Chapter 15 Miss Me

**Valerie**
The coming days were torturous for me with arduous daily tasks. I had literally no spare time to consider any of the puzzles I had about this place or my parents before. All I wanted was good sleeps after long-day work.
Fortunately, my ordeal was supposed to be ended soon, or at least that’s what I thought so.
The masters would all be coming back this evening as guests coming from a far distance would perhaps arrive very early tomorrow. That meant we would have to get everything fully prepared before the night fell.
I was designated to clean a spare bedroom on the second floor by Mrs. Manson this morning. She had been completely resenting me after Mr. Drakos nominating me to be selected, so she doubled my daily work. Samantha implied that I should find a chance to report it to Mr. Drakos as Mrs. Manson was clearly “revenging” me for being “mistreated” by him, and that Mrs. Manson wasn’t only hoping me to suffer but also wanting me to make an exhibition of myself.
But I didn’t care much about her kind suggestion because I didn’t think Mr. Drakos would take any interest in a slave’s life or death. And moreover, like I said, I didn’t have extra energies to think about Mrs. Manson’s real intention or its consequences.
This room was filled up with the reek of stale objects. I didn’t really dare to move or breathe the moment I stepped in as the whole place was under a thick layer of dusts.
Why this room seemed to have never been cleaned.
Slowly treading over the creaking floor, I reached the window sill and raised on my tiptoes, trying to rotate the handle. But the irons were completely rusty and with its toughness, I couldn’t get the stuck loosen at all.
It would be impossible to carry out my work while the window was shutting. So I looked around, trying to find some tools for assistance. That was when I saw the picture with golden frame placed on a nightstand.
Out of curiosity, I squatted down to take a closer look.
Removing the dusts covering on the glass surface, I found it was a photograph of two men standing before a waterfall. The two seemed to be very intimate friends and they were smiling brightly to the camera while taking this photo.
One of them looked like Alpha Xavier but with a more severe face. The other man’s face was very familiar as well but I couldn’t recall anyone in resemblance.
“Valerie Davis! Here you are! Loaf again?!”
I was almost startled while someone shouting at the doorway. It was of course Mrs. Manson.
With her eyes burning in fury, she yelled at me, “I told you to clean up the bedroom for Princess from the North! What are you doing here? Hurry up!”
I must look like a fool as Mrs. Manson’s face quickly twisted in wrath. It was after a few seconds that I realized I made a mistake.
I went into the wrong place. The room Mrs. Manson pointed was on the left corner while where I stood now was on the far right of this corridor.
Mrs. Manson didn’t even want to speak another word to me. She glared at me before stomping away.
I dragged myself along the hallway carrying with heavy bucket and dirty mop. When I reached there, I bent down exhaustedly, propping hands on my thighs and taking a few deep breath.
This room was noticeably cleaner than the other one. The décor looked neat and elegant in a much softer colors. A small beige floral sofa was placed between the window and the night stand. The cover of headboard was made of pink silks.
It reminded me of my own bedroom.
Despite moving frequently, mom had always decorated our house in a rather cozy way. I loved that hand-stitched floral slipcover she made for our vintage sofa from second-hand market. Its patterns looked quite like this ones though the color was lighter.
“What are you think about?” A deep male voice came from my back.
My body stiffened instinctively, for me thinking it must be one of the male servants. Afraid of being scolded again, I quickly turned back and made a bow.
But when I raised up, it was Mr. Lang who leant against the doorway and stared at me.
I hadn’t seen him for weeks and something looked quite different about him today.
He crossed his arms over the chest, lips curling into an inscrutable smile. He was wearing a navy blue shirt with the front two buttons loosened, his pale skin shining under the light. His hair color looked surprisingly blonde this time, matching well with his eye color. The hem of his shirt was tucked into the belt to reveal the inverted triangle of his body shape. His left leg rest casually against the frame, like a model postured for a shot of ‘Sexiest Man Alive’.
I was stunned momentarily before bowing my head down again and addressing him, “Mr. Lang.”
“I missed you. Do you miss me, little bird?” He smirked, as he stepped inside before stopping right in front of me.
I pursed my lips, not knowing what to reply to his playful question.
He cupped my chin, forcing me to look up at him, “You’re emaciated, little bird.”
The coldness of his finger tips made me winced.
“I’m fine, Mr. Lang. Could you please let me go? I need to finish cleaning the room today for celebration.” I replied.
It was a rather difficult for me to speak with my head tilting back but I managed to say in a placid tone.
As if noticing my discomfort, he released the grip, fingers brushing over there softly.
“I’ll tell Mrs. Manson to arrange someone else. You come with me.” He demanded.
“No, there’s no need Mr. Lang. I—” I wanted to reject him.
But he cut me off as the smile quickly faded on his face.
He sneered, gazing at me through his cold eyes, brows furrowing deeply, “Valerie, you really think I’m easy to deal with, do you?”
I didn’t anticipate this. “N…no, I’m sorry. Mr. Lang.” I stammered.
He snorted again, then licked his lips as if being thirsty for a drink and skimmed my body lustfully.
“Don’t try my patience.” He lowered down to whisper
I recoiled back in fear as he suddenly grabbed my wrist, pulling me into his chest. His arms wrapped tightly around my waist.
“Watch out, little bird.” He placed a gentle kiss on my cheek before a strong dizziness devoured me. I had the feeling that we’re moving extremely fast, as the scenes in front of me blurred into vague images. Winds whistled sharply in my ears. My stomach flinched as I had a nausea to vomit.
But before I actually threw up, we stopped. We landed on a lawn with a bunch of roses in different colors planted in short distance. I could smell the calming scent of fresh flowers carried a gentle breeze. Our castle was located not far in the vision and this place seemed to be a private garden affiliated to it.
I look bewilderedly at Mr. Lang, who grinned at me and gestured me to turn around. As I turned up on my heels, he took my hand like a gentleman and led me on a narrow stone path. Walking through the flower field, I could see we’re approaching a statue which was standing at the end of this path.
As we finally stopped in front of it, I found the statue was sculptured into a women in armor. She grabbed a pistol with a sophisticated floral motif in her hand. She looked young and beautiful but her face was oddly severe and complicated, as if staring at someone she loathed and loved in the same time.
Delicate roses were placed near her feet, showing us that she used to be just as vivid as those flowers.
I turned to stare at Mr. Lang in silence, who looked blankly at the statue. His lips were pursed tightly as if trying hard to resist something out of it. He had an inscrutable countenance of a solitary sorrow that no one was able to understand.
Perhaps, it was just impossible for somebody to actually understand a sadness of others.
We stood there, buried in our thoughts peacefully, inebriated by the sweetness of flowers.
For a moment, I had a delusion that I’m not a slave of him, but a friend who had an obligation to share the burden of his lament.
I grabbed his hand proactively this time and gave him a reassuring smile, like the one mom used to do for me.