Chapter 19: A Name, a Night, a Goodbye
Valerie had never planned to stay.
Not after what happened on the mountain. Not after she felt the strange warmth in her chest each time King looked at her like she wasn't broken.
The morning sunlight crept softly into the room, filtered through sheer curtains that fluttered with the sea breeze. Valerie stirred, her body still sore, but her fever had broken. She found herself wrapped in a warm blanket, the scent of pine and ocean mixing with something unfamiliar—peace.
King sat in the armchair near the window, a book in his hand, but he hadn't turned a page in hours. He'd spent the night watching over her, cooling her down, feeding her porridge with quiet care. She had surprised him. Shaken him. The healer was unlike anyone he had known.
When she tried to sit up, pain pulled at her shoulder. "Slowly," he said, rising to her side with water in hand. "Your fever's gone, but you're not healed yet."
Valerie accepted the glass, her eyes lingering on him. He was different now—softer somehow. A man known for ruling nations was watching over her like she was the only thing that mattered.
Later, as the sky burned gold in the sunset, and the sea outside whispered secrets to the shore, Valerie sat quietly in his oversized shirt, her mask nowhere in sight. Her eyes glistened, haunted and grateful.
And then, she moved toward him.
A brush of fingers. A whisper of skin. She placed her palm over his heart. He didn't stop her. He didn't understand why his body responded—but it did. He, who thought himself broken, found fire where there had only been ashes. It was she who leaned in first. She who kissed him with trembled breath. And it was she who said softly, "Let me have this."
It wasn't just sex.
It was the unraveling of loneliness, grief, and longing.
King had never needed protection from anything—except this. She was delicate and burning all at once. And when he made love to her, it was raw, hesitant, reverent. The absence of protection didn't even occur to him—he had nothing to prepare for. But for the first time in years, his body rose for someone.
They fell asleep, tangled in sheets and breath and confusion.
The day was a blur of silence and smiles. He fed her again. They shared porridge and laughter. There was sex in the shower, tentative and hot, and when she winced at her shoulder, he held her tighter, kissed her softly.
In the morning,
King woke up to meet his side of the bed cold.
He looked for her all over the mansion and she was no where to be found. Just like that she disappear.
A note she left says "My name is Valerie, i enjoy myself. Don't look for me."
She had written it herself. A name he had been chasing without knowing for weeks.
He didn't crumple the note. He didn't tear it.
Instead, he sat down, laid it flat, and stared at it.
And for the first time in a long time…
King Albanian smiled.
It was the first time he had a name.
And the first time something inside him shattered so quietly… it nearly killed him.
---
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind—but the hollow kind. The kind that presses on your ears and makes your own heartbeat sound too loud.
King stood in the doorway where she'd last lain—her body still fever-warm, curled up under soft linen. Now the bed was empty. The covers were folded. A note rested on the pillow.
Not a farewell. Not a letter.
Just a name.
Valerie.
He stared at it for a long time. A name without a face. A storm wrapped in silk. The ghost who left no past and carried his future away.
She didn't want to be found. Every trace had been erased like before. No discarded clothes. No scent. No emotion left lingering in the air. Just a woman who had given him back his body, his desire, and then walked away like she hadn't just rewired his very existence.
He touched the note like it might crumble under his fingertips.
"I understand," he whispered, voice cracking. "But I still want to know who you are."
---
The Awakening
King sat in his private library, robe hanging loosely around his shoulders. The untouched breakfast tray was still on the floor. The sun had risen and set, and he hadn't noticed.
He kept replaying it—every second with her.
The way her breath hitched when she touched his chest.
The disbelief in her eyes when he responded.
The soft, almost sacred way she kissed his palm after everything.
He touched his lips.
You awakened something in me.
And it all began at the hotel. The scent in that room. The calming pill. The mask. The sweetness under mystery.
"It was always you," he murmured to himself. "From the moment I stepped into that room. It was you."
---
Private Orders
Wayne entered cautiously, but King didn't look up from the fireplace.
"Find her," King said finally. "Everything. Real name. Background. Where she's lived. Her skills. The World Health… start from there."
Wayne raised a brow. "I thought you believed she didn't want to be found."
King nodded, eyes tired. "She doesn't. But I'll still look. Quietly. She saved me. I need to know her."
Wayne hesitated before asking, "And if you find her?"
King gave a slight, almost wistful smile.
"Then I'll ask her… if I'm allowed to stay by her side."
---
Closing Beat
That night, he slept in her room—not in his bed, but curled on her side of the mattress. He pressed his face to the pillow, breathing in the last traces of her.
And for the first time in years, he didn't feel rage.
He felt alive.
---