Page 6 of Her Alien Owner
I take a grateful sip, feeling the cool liquid soothe my parched throat. "I really appreciate it," I say softly.
His expression doesn't soften. "Don't make this a habit."
I nod quickly, taking another gulp of water. The reality of what just happened starts to settle in. Valen had noticed me—really noticed me—and cared enough to ensure I was okay. It was bewildering.
"Feeling better?" The butler's voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
"Yes, thank you," I say, handing back the empty glass.
He nods curtly and gestures towards the door. "Then back to work."
I hurry back towards the main hall, determined not to let this small incident define my night—or worse, cost me my job. But as I move through the crowded room once more, I can’t help but replay Valen's words in my mind: Take a break.
There's something different about him. He's not like the other wealthy patrons I've encountered—aloof and dismissive. His concern felt genuine, almost protective.
I glance around, trying to spot him again amidst the guests. He stands out easily with his golden skin and imposing presence, effortlessly commanding attention even from across the room.
And then our eyes meet briefly before he's pulled into another conversation by an eager guest.
A shiver runs down my spine as I turn back to my duties, trying to focus on the tasks at hand despite my swirling thoughts.
Valen is an enigma wrapped in authority and kindness—a combination that's both intimidating and incredibly alluring.
I'm drawn to him in ways I can't quite explain yet desperately need to understand.
And that scares me more than anything else tonight.
I push thoughts of Valen aside and focus on the task at hand. Trays of delicate canapés, crystal glasses filled with bubbling champagne—there's no room for distraction. I weave through the guests, my movements precise and practiced. But it’s impossible to ignore the murmurs that float through the air.
"Did you hear about Valen?" a woman in a sequined gown whispers to her companion, a man in an overly ornate uniform.
"I heard he’s been having affairs left and right," the man replies, his voice dripping with disdain. "With humans, no less."
I roll my eyes internally but keep my expression neutral. These people thrive on scandal like it's oxygen.
Another pair of guests catch my ear as I refill their glasses. "They say he’s been selling subpar fuel to Alliance ships," a balding man says, his voice low but conspiratorial.
"Typical," his companion sniffs, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "Cutting corners for profit."
I suppress a snort. As if these rumors will travel any further than this room. The wealthy love to gossip, but they rarely care about the truth. Still, it's hard not to let the words gnaw at me, knowing they're talking about someone who showed me kindness.
“Excuse me,” I say softly, slipping between two groups and collecting empty glasses from a nearby table.
One of the guests glances down at me, his eyebrows raising as if noticing me for the first time. “And what do you think of our host?” he asks with a smirk.
“I think he’s very generous to have us all here,” I reply diplomatically, avoiding his probing gaze. I am, after all, meant to be invisible.
“Generous?” another guest scoffs. “You mean cunning.”
My jaw tightens, but I manage a polite smile before moving away. The last thing I need is to get into an argument with these people.
As I continue working, snippets of conversation reach my ears—each one more ridiculous than the last.
“He’s probably got bodies buried under this estate.”
“I bet he pays off inspectors to look the other way.”
“They say his wealth comes from smuggling.”