004. Barefoot In The Rain

Valerie held the heavy black file like a weapon, her grip ready to rip the cardboard in half. She marched out of the servants' quarters, her chest heaving as she stormed straight into her old bedroom to grab her coat and passport. If she was leaving this graveyard, she was leaving on her own terms.

She jammed her hand into her wardrobe, but before her fingers could touch the fabric, a cold voice cut through the room.

"Leave it."

Damian stood at the doorway, his hands casually shoved into his pockets. Petra lingered just behind his shoulder, watching with wide, innocent eyes.

Valerie turned, her jaw tight. "I'm taking my clothes and my legal documents, Damian. I bought them with my own inheritance money before I ever met you."

"The last time I checked, everything in this estate belongs to Vance Enterprises," Damian said, his face completely expressionless. "You signed over your full assets and power of attorney to the company last year. Technically, you own nothing. Every dress, every pair of shoes, even the phone in your hand was maintained using my company accounts. Leave them."

Valerie froze, a sharp, disbelieving laugh escaping her lips. "Are you insane? You're telling me I can't even take my own clothes?"

"Damian, sweetie, maybe we should let her keep a few things," Petra whispered, her voice dripping with artificial pity. She clutched his arm tightly, looking at Valerie with a sad pout. "It's so cold outside, and she looks so desperate. I don't want her to hate our baby because we were too harsh on her. But then again... she did say she was done with us. It might be awkward if she lingers around to pack."

"She isn't packing anything," Damian said flatly. He looked at the two security guards waiting in the hallway. "Strip her down to what she brought into this house. Remove the jewelry, the slippers and the clothes."

Valerie backed away, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped animal. "Don't touch me! Damian, you can't do this!"

The guards didn't listen. They stepped forward, their faces tight with discomfort, but they obeyed. They systematically stripped off her designer cardigan, her silk dress, and her watch. Within minutes, Valerie was left standing on the cold hardwood floor in nothing but her black lace underwear. They even wanted to snatch the phone straight out of her trembling hand.

“I got this phone before I married you, Damian!” she spat, her voice shaking with pure fury. “You don’t get to take this from me!”

She stood there shivering, exposed, her dignity ripped away in front of the woman who had stolen her life. Petra merely smirked from the leather armchair, taking a slow sip of her wine as if watching a trashy soap opera.

Damian glanced down at the battered phone in her hand, his lips curling into a look of absolute disgust.

"Keep the damn phone, Valerie," Damian said, his voice dropping into a cold, condescending sneer. "Consider it a charity gift. God knows you won't be able to afford a new one anytime soon once my legal team freezes every single account tied to your name."

A sudden, violent crack of thunder shook the windows. Outside, the sky turned a bruised, pitch-black color as a torrential downpour slammed against the glass.

Valerie swallowed the heavy lump of humiliation in her throat, her voice cracking as the icy draft from the foyer hit her bare skin. "Can I at least wait until the storm passes? It's freezing."

"No," Damian replied without a single hint of hesitation. "You said you were done. So get out of my house."

Petra sighed softly, rubbing her flat stomach. "Oh dear, the weather is so awful. Valerie, I'm so sorry. I wish I could help, but Damian is just trying to protect our family privacy now. You understand, right?"

The security guards escorted Valerie down the grand staircase and out into the open courtyard.

The gatekeeper looked at her bare, shivering form with intense pity, his hand twitching toward an umbrella near his booth.

"Don't even think about it," the lead guard warned the gatekeeper. "Mr. Vance strictly ordered that she leaves with absolutely nothing belonging to him."

The heavy iron gates clicked shut behind her.

The moment Valerie hit the pavement, the freezing rain struck her bare skin like a thousand needles. She didn't have shoes. The cold gravel bit into the soles of her feet, drawing blood almost instantly, but she kept walking. She couldn't cry anymore. The trauma was so heavy it felt like dry ice in her throat, choking her breath away.

She walked for hours.

By the time the dark, drenched roads led her into the city center, night had completely fallen. The storm had cleared the streets, leaving only a few people running beneath the awnings of closed shops.

As she stumbled past a street corner, her skin blue from hypothermia, a group of teenagers noticed her. They burst into loud, mocking laughter, pulling out their phones to snap blurred pictures of the half-naked woman wandering in the rain.

Thankfully, the darkness and the heavy sheets of water covered her face, keeping her identity hidden in the shadows.

Her vision tunneled. A heavy, blinding pressure built behind her eyes as her lungs refused to take in the freezing air. Her knees wobbled violently, completely numb to the pain of the gravel.

Up ahead, the massive, glowing golden canopy of The Grand Horizon hotel offered a small shield from the downpour.

Valerie dragged her bleeding feet onto the slick marble steps of the exclusive entrance. She took one more ragged, gasping breath, her body finally hitting its absolute limit. Before she could take another step toward the lobby doors, her eyes rolled back, and she crumpled hard onto the freezing marble, the darkness swallowing her whole.

At that exact moment, the heavy glass doors of the hotel slid open.

Killian walked out into the cool air, draped in a flawless charcoal suit that radiated absolute authority. His hands were securely covered in his signature leather gloves, keeping the rest of the world at a safe distance.

His assistant hurried right beside him, holding open a large umbrella. "The vehicle is ready, sir. We can head straight to the estate."

Killian stopped dead in his tracks.

His sharp eyes locked onto the corner of the entrance, where a pale, shivering woman lay unconscious on the wet stone, dressed in nothing but ruined black lace. The bright neon lights from the canopy illuminated her face perfectly.

Killian’s breath hitched in his chest. Valerie.

"Sir, don't get close!" the man warned instantly, panic rising in his voice. "Remember your condition! You can't touch anyone, it will trigger the reaction! Let me call security—"

Killian ignored him entirely. A strange, powerful urge overrode his every survival instinct. He reached down, grabbed the edge of his right glove, and ripped it off, throwing it into the rain. Then, he tore off the left.

Before his assistant could scream, Killian knelt down in the water, slid his bare hands beneath Valerie’s icy shoulders, and pulled her broken body firmly against his chest.

He screamed, his tablet clattering onto the wet marble steps. "Boss, stop! Are you trying to kill yourself?!"

He braced for the horror. He waited for the immediate, terrifying manifestation of his boss’s curse—the sudden, desperate gasping for air, the violent swelling across his skin, the lethal drop in blood pressure that always followed even a minor accidental brush with a stranger.

But Killian didn't collapse.

He remained on his knees in the sweeping rain.

Before he even slid his hands beneath her, his dark eyes took in her shivering, exposed form. Without a second thought, Killian unbuttoned his custom charcoal suit jacket, ripped it off his shoulders, and wrapped the thick, warm fabric securely around Valerie's frozen body, shielding her from the biting wind and the prying eyes of the hotel staff.

Only then did his bare, uncovered hands slide firmly beneath her icy shoulders and knees. As he lifted her against his chest, his breathing remained perfectly steady. The suffocating weight that usually crushed his lungs at the mere thought of human contact never came. Instead, a bizarre, intense warmth radiated straight through his veins, instantly silencing the permanent, chaotic storm inside his own head.

She was freezing to death. And she was the only person in the entire world who didn't trigger his curse.

"Get the car door," Killian commanded. His voice wasn't weak or trembling. It was a deep, gravelly baritone that cut right through the roaring thunder.

Julian stood frozen, his jaw dropped, his mind completely short-circuiting as he looked from Killian's steady hands to the unconscious woman.

"But... boss... your condition... how is this—"

"Now, Julian!" Killian roared, his dark eyes snapping upward with a lethal intensity.

Julian scrambled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet as he lunged for the back door of the sleek black limousine, holding it wide open.

Killian rose effortlessly, cradling Valerie tightly against his chest, her face buried against his white shirt, hidden beneath his heavy jacket. He stepped into the back of the luxury vehicle, gently laying her down across the spacious leather seats before sliding in right beside her.

"Turn the heater on high," Killian ordered the chauffeur as the door slammed shut, cutting off the howling wind. "Drive to the private villa. Call Dr. Evans. Tell him to meet us at the gates with a medical team."

The limousine peeled away from the curb, its tires splashing through the deep puddles as it sped into the dark, empty night.

Inside the quiet cabin, the heat began to blast, warming the air. Killian didn't put his leather gloves back on. He sat rigidly, his bare fingers touching the pulse point on Valerie's icy neck. Her skin was shivering violently, her teeth chattering even in her unconscious state, her body instinctively curling into a tight, defensive ball beneath his large jacket.

“Who are you?” Killian thought, his gaze tracking the water dripping from her matted hair onto the leather.

Julian turned around from the front passenger seat, his face still pale with sheer disbelief. "Boss... I don't understand. We’ve spent millions across Europe looking for a cure for your tactile aversion. A single touch from a nurse three years ago almost put you in a coma. But her... you're holding her bare skin."

"Look into her," Killian said flatly, his eyes never leaving Valerie's bruised face. "Find out everything. Who she is, how she ended up half-naked at my hotel entrance, and who put that bruise on her face."

Julian’s fingers flew across his phone, tapping into their private intelligence network. Within minutes, his expression turned from bewildered to completely grim.

"I found her," Julian whispered, turning back to face Killian. "She is Valerie Hart. She just signed her divorce papers tonight. Damian Vance threw her out into the storm to make room for Petra Lee. They froze her accounts, stripped her of her family inheritance shares, and forced her out with absolutely nothing."

Killian’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening into dangerous, icy slits. "The Vance family."

The ancient feud between the Sterlings and the Vances had tasted like blood for decades. They had fought over territory, shipping lines, and power since their grandfathers' time. For Damian Vance to treat his own wife like garbage in the dirt was one thing, but to throw her right onto Sterling ground was an entirely different declaration of war.

"What do you want to do, sir?" Julian asked, his tone shifting into absolute professional lockstep. "Should I prepare a statement? Alert the board?"

"No," Killian whispered, his voice dripping with a dangerous, calculated calm. A cold, wicked smile slowly cut across his face as his bare fingers brushed against Valerie's wet hair. "The Vances have been trying to bleed us dry for years, and now Damian has hand-delivered the one miracle I've been searching for my entire life."

He looked down at Valerie, whose breathing was finally settling under the warmth of his jacket.

"Keep this completely quiet," Killian ordered, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the armrest. "Damian thinks he just threw away a piece of trash. He has no idea he just handed the Sterling family the weapon that is going to burn his entire empire to the ground."

—-

A sharp, sterile scent of eucalyptus and rubbing alcohol dragged Valerie back to consciousness. She didn't open her eyes immediately. Her entire body felt heavy, aching with a deep, bone-deep exhaustion, but the freezing chill that had been eating her alive was gone. Instead, she was wrapped in a suffocating, heavy warmth.

She shifted slightly, the friction of smooth, incredibly expensive white silk sheets sliding against her bare skin.

Valerie’s eyes snapped open.

The dim ceiling of the servants' quarters wasn't above her. Instead, she was staring up at a soaring, vaulted ceiling with intricate crown molding and a massive, minimalist crystal chandelier. The room was vast, dark, and cast in soft, warm shadows from a crackling marble fireplace in the corner.

Memory hit her like a physical blow. The divorce papers. Damian’s hand cracking across her face. The guards stripping her clothes. The freezing, mocking rain in the city center.

Panic flared violently in her chest. She gasped, frantically throwing the heavy duvet off her body as she scrambled backward against the oversized velvet headboard. She looked down at herself. She was wearing a loose, pristine white silk button-down shirt that clearly belonged to a very tall man. The sleeves fell past her knuckles, and it hung loosely over her thighs.

An IV line was taped securely to the back of her left hand, a clear fluid dripping steadily from a silver pole beside the bed.

"Don't pull the line out. You're still severely dehydrated."

The deep, gravelly baritone voice cut through the quiet room, making Valerie flinch.

She whipped her head toward the sound. Sitting in a dark leather armchair near the edge of the fireplace shadows was a man. He had his legs crossed, a heavy crystal glass of amber liquid resting loosely in his hand.

His face was striking, with a sharp, aristocratic jawline and dark, calculating eyes that were fixed entirely on her. He didn't look like an ordinary businessman. He looked like danger wrapped in luxury.

"Who are you?" Valerie asked, her voice coming out as a dry, ragged croak. She instinctively pulled the silk shirt tighter around her knees, her eyes darting toward the double doors of the massive bedroom. "Where am I? Did Damian send you?"

The man took a slow, deliberate sip from his glass, his expression entirely unreadable. "Damian Vance doesn't have the authority to step foot on this estate. And if he did, he would be shot at the gates."

Valerie froze, her breath catching in her throat. The cold finality in his voice made her blood run cold. "Then... who..."

"You collapsed on the steps of my hotel," he said smoothly, setting the glass down on a side table. He stood up, his towering, imposing frame casting a long shadow across the hardwood floor as he walked slowly toward the edge of the bed. "I am Killian Sterling."

The room seemed to tilt. Valerie’s jaw dropped slightly. Sterling.

Everyone in the city knew that name. The Sterling family was a global powerhouse, a shadow empire that kept Vance Enterprises locked in a permanent, brutal corporate warfare for decades. Damian had spent the last three years obsessing over how to bypass the Sterling shipping lines. And now, she was in the heart of their territory.

"Killian..." she whispered, the name tasting foreign and heavy on her tongue. She looked down at her hands, her mind racing in a thousand different directions. "You... you brought me here? Why?"

"Because you were dying on my marble," Killian said flatly. He stopped a few feet from the bed, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. His gaze dropped to her face, tracing the dark, ugly purple bruise that had fully formed along her jawline. His jaw ticked slightly at the sight of it. "And because Damian Vance is a fool."

Valerie felt a sharp, bitter pang of humiliation slice through her chest. She looked away, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the silk sheets. "If you're looking to use me to get to him, you're wasting your time. He took everything. My inheritance, my designs, my clothes. I have absolutely nothing left to my name. I am worthless to him."

"I don't care about what you were to him," Killian hissed quietly, stepping closer until he was standing right beside the mattress.

Before Valerie could move, he reached out with his bare hands. His long, elegant fingers moved with agonizing slowness until the back of his hand gently, deliberately brushed against her uninjured cheek, wiping away a stray strand of her damp hair.

Valerie flinched, waiting for the coldness, the rejection, or the cruelty she had grown used to. But his skin was intensely hot, sending a strange, electric jolt straight down her spine.

Killian didn't pull away. He leaned down slightly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a terrifying, absolute possessiveness that made her breath stop entirely.

"You are not worthless, Valerie," Killian whispered, his baritone vibrating in the quiet space between them. "To me, you are the most valuable thing in this city. And soon, the Vances will begin to pay for every single drop of rain that touched your skin."