Chapter 199 – Valkyrie POV
Three weeks.
That's how long it's been since Liam Blackwood opened the heavy door of that underground prison and gave her freedom—if one could call being his maid any kind of freedom. No chains shackled her wrists anymore, but the weight of humiliation pressed deeper than iron ever could.
He didn't want her as a lover. He didn't want revenge that drew blood. No. Liam wanted obedience.
He wanted her to scrub his floors.
"You'll stay in my house, follow my rules, and serve me until I say otherwise. That's your punishment."
His words still echoed in her mind every morning she woke up in the dull servant room behind the east wing of his estate. The same room where the walls were too white, too quiet, too sterile—like they were trying to bleach the fire out of her.
Valkyrie gritted her teeth as she plunged her hands into scalding water and scrubbed his marble kitchen counter. Her fingers were red, cracked, and sore. Not that she cared. She wanted him to see it—to see the hate blazing in her silver eyes every time she looked his way.
The tasks he assigned her weren't ordinary. No, Liam was calculated in his cruelty.
"Clean the garage. On your knees," he said once.
"Polish every shoe in my closet. I want to see my reflection," another day.
She'd trimmed the hedges until her fingers blistered, carried crates up and down the stairs for hours, and even been made to wash his car—only for him to splash mud on it afterward, smirking with dark satisfaction. Every day felt like a taunt, a slow, deliberate effort to break her spirit.
But Valkyrie didn't break.
She didn't cry, not once.
Instead, she endured. With clenched fists and a silent vow burning in her chest: One day, Liam Blackwood will regret humiliating me.
"Miss Valkyrie," said Mrs. Cora, the head of staff, appearing at the kitchen doorway with her ever-judging eyes and tightly pinned bun. "Mr. Blackwood is expecting his lunch on the back terrace. You're already five minutes late."
Valkyrie wiped her wet hands on the apron and forced herself to nod. "Yes, ma'am."
Five minutes late? Good. She hoped the food was cold.
Carrying the tray of grilled steak, vegetables, and wine, she pushed the glass door open and stepped onto the terrace. Liam sat there with his sleeves rolled up, sunglasses on, scrolling through his phone like the world revolved around him.
And it did—at least his world.
"You're late," he said coolly, not looking at her.
"I was scrubbing your precious counter," she bit back, placing the tray down with a little more force than necessary.
He looked up at that. "I don't recall giving you permission to speak to me like that."
Valkyrie met his gaze, her chin held high. "And I don't recall agreeing to be your maid. Yet here we are."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face, which only made her angrier. He liked this. He liked her fury. It was a game to him.
"You're still fiery. I thought three weeks would simmer that attitude down."
"You thought wrong." She stepped back, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "What exactly are you trying to prove, Liam? That you own me? That you can humiliate me?"
"I don't need to prove anything," he said, cutting into his steak. "This isn't about power. This is about balance."
"Balance?" she scoffed. "You call this balance?"
"You infiltrated my world. Lied. Betrayed. I trusted you." He chewed slowly, then continued, "So no, this isn't revenge. It's justice. The longer you serve me, the more you'll understand what it means to earn trust—not steal it."
Valkyrie's hands curled into fists.
Trust. The word scraped something raw inside her. She had never expected forgiveness, not after what she did. But this—this slow-burning punishment—was worse than a bullet. Worse than exile.
She couldn't take it anymore.
She ripped the apron from her waist and flung it on the ground.
"I hate you, Liam."
His fork paused mid-air.
"I hate the way you look at me like I'm nothing. I hate that you didn't kill me when you had the chance. And I hate that a part of me still… still cares that you're angry at me."
Silence stretched between them like an open wound.
Liam set down his fork.
"Do you care, Valkyrie? Or is that just another act?"
She turned away before he could see the tears rising in her eyes. "I don't know anymore."
A part of her wished he'd yell. Wished he'd threaten her. But instead, he stood up and walked toward her, his footsteps soft on the stone floor.
"I don't expect you to love me," he said quietly behind her. "But I expect you to face what you've done."
"I face it every day," she whispered. "Every time I see your face. Every time I remember that I broke the only person who ever made me feel human."
Liam's breath hitched for a second.
Then he stepped back.
"Then clean the greenhouse next. Top to bottom. It better shine."
The softness in his voice was gone, locked away again.
Valkyrie didn't turn. She didn't speak. She just picked up the apron, tied it back around her waist, and walked away.
Every step she took, she hated him a little more.
But every time she saw the flicker of pain behind his eyes, a sliver of guilt tore through her.
She hated that too.