Page 38 of Her Alien Owner

"Valen," she replies, keeping her tone neutral.

"Can we talk?" I ask, stepping closer.

She hesitates but then nods. "Alright."

We move to my study. I pour us both a drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. Our fingers brush as I hand it to her. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.

"Why did you want to talk?" she asks, taking a small sip.

"Because if we’re going to move forward, you need to know why this matters so much to me." I gesture around the room, indicating more than just the study. "Why it's so vital that my business here on Armstrong is a success, and why this upset has me so stressed."

Her eyes narrow slightly, curiosity piqued. "Go on."

"I wasn’t always wealthy," I start, leaning against the edge of my desk. "When I was very young, I signed up to work in a factory. It was my only way out from under my father and olderbrother. They made it a point to make my life hell. So I made it a point to do everything I could to escape."

She nods slowly, encouraging me without words.

"I worked hard," I continue. "Saved every credit I could until I had enough to escape." My jaw tightens at the memory. "But not before realizing what that factory produced."

"What was it?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Weapons," I say bluntly. "Weapons that were used to destroy my home."

Her eyes widen, and she sets her glass down carefully. "Your home? You mean...?"

"Yes," I confirm. "Just like you, everything I had was lost. I saw the smoking crater of my childhood home and felt the deepest passion to change everything. This planet, Armstrong, reminds me of my home. Of that destruction. I think of it as a second chance."

She looks down at her hands, processing my revelation. "So that's why you're here now? To rebuild what was lost?"

"In a way," I admit. "But it's more than that. It's about making sure no one else has to go through what I did. A booming economy built on industry instead of war. An honest pay for honest work. That's what I want to establish here."

Her eyes meet mine again, softer now but still guarded. "That’s... noble."

"Noble or not, it's the truth," I say with a shrug. "And it’s why I can’t afford distractions."

She flinches slightly at the word 'distractions,' and I curse inwardly for my poor choice of words.

"Ariana," I say more gently this time, reaching out and taking her hand in mine. "You’re not a distraction. You're... something else entirely."

Her fingers tremble in my grasp, but she doesn't pull away.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" she asks quietly.

"Because it's not easy for me to open up," I admit, my voice rough with honesty. "But if we're going to make this work—whatever 'this' is—I need you to understand where I'm coming from."

She studies me for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Alright."

I can sense Ariana's skepticism, a tension in the air that I can almost taste. She's not convinced I've told her everything. Hell, I haven't. But I've opened the door, and now she stands on the threshold.

"You can ask me anything," I say, meeting her gaze steadily. "From now on."

She takes a moment, her eyes searching mine as if weighing the truth of my words. "How did you make your fortune?" she finally asks. "Factory work doesn’t make anyone a billionaire."

I smile, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. "No, it doesn’t." I take a deep breath, leaning back against my desk. "I used what little I had to start making investments."

"Investments?" Her brow furrows.

"Yes," I say, my voice low and steady. "But not the kind you read about in business magazines. Shady businesses, places most people wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole."