Signed away by my step father

CHAPTER 14

14

The flashbulbs of the media cameras burned against my retinas, but the tight, unyielding grip of Valerian’s hand around my waist kept me grounded. The whispers in the ballroom didn't stop, but their tone instantly transformed from mockery to sheer, stunned disbelief. *Sylvia Vance.* Hearing my name attached to his felt like an electric shock, a sudden rewrite of my entire identity.

Before the reporters could swarm us, Valerian guided me smoothly through the crowd and out a side exit, where a stretched, midnight-black limousine was idling under the hotel’s private canopy.

The moment the heavy door clicked shut, the loud, chaotic energy of high society was replaced by a heavy, luxurious quiet. The interior of the limo was cast in a soft, dim blue light, smelling of polished wood and expensive leather. I collapsed against the plush seat, a massive wave of physical exhaustion finally crashing over me. My hands were still faintly trembling from the adrenaline of the kitchen line.

Valerian sat directly across from me. He reached up, smoothly unknotting his silk bow tie and pulling it free, undoing the top button of his collar with a slow, deliberate grace. He poured a small splash of sparkling mineral water into a crystal glass and slid it across the sleek mahogany console toward me.

"Drink," he commanded softly. "You're dehydrated."

"Thank you," I whispered, lifting the heavy glass to my lips. The cold water felt incredible against my parched throat. I looked down at my stained chef’s coat, feeling suddenly hyper-aware of the stark contrast between his flawless tuxedo and my grease-splattered uniform. "Mr. Vance... why did you do that out there? You didn't have to introduce me to them like that. The contract only required me to work."

Valerian leaned back against the leather cushions, his long legs crossed at the ankle. His striking silver-gray eyes tracked a faint charcoal smudge on my cheek before locking onto my gaze with an intense, clinical focus.

"The business world operates on perception, Sylvia," Valerian murmured, his low, velvety voice vibrating through the quiet space of the vehicle. "If the elite view you as a servant or a piece of debt collateral, they look for weakness in the Vance Syndicate. But if they view you as a prodigy under my direct protection, they see an untouchable asset. I do not allow my assets to be looked down upon."

"An asset," I repeated quietly, a small, bitter lump forming in my throat. Of course. It was always about business, strategy, and corporate optics. I was foolish to think, even for a split second, that his protection had anything to do with me as a person.

"Does that word offend you?" Valerian asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he detected the shift in my mood.

"No," I said, setting the glass down and looking directly into his piercing silver gaze. "It's better than what Richard called me. At least an asset has value."

A heavy silence settled between us as the limousine glided smoothly through the dark, winding roads leading up into the hills. The city lights flickered across Valerian’s pale, aristocratic features like a silent movie, making his expressions look deeper, darker, and entirely unreadable.

"Your stepfather was a fool," Valerian said after a long beat, his tone dropping into a quiet, dangerous register. "He had a master chef working his register and he treated her like garbage. He didn't deserve the restaurant, and he certainly didn't deserve you."

I blinked, the raw sincerity in his voice catching me completely off guard. I looked away, my fingers instinctively tightening around the hem of my apron to hide the sudden, fierce warmth blooming in my chest. Nobody had ever defended me like that. Nobody had ever looked at the broken pieces of my past and told me they were valuable.

"Why are you doing all of this for me, Valerian?" I whispered, using his actual name for the very first time without thinking.

The limousine took a sharp turn, the sudden shift in momentum causing my exhausted body to tilt slightly. Before I could steady myself, Valerian reached across the small gap between the seats. His long, elegant fingers caught my hand, his grip surprisingly warm, firm, and steady.

He didn't pull away. He held my hand right there in the dim blue light, his thumb lightly brushing over the fresh, faint pink grill scar on the side of my wrist—a wound I had earned just two days ago.

"Because you have fire in you, Sylvia," Valerian whispered, his silver eyes burning with a deep, suffocating intensity that made my breath lock completely in my throat. "The world tried to burn you out, but you just used the heat to cook. I like things that survive."

The car smoothly pulled up to the main portico of the Vance Estate, the engine cutting out into absolute stillness. But neither of us moved. He kept his hand wrapped around mine, the boundaries of our cold, formal contract cracking silently in the dark.