Only Ever Mine (The Valens #2)

1. Christian

1

CHRISTIAN

The ballroom sparkled with that cold, over-the-top elegance I’d seen at a million events like this.

Everything shined—polished marble floors, crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and a sea of people wrapped in designer labels.

It was meant to be impressive, but all I could feel was how lifeless it was.

I adjusted the cuffs of my tuxedo, scanning the room for something—anything—to hold my interest.

The event, a charity gala for some cause I couldn’t quite recall, was the sort of obligation my family insisted I attend.

I usually showed up, made a few connections, and slipped out early. Tonight was going to be one of those nights. Or so I thought.

And then I saw her. She wasn’t part of the crowd. She was apart from it.

Near the far end of the room, standing with a group of staff, her auburn hair caught the soft light, drawing my attention like a flame in the dark.

Her face was stunning—sharp cheekbones, delicate features, and full lips that looked like they’d curve into a smirk at the slightest provocation.

But it wasn’t just her face that held me captive. It was the way she moved—unhurried, yet purposeful.

She exuded confidence, the kind that wasn’t performative but rooted in something real.

The crisp white chef’s jacket she wore, paired with sleek black pants, should have made her blend in with the staff, but on her, it looked like a statement.

She wasn’t here to impress anyone. That fact only made her more magnetic.

I’d never been the type to believe in being struck by someone at first sight. Attraction? Sure. Lust? Absolutely. But this was something else.

This was a pull I couldn’t explain, one that had me adjusting my tie and crossing the room before I even realized what I was doing.

I approached slowly, giving myself time to take her in. She was speaking with a waiter, her voice low and authoritative.

Her tone wasn’t harsh, though—it was calm, steady, the kind of voice that demanded attention without raising its volume.

I liked that. Too many people in my world felt the need to shout to be heard.

Her lips quirked into a small smile as the waiter nodded and scurried off, leaving her alone for the moment. It was my opening.

“Excuse me,” I said, stepping closer.

She turned to face me, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

Her eyes were a piercing green, sharp and intelligent, like they could see straight through me.

“Yes?” she said, her tone polite but guarded.

I offered her a smile. “I wanted to compliment the food. It’s… exceptional.”

Her eyebrow arched slightly, her expression skeptical. “Exceptional? That’s a bold word. Are you just being polite?”

“Not at all.” My voice came out lower than I intended, but I didn’t bother correcting it.

Her presence seemed to do something to me, something I wasn’t used to.

“Polite isn’t really my style. I say what I mean,” I told her.

Her lips twitched, and I got the sense she was fighting back a smile.

“Well, in that case, thank you. I’ll take that as high praise,” she replied.

“It is.”

The way her eyes met mine, unflinching and full of challenge, sent a jolt through me.

Most people looked at me with some combination of awe, envy, or barely disguised greed. This woman didn’t.

She looked at me like I was just a man standing in her way, and for some reason, that only made me want her more.

“Scarlett Lane,” she said, extending her hand.

“Christian Valen.”

Her hand was small but firm in mine, her grip self-assured. I held on a beat longer than necessary, just to feel the heat of her skin against mine.

“Valen, huh?” she said, pulling her hand back. “I think I’ve heard of you.”

“Good things, I hope,” I told her with a smile.

“Let’s just say the Valen name tends to come up in certain circles.”

“And what do you think of what you’ve heard?” I asked.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I try not to judge people based on rumors.”

I laughed softly, intrigued by her boldness. Most people in her position—working at an event for people like me—wouldn’t dare speak so candidly.

But Scarlett didn’t seem to care about the dynamics of wealth or status.

“So, Scarlett,” I said, leaning in slightly, lowering my voice just enough to make it feel intimate, “how does someone as talented as you end up catering an event like this?”

She crossed her arms, and the movement pulled my attention to the curve of her waist, the subtle way the tailored jacket hugged her figure.

“I own a restaurant,” she said simply. “Amélie. Have you heard of it?”

I nodded. “I’ve been there. The lamb shank? One of the best I’ve ever had.”

Her expression softened, her eyes warming slightly. “Good to know you have taste.”

“I like to think so.” My gaze dropped briefly to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. If she noticed, she didn’t show it.

“And you?” she asked, tilting her head. “What’s your excuse for being here?”

“Obligation,” I admitted. “My family’s heavily involved in this charity.”

“And you’re not?” Scarlett asked.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

She smiled faintly, shaking her head. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Fair enough.” I chuckled, taking a sip of the champagne I’d barely touched. “Let’s just say I prefer being behind the scenes.”

“Funny,” she said. “You don’t strike me as someone who stays in the background.”

“Why’s that?”

Scarlett shrugged, her eyes flicking over my face, like she was trying to figure me out.

“You’ve got that… presence,” she said, her tone casual, but there was something sharp underneath. “People like you—big personalities, big money—you just naturally take up space. Even when you’re not trying to.”

I couldn’t tell if she was complimenting me or calling me out, but the way she said it hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. No one had ever made me feel this… seen.

“And you?” I asked, leaning in slightly, my voice dropping lower. “Do you take up space?”

Her lips curved into a slow, teasing smile, equal parts invitation and challenge. “Only when it’s worth it,” she said, her voice like a dare.

The air between us shifted, thickened. For a moment, I forgot we were surrounded by hundreds of people.

All I could focus on was the way her green eyes seemed to pull me in, the way her scent—something soft and clean, with a hint of vanilla—wrapped around me like a tether.

“You’re interesting,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

Scarlett blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Interesting?”

“Most people here are predictable. You’re not.”

She looked at me for a long moment, her gaze unyielding. “Careful, Christian. I’m not sure you’d know what to do with someone who isn’t predictable.”

I leaned in just slightly, the corner of my mouth lifting in a smirk. “Try me.”

Her breath hitched, so softly I almost missed it. But I didn’t miss the way her pupils dilated or the way her lips parted, just barely.

She was affected, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

But before I could press further, she straightened, glancing at her watch.

“I should get back to work,” she said, her voice steady, but her cheeks were a touch pinker than before.

“Let me take you to dinner,” I said, surprising even myself.

Scarlett froze for a second, her expression unreadable. “Dinner?”

“Yes. You know, two people sitting across from each other, sharing good food, good wine…” I let the implication hang in the air.

She studied me like she was trying to decide whether I was serious or just playing a game. “I’ll think about it,” she said finally.

It wasn’t the answer I wanted, but it wasn’t a no. As she walked away with effortless confidence, I realized I couldn’t look away.

The night wore on. I stood there with a champagne flute in hand, scanning the crowd for any sign of Scarlett.

She’d retreated to the kitchen after our conversation, vanishing into the background like she was part of the staff, not the mastermind behind the evening’s extraordinary menu.

I found myself leaning subtly toward the ballroom doors, as if by sheer will I could catch another glimpse of her through the chaos. It was maddening.

“Christian Valen,” a familiar voice purred.

I turned to see a tall brunette in a slinky dress that probably cost more than most people’s mortgages.

She was a model—I vaguely recalled seeing her in an ad campaign for some luxury brand, though her name escaped me.

“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” she teased, her hand lightly brushing my arm. “What’s the matter? Am I losing my touch?”

On any other night, I might’ve smiled, leaned into the flirtation, and let it carry me wherever the evening took us.

But tonight was different. My head was somewhere else—no, with someone else.

“I’ve been distracted,” I admitted, my tone more clipped than I intended.

She arched a perfect brow, her red lips curling into a playful smirk. “Well, maybe I can help with that.”

Her words were suggestive, her intent clear, but all I could think about was Scarlett.

The way she’d looked at me—direct but unguarded, like she wasn’t impressed by my name or my money.

That kind of honesty was rare, and it lingered in my mind like a melody I couldn’t shake.

“Not tonight,” I said, stepping back slightly, creating the space I needed. “I have a lot on my mind.”

The brunette’s smile faltered for just a moment before she regained her composure. “Suit yourself, Christian. But don’t keep me waiting forever.”

She walked away, her confidence unwavering, but I barely noticed. My thoughts were back in the kitchen, where Scarlett had disappeared.

The sounds of the gala seemed to blur into the background as I replayed our conversation.

I wasn’t used to this—feeling so unsteady, so out of control.

I could handle boardrooms and billion-dollar deals without breaking a sweat, but this woman had knocked me off balance with a few sentences and a killer smile.

Unable to focus on anything else, I finally gave up on small talk and called my driver. The penthouse was waiting, and maybe a change of scenery would help clear my head.

The ride back to my place was a blur. I stared out the window, the city lights streaking past like ghosts, but all I saw was her. Scarlett.

Her name echoed in my mind, soft but insistent, as if it had carved out a space for itself there.

By the time I stepped into the quiet luxury of my penthouse, I felt restless, the kind of restlessness that couldn’t be soothed by a drink or a distraction.

I poured myself a whiskey anyway, the amber liquid swirling in the glass as I tried to shake off the feeling.

I’d come to the gala expecting another forgettable night, but now, I felt the sharp sting of something I hadn’t felt in years: hunger.

After finishing my drink, I made my way to the bedroom, hoping sleep would come quickly.

But when I closed my eyes, she was there, vivid and impossible to ignore.

In the dream, we were in a kitchen—not the one at the gala, but one that felt warmer, more personal. The kitchen at the lake house our family owned.

Scarlett moved with ease, her hands deftly working over a cutting board. She looked up at me, her eyes sparkling with something unspoken, and smiled.

It wasn’t the polite smile she’d given me earlier in the evening; it was something real, something meant just for me.

I reached out to touch her, to tell her—what? I wasn’t even sure. But the dream slipped through my fingers, the image fading as quickly as it had come.

I woke with a start. My chest felt tight, my mind racing. I ran a hand through my hair and stared at the ceiling, the weight of the dream pressing down on me.

This wasn’t like me. Women didn’t haunt my thoughts like this—not even close. But Scarlett Lane wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met.

And I wasn’t sure I’d ever be the same again.