Only Ever His (The Valens #1)

1. Tori

TORI

T he dream always came the same way.

I lay curled up in bed, every nerve stretched thin as I clutched a cold metal handgun beneath my pillow, my fingers trembling around its grip.

Shadows stretched across the room, spilling from corners and doorways that didn’t exist.

They pooled closer and closer until one of them unfurled, coalescing into a figure standing at the foot of my bed.

I couldn’t see his face—couldn’t make out anything more than a silhouette.

But the way he held himself, the familiar tilt of his head, the simmering rage in his stance, made my chest tighten in recognition.

It was Marcus. I felt him in my bones, in the heavy press of dread that sat like a weight on my heart.

Slowly, the shadows slithered away, revealing his features one by one—the narrowed eyes that once looked at me with kindness now dark with malice.

The hard line of his mouth twisted into something that barely resembled human.

I wanted to scream, to raise the gun from beneath my pillow and aim it at him, but my arms wouldn’t move.

I was frozen, locked in place by the same fear that had shackled me for years.

Marcus stepped closer, his face tightening with rage as he leaned over me, his voice a snarl that shredded through my veins.

“You thought you could leave me?” he spat. “You thought I’d just let you go?”

My breath caught as his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my wrist, pinning me to the mattress.

The gun slipped from my grip, clattering uselessly to the floor.

His grip was vice-like, squeezing until pain radiated up my arm and tears pricked my eyes.

I was powerless, just as I had been when I left, just as I had been every time he’d made me believe that I was nothing, that I’d always be his.

My heart pounded against my ribs, adrenaline flooding my veins as panic clawed at me, desperate and raw.

And then I woke up.

I shot upright in bed, my heart racing, skin damp with sweat, chest heaving as I gulped in breaths of cool morning air.

It took a few seconds for my brain to catch up, to tell myself that I wasn’t that helpless woman anymore.

That Marcus wasn’t looming over me, ready to tear apart everything I’d built.

I ran my hand over my face, trying to steady my breathing, to ground myself in the present.

Five years. It had been five long years since I’d escaped him, left behind the broke, terrified girl I once was.

I was Tori Blake now, the proud owner of a boutique in Oakridge Bay.

The sound of my shop’s name alone helped soothe my rattled nerves. I’d worked so hard to create a life he could never touch.

And yet, even now, Marcus’s ghost haunted me in my sleep, a specter of memories I wished I could burn away forever.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, feet meeting the cool floor as I steadied myself.

I am not her anymore.

The words became my anchor, a mantra I clung to as I pushed the nightmare back into the shadows where it belonged.

I wasn’t that scared, silenced version of myself.

I wasn’t the woman who flinched at raised voices or second-guessed every decision, terrified it might be the wrong one.

I was safe now. I was free.

I had clawed my way out of that darkness, brick by brick, dollar by dollar, until I had built a life I could call my own.

A life I was proud of.

A life where his shadow couldn’t reach me anymore. And no matter what, there was nothing he could do to tear it down.

A hot shower was my first stop, and I let the water beat down, imagining it washing away every trace of the dream.

The steam fogged up the mirror, and as I wrapped myself in a towel, I saw myself as I was now—calmer, stronger.

My reflection looked me squarely in the eyes, as if daring me to let him haunt me again.

Not today, I thought, nodding back at my reflection. Not ever again.

After getting dressed, I slipped into my routine with the comforting ease of well-worn steps.

I went to Oakridge Grind, my favorite coffee shop just down the road.

The place was small, cozy, with hand-painted murals of oak trees winding along the walls and a barista who always greeted me with a smile.

“Morning, Tori! Usual?” Jamie, the barista, asked with a wink.

"Good morning. Yes, please," I said, grateful for the sense of familiarity.

She handed me a latte and a fresh blueberry muffin that warmed my fingers through the wrapper.

The simple comfort of it, the taste of the coffee and the sweetness of the muffin, grounded me in the here and now.

I wasn’t in some nightmare world where Marcus lurked in the shadows.I was in my hometown, surrounded by the life I’d made for myself.

The walk to my boutique, Velvet & Lace, was short and peaceful.

I loved this town and its quiet streets, the way the morning sun filtered through the trees lining the main road.

Velvet & Lace sat on a charming corner of Main Street.

The boutique was more than just a shop. It was the culmination of years of dreaming, planning, and relentless hard work.

Every detail carried a piece of my heart.

Even on my darkest days, when the world seemed heavy and hope felt like a distant memory, Velvet & Lace brought me joy.

It reminded me of how far I’d come, a tangible proof that dreams could become reality.

When I arrived, Candy was already there, setting out a new display with her usual enthusiasm.

Her bright red hair and matching lipstick were as bold as her laugh, which echoed softly through the quiet store.

“Morning, boss!” she called, giving me a smile as she fluffed the sleeves of a blouse on one of the mannequins. “Ready to make some magic?”

“Morning, Candy,” I replied, returning her smile. “Let’s open up and do this.”

I unlocked the door, letting in the golden light of the morning.

Then I took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of lavender that I always kept in a diffuser at the back of the store.

My boutique was a blend of vintage charm and modern elegance.

Every detail had been chosen with care—from the rustic wooden racks to the carefully curated pieces that filled each shelf.

Pastels, warm neutrals, and soft, textured fabrics filled the space, making it feel like a warm, inviting sanctuary.

I’d poured my heart and soul into creating a place that felt safe, a haven for anyone who walked through the doors.

I looked around, letting pride swell in my chest.

This was mine. I had done this.

Every late night spent poring over designs, every risk I’d taken, every setback I’d pushed through had led to this moment.

This wasn’t a gift, or luck, or a handout. It was mine, built from the ground up with my own two hands.

And as I stood there, I couldn’t help but let the pride settle in, warm and steady, filling the cracks I never thought could be mended.

Just as I was preparing to settle into the day, the soft chime of the doorbell rang, signaling a new customer.

I turned, expecting a local or maybe a tourist, but the sight that met me was something else entirely.

Trouble had just walked into my store.

He was tall, impossibly tall, with broad shoulders that filled the doorway.

His black hair was short and perfect, as if a single hair out of place would be an affront to him.

Sharp green eyes locked onto mine, piercing and unreadable.

His suit was perfectly tailored, hugging his frame in a way that was both sophisticated and sinfully enticing.

The air shifted, electrified, as he stepped inside, moving with a confidence that bordered on predatory.

Every line of his body spoke of command, of someone who was used to getting exactly what he wanted.

My heart gave an involuntary lurch, the lingering shadows of the dream retreating under the weight of his presence.

He looked around briefly before his gaze returned to me.

He studied me with an intensity that made my skin prickle, as if he could see beneath the surface, straight to the thoughts I tried to keep hidden.

“Good morning,” he greeted with a smile I couldn’t help be wary of.