LIVING WITH MR.VALE

AUORORA It was simple, really. One rule, and I had been following it for three years without fail. The rule was this: do not think about him more than twice a day. I broke it every single morning before I even got out of bed. It began like most things do when you're young and naive, without a clue about the harm you're causing yourself. I was 17 when I first laid eyes on him, standing in our living room with his hands tucked away in his pockets, wearing this calm and collected look on his face, like he didn't owe the world a thing and wasn't expecting much in return either. He had shown up with his dad for some business dinner my parents were having. I had wandered downstairs in a huge shirt and bare feet, thinking the house would be empty, but instead, I found him gazing up at me from the bottom of the stairs. He didn't say anything. Neither did I. I turned around, went back to my room, and spent the next four hours trying to figure out why my heart was beating like that. Three years later, I still hadn't figured it out. I'd known Damien Vale my whole life, since he was the son of my dad's oldest business partner. He was always around, but I never really paid much attention to him until that night on the stairs. After that, everything changed. I started to notice the way he talked, all calm and quiet, like he didn't need to yell to get his point across. And the way he listened, really listened, without getting distracted by his phone or something else. It was like he was completely focused on you. Sometimes, he'd look at me in this way that was hard to describe - it wasn't exactly warm, but it was steady and intense, like he could see right through me. It made me feel weird, like I was stuck between feeling seen and feeling uncomfortable. I was twenty, and he was twenty-three or twenty-four, I think. Anyway, that's when I started to see him in a different light. I had a feeling it was all pointless, but I wasn't naive about it either. He was older and serious, and in many ways, he seemed completely out of my league - it wasn't just about age. The way he carried himself, it was like he had already figured out what was important and what wasn't, and I had a strong feeling I fell into the latter category. He was always polite to me, and sometimes even kind, but there was this distance in the way he treated me, like I was something delicate that had been left in his care, and he didn't really have any personal feelings about it one way or the other. It was as if he was just going through the motions, being courteous because that's what you're supposed to do, not because he actually cared. And that realization was hard to swallow, because despite all of this, I found myself drawn to him, even though I knew I shouldn't be. Maybe it was the way he seemed so put together, so sure of himself, while I was still trying to figure things out. Whatever it was, I knew I had to be careful, because getting too close to someone like him could only end in disappointment. Which was fine. Really. It was completely fine. I couldn't shake off the memories of our time together, and I found myself replaying every little thing we'd ever done, every conversation we'd had, over and over in my head, even when I should have been asleep. It was like my mind was stuck on repeat, and I just couldn't seem to move on. I was sitting at the kitchen table that afternoon, working through a reading for my literature class, when my mother came in and set two mugs of tea down with the kind of deliberate calm that usually meant she was about to say something I wouldn't like. My dad came over and sat down in the chair across from me, just a moment after I had. I closed my book. "What happened?" I asked. My mother smiled, which told me nothing, because she smiled through everything. " Nothing happened. We just need to talk to you about something." My dad was sitting across from me, his elbows resting on the table. He said, "You're aware of the project I've been working on in Singapore, right - the one that's been taking up so much of my time for the past two years?" "Yes." They're speeding things up, so the board needs us to be there for the entire overhaul, not just the initial planning stage. He stopped for a moment. My mom and dad are heading out by the end of the month. I stared at him. " For how long?" It's been a while, around seven months or so, maybe a bit longer, like eight months, all depending on how things go in the next phase. I glanced back and forth between them, a question forming in my mind, "So, I'm coming with you?" My mom held her mug with both hands, looking at me with a serious expression. "The thing is, sweetie, the apartment they're offering us only has one bedroom," she said. "It's not meant for three people, and considering your classes and the internship you're applying for, it didn't seem right to disrupt your life like that." She paused, taking a sip of her coffee before continuing. "I know it's not ideal, but I think this is for the best, at least for now." "So I'm staying here alone?" "My father was firm, his mind already made up. 'You're going to stay with Damien,' he told me, his words leaving no room for argument." It felt like a punch to the gut, the word hitting me hard and leaving me breathless. I remained perfectly calm, my face a mask of composure. It was a skill I had honed over time, learning to hear his name without flinching, and I drew upon every ounce of that self-control in this moment. "Damien," I repeated. My dad made it sound like the most obvious decision ever. "His place is really close to your school, he's got plenty of room, and we totally trust him," he said, like it was a no-brainer. And apparently, the guy had already agreed to it without even thinking twice. I looked down at my tea. " I don't want to impose on him." My mom put her hand on mine, trying to reassure me. "You're not going to be a bother," she said. "Damien invited you himself." She looked at me with a serious expression. "There's no place safer for you than his house, Aurora. You know he's always been like a protector to you." I slowly nodded in agreement, knowing she was right. I didn't want to argue about it, because that would mean telling them why I couldn't do it. And to be honest, I wasn't ready to have that conversation with my parents, especially not at the kitchen table on a typical Tuesday afternoon. It just wasn't the right time or place to get into all that. The conversation moved on after that. Timelines and arrangements and what I should pack and how often we would video call. I answered everything I was asked. I smiled when it seemed appropriate. I refilled my tea twice. And yet, beneath the surface of everything, a single thought quietly flowed, like a hidden stream that runs silently beneath a frozen lake. Seven months. I'd been living with Damien Vale for seven months, sharing the same space, the same kitchen, and the same early morning moments when we were both still trying to wake up. For seven months, I'd been putting on a show, pretending to be this calm and collected person whenever he was around. I made sure to be polite and courteous, never letting him see the real me, the one who had spent years secretly obsessing over him. To him, I was probably just the daughter of his business partner, not someone who had built an entire world of thoughts and feelings around him. It was exhausting, trying to keep up this act, but I felt like I had to, like I was trapped in this never-ending performance. I was not equipped for this. I knew myself well enough to know that. The distance I kept between us was the only thing holding everything in place, and distance required actual space, physical space, rooms and streets, and the polite buffer of occasional visits rather than daily proximity. Take that away and I did not know what was left to protect me. It's not just him that I'm getting this from, but also from my own self. I sat alone at the table, my parents having wandered off to other rooms, my book lying open before me. But the words blurred together, making no sense. The afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow outside, softening the edges of everything. It was the kind of light that could make even the hardest things seem a little gentler, a little more bearable. As I stared out the window, the amber light wrapped itself around the world, making it feel like a softer, quieter place. But even its gentle warmth couldn't penetrate the fog that had settled over me, and I just sat there, lost in my own thoughts, the words on the page still a jumbled mess. As I stood there, I was weighing my options, thinking about whether I could convince my parents to let me stay with my friend Cleo, and trying to come up with a believable excuse, when suddenly I heard something that caught my attention. The low, familiar sound of tires on the driveway. I looked up from my book without meaning to. My mom's voice came from the hallway, all warm and calm. "He's here," she said, like it was no big deal. "I texted him to come over so we could go over everything together." I didn't move. The front door opened. As Damien Vale entered the house, his tall frame moved with a calm, unhurried pace, his hand lingering on the doorknob as he took in the room. It was as if his eyes had a mind of their own, instinctively seeking me out before settling on anything else, a habitual reflex that had become all too familiar. His gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, everything else in the room seemed to fade into the background. He spoke my name, "Aurora," in his usual calm tone, just a simple, quiet word. I forced myself to lift my eyes and lock them onto his, meeting his gaze head-on. "Hey," I said. In that completely normal conversation, something deep down changed, like the earth slowly shifting beneath my feet, and it had been building up for three years. It was a subtle movement, but it was enough to make everything feel different, like the ground had quietly become a new landscape.