Where Wolves Remember

The Vale

Alaric POV

Most people believed power announced itself.

It arrived in loud voices, expensive suits, and men surrounded by bodyguards.

Alaric Vale had spent his entire life proving them wrong.

Real power was quiet.

It didn't need permission to enter a room.

It didn't need to remind people who it belonged to.

It simply existed.

The floor-to-ceiling windows of his office overlooked the city, where thousands of lives moved beneath him in organised chaos. From this height, the traffic looked orderly.

Predictable.

He knew better.

People were unpredictable.

That was why he trusted patterns instead.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in."

The office door opened, and Damon entered carrying two folders.

Unlike most people, Damon never looked intimidated walking into Alaric's office.

Years of friendship had erased that.

"Morning."

Alaric turned from the window.

"You look like someone has given you paperwork."

Damon dropped the folders onto the desk with a sigh.

"I hate that you know me so well."

"I know you because you've been making that face for twelve years."

"Twelve very long years."

A corner of Alaric's mouth lifted.

"Sit."

Damon did.

He slid the first folder across the desk.

"The anonymous messages."

Alaric opened it.

Inside were copies of three letters.

No fingerprints.

No return address.

No demands.

Just one sentence repeated in different handwriting.

You're watching the wrong enemy.

Alaric read the page twice before closing the folder.

"Thoughts?"

Damon folded his arms.

"Someone wants us distracted."

"Agreed."

"Or frightened."

Alaric shook his head.

"No."

"No?"

"If they wanted fear, they'd be louder."

Damon nodded slowly.

"So... manipulation."

"Exactly."

Silence settled between them.

Both men knew better than to underestimate a message simply because it lacked a signature.

Finally, Damon pushed the second folder forward.

"The other matter."

Alaric raised an eyebrow.

"Rosa."

Immediately, his expression softened.

"What about her?"

"She finally admitted she needs help."

That almost made him smile.

"She actually admitted it?"

"I nearly checked for lightning."

A quiet chuckle escaped Alaric.

Rosa had worked at Vale Manor for over thirty years.

She had fed three generations of the Vale family.

She refused to retire.

She refused to slow down.

She refused help.

Until now.

"Who did she choose?"

Damon opened the folder.

"The placement agency sent several candidates."

"And?"

"She rejected all of them."

"That sounds like Rosa."

"Then they sent one more."

Alaric waited.

"Her name is Zafira."

"No surname?"

"The agency file only lists her first name. Rosa said she wasn't hiring a family name."

Alaric almost laughed.

"That also sounds like Rosa."

"Her exact words were..." Damon glanced at the notes.

"'If she can make proper bread, I don't care what her last name is.'"

Alaric smiled properly this time.

"That definitely sounds like Rosa."

"The agency verified her qualifications."

"And?"

"Everything checks out."

Alaric closed the file.

"Then let Rosa have her assistant."

Damon stood.

"I'll let the gate know to expect her."

As he reached the door, Alaric spoke again.

"Damon."

He turned.

"Everyone who enters this house deserves courtesy."

Damon gave a small nod.

"And everyone who enters this house gets a background check."

Alaric's expression remained calm.

"Those two things are not mutually exclusive."

"I know."

After Damon left, the office fell quiet again.

Alaric looked back at the city.

His life had taught him one lesson above all others.

Never ignore the small changes.

Sometimes...

The smallest arrival changed everything.

Zafira's POV

The drive to Vale Manor was quiet.

Zafira preferred it that way.

It gave her time to think.

The file Vittorio had given her rested neatly inside her leather satchel on the seat beside her.

She hadn't opened it again.

There would be time for that later.

Today wasn't about Alaric Vale.

Today was about becoming someone the household would trust.

Trust wasn't demanded.

It was earned.

And earning it required patience.

As the car turned through the wrought-iron gates, Zafira looked out of the window.

Her eyes weren't drawn to the mansion.

They were drawn to everything surrounding it.

The security cameras.

The patrol routes.

The guards.

The distance between the main house and the service entrance.

The blind spots.

Every detail mattered.

Information saved lives.

The car rolled to a stop.

A member of the security team opened the door.

"Miss Zafira?"

She smiled politely.

"Yes."

"Welcome to Vale Manor."

"Thank you."

She stepped onto the stone driveway, taking in the estate without appearing to do so.

It was beautiful.

Old money.

Old history.

Nothing about it felt extravagant.

It felt lived in.

The front door opened before she reached it.

A petite older woman with silver hair tucked into a neat bun marched straight towards her.

She couldn't have stood taller than Zafira's shoulder.

Yet somehow...

She commanded the entire entrance.

"You must be the girl."

Zafira smiled.

"And you must be Rosa."

"I certainly hope so."

The older woman looked her up and down.

"Hm."

Zafira waited.

"You look too skinny."

Zafira blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me."

Rosa folded her arms.

"A chef who doesn't eat properly is a tragedy."

A laugh escaped Zafira before she could stop it.

"I promise I eat."

"We'll see."

Without another word, Rosa turned around.

"Come along."

Zafira picked up her bag and followed.

The manor was impressive.

High ceilings.

Natural light.

Warm wooden floors polished to perfection.

It was elegant without feeling untouchable.

People greeted Rosa as they passed.

She greeted every single one by name.

That told Zafira something.

Respect lived here.

Not just hierarchy.

They entered the kitchen.

Zafira stopped for a moment.

It was magnificent.

Copper pots hung above a large central island.

Fresh herbs grew in boxes beside the windows.

The scent of rosemary, thyme and freshly baked bread filled the room.

"This," Rosa announced proudly, "is the heart of the manor."

Zafira smiled.

"I can see why."

Rosa watched her carefully.

Most new chefs looked at the expensive equipment first.

Zafira looked at the herb garden.

Interesting.

"You cook with fresh herbs?"

Zafira asked.

"Always."

"So do I."

Rosa grinned.

"Good answer."

She pointed towards the pantry.

"Go on."

"What am I doing?"

"Show me who you are."

Zafira tilted her head.

"In the kitchen."

A slow smile spread across her face.

"I can do that."

She rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, washed her hands, and quietly began gathering ingredients.

She wasn't trying to impress Rosa.

She simply cooked.

As she worked, Rosa didn't interrupt.

She watched.

The way Zafira handled a knife.

The way she tasted the broth before seasoning it.

The way she cleaned as she went.

The confidence.

The patience.

No wasted movement.

When the meal was finished, Rosa accepted the spoon Zafira offered.

She tasted it.

Then looked at her.

Again.

And again.

Finally, she placed the spoon down.

"Hm."

Zafira waited.

"You're hired."

A laugh escaped her.

"I thought I already was."

"You were."

Rosa smiled.

"Now I'm keeping you."

For the first time since accepting the mission...

Zafira felt something she hadn't expected.

Comfort.

That feeling lasted only a second.

Because she reminded herself why she was here.

She wasn't here to belong.

She was here to observe.

To gather information.

And eventually...

To kill the man who owned this house.

She just didn't know yet...

That every step she took inside Vale Manor was leading her towards a truth neither she nor Alaric Vale could imagine.

Rosa insisted on giving Zafira a full tour of the kitchen before she was allowed to unpack.

"This pantry," Rosa said, opening a heavy oak door, "is more important than half the rooms in this manor."

Zafira smiled.

"I'll remember that."

"You'd better."

Rosa pointed a wooden spoon at her.

"If Mr. Vale ever asks for my mushroom soup and you can't find the porcini mushrooms, don't come crying to me."

"I'll know exactly where they are."

"Good."

They continued through the kitchen, Rosa explaining where everything belonged and, more importantly, why.

By the end of the tour, Zafira had already memorised every cupboard, every spice rack, every entrance, and every exit.

Not because she was planning anything.

Because preparation had become second nature.

"You'll be staying in the east wing with the senior household staff," Rosa said.

"It's quiet."

"I like quiet."

Rosa laughed.

"So does Mr. Vale."

That caught Zafira's attention.

"What is he like?"

Rosa didn't answer immediately.

Instead, she reached for a teapot and filled it with hot water.

Finally, she said softly,

"The newspapers know Mr. Vale."

She placed tea leaves into the pot.

"The business world knows Mr. Vale."

She poured the water.

"But very few people actually know Alaric."

Zafira listened carefully.

"He's fair."

Rosa stirred the tea.

"He expects honesty."

Another stir.

"He notices everything."

She looked up.

"So don't lie unless you're very good at it."

Zafira's heartbeat remained perfectly steady.

"I've never been much of a liar."

"Good."

Rosa smiled warmly.

"Then you'll fit in just fine."

The irony almost made Zafira look away.

Later that evening, the manor settled into its familiar rhythm.

Staff moved quietly through the halls.

The scent of dinner drifted through the house.

Somewhere in the distance, a grandfather clock announced the hour.

Rosa placed two plates on the counter.

"Tonight you'll simply observe."

Zafira nodded.

"No cooking?"

"Oh, you'll cook."

Rosa smiled mischievously.

"But tonight, you're learning."

She handed Zafira a small notebook.

"My first chef gave me this when I was sixteen."

The leather cover had faded with age.

The corners were worn smooth.

Inside were handwritten recipes, notes, measurements and little comments written over decades.

"My family has asked me to pass this on when I find the right person."

Zafira looked up.

"You've only known me for a few hours."

"I know."

Rosa smiled.

"Sometimes that's enough."

For reasons she couldn't explain...

Those words stayed with Zafira.

She wasn't supposed to care.

She wasn't supposed to become attached.

Yet Rosa's kindness reminded her painfully of Isabella.

Of home.

She gently closed the notebook.

"I'll take good care of it."

"I know you will."

Before another word could be spoken, footsteps echoed through the hallway.

Not rushed.

Measured.

Confident.

Rosa smiled.

"Perfect timing."

She straightened her apron.

"Mr. Vale is never late for dinner."

Zafira instinctively lifted her head.

The kitchen door opened.

Alaric Vale stepped inside.

His dark suit jacket had been removed, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled neatly to his forearms.

He looked less like a billionaire now.

Less like a man who controlled international companies.

More like someone who had simply finished a long day's work.

His gaze moved first to Rosa.

"Something smells good."

"It usually does."

Rosa smiled.

"You're getting predictable."

"I've been told that's a sign of old age."

She gasped dramatically.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

A faint smile crossed Alaric's face.

It disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

Only then did his eyes move to Zafira.

There was no surprise.

No arrogance.

No lingering stare.

Just observation.

Calm.

Careful.

Professional.

"So," he said.

"You must be Rosa's new assistant."

"Yes, sir."

"My name is Zafira."

He inclined his head politely.

"Welcome to Vale Manor."

"Thank you."

Silence settled between them.

Not awkward.

Measured.

Alaric noticed the small details.

She stood confidently but not defiantly.

Her posture was excellent.

Her eyes met his without challenge.

Most people either avoided looking at him...

Or stared too long.

Zafira did neither.

Interesting.

Across the room, Zafira reached a similar conclusion.

The rumours had been wrong.

Alaric Vale wasn't loud.

He wasn't cruel.

He wasn't desperate to prove his authority.

He simply possessed it.

Which made him far more dangerous.

"Rosa speaks highly of your cooking," Alaric said.

"I've only been here a few hours."

"Exactly."

He glanced at Rosa.

"And she's already trying to steal you permanently."

Rosa folded her arms.

"If she's smart, she'll let me."

A genuine laugh escaped Alaric.

It was brief.

But real.

Zafira noticed.

People didn't fake laughs like that.

They happened naturally.

Another unexpected observation.

"I'll let you both get back to work," Alaric said.

He nodded once.

"Good evening."

"Good evening, Mr. Vale," they answered together.

He left as quietly as he'd arrived.

Only after the kitchen door closed did Rosa look at Zafira with a satisfied smile.

"I told you."

"Told me what?"

"He's nothing like people imagine."

Zafira looked towards the closed door.

No...

He wasn't.

And that made her mission infinitely more dangerous.