and cascading velvet drapes that whispered of old money and older secrets. The air was thick with the scent of aged mahogany and the faintest trace of Valeria's perfume—something floral, intoxicating, like jasmine dipped in stormwater.
Leon watched her from across the pool, its crystal-clear surface reflecting the moonlight in shattered silver. She sat at the edge, her fingers trailing absently in the water, sending ripples across the glassy plane. The stillness between them was heavy, charged with the weight of her confession.
He had never seen her like this—unraveled, raw. The usual sharpness in her gaze had softened, replaced by something haunted, something human.
Valeria, he started again, his voice barely above the whisper of the mansion's ancient pipes.
She didn't turn, but her shoulders tensed. You already asked your question, Leon.
No, he said, moving closer. I asked about your past. I want to know about you. The real you. The one who smiles when she thinks no one's looking. The one who cooks like she's trying to heal someone.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. There's nothing left to know. You heard the story. Broken girl, broken home, broken life.
Leon crouched beside her, close enough to see the way her lashes glistened with unshed tears. That's not all you are.
She finally turned, her dark eyes locking onto his. Then what am I, Leon? Enlighten me.
He hesitated, then reached out, brushing a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. You're the girl who survived. The one who threatened my grandmother—a woman who terrifies CEOs and politicians—and lived to tell the tale.
A ghost of a smirk tugged at her lips. She was pisse
I bet, he chuckled, but his expression sobered. But you're also the girl who carries her pain like it's part of her bones. You don't have to do that here. Not with me.
Valeria exhaled sharply, looking away. The mansion loomed behind them, its windows like watchful eyes. This place… it's too quiet. Like it's waiting for something.
Leon followed her gaze. It's been empty for years. Grandmother never liked swimming. Said pools were for people who wanted to pretend they weren't drowning.
Valeria's fingers stilled in the water. Sounds like her.
A beat of silence. Then, softly—
I used to dream about places like this,she admitted. Big houses with too many rooms. Places where you could scream and no one would hear you.
Leon's chest tightened. Do you still want to scream?
She looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time, he saw something like trust flicker in her gaze. Every damn day.
The admission hung between them, fragile as the reflection of the moon on the water.
Then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. Valeria stood, shaking off the weight of the conversation like a coat she no longer needed. We should get back to work.
Leon didn't argue. He knew better than to push her—not when she was already retreating behind those walls again. But as they walked back through the mansion's echoing halls, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted.
And for the first time, he wondered if the Royale Mansion's silence wasn't just emptiness—but the quiet before the storm.
Leon watched Valeria as she slept, her face serene and unguarded for the first time since he had met her. The sharp edges of her usual cold demeanor had softened in slumber, revealing a quiet beauty that intrigued him. She wasn't as slender as Claire, but her figure held a natural grace—strong, composed, fitting for a woman who carried herself with such unyielding confidence.
His gaze lingered, tracing the faint lines of exhaustion beneath her lashes. What had she endured to build such walls around herself? She had mentioned once, in a rare moment of candor, that she hadn't always been this way—that she used to be cheerful, even talkative, but only with those she trusted. The memory of her words stirred something in him.
Did that mean she trusted him now?
The thought unsettled him. He wanted to wake her, to demand an answer, but he hesitated. There was a vulnerability in her stillness that made him reluctant to disturb her. Instead, he exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to reach out and brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead.
After a moment, he carefully gathered her into his arms, lifting her with surprising ease. She murmured something unintelligible but didn't wake, her breath warm against his shoulder as he carried her to the guest room. He laid her down gently, pulling the blanket over her before stepping back, his own weariness pressing heavily on him.
It was already six in the morning. If he hurried, he could squeeze in an hour of sleep before they had to return to the office by eight. A dry chuckle escaped him. Who said being the boss meant resting?
As he turned toward his own room, the weight of unanswered questions followed him. Trust was a fragile thing, especially with someone like Valeria. And yet, as he closed his eyes in the dim light of dawn, he couldn't deny the quiet thrill of possibility—that perhaps, in some small way, she had let him in.
But that was what he wanted, she had to fall for him the sonner the better.he gave a wicked grin and went to bed