Chapter 200: Liam's POV
Three weeks. That's how long it had been since he'd ordered Valkyrie to become his maid.
Three painfully slow weeks.
Liam hadn't expected her to take the command so literally. He expected defiance, sarcasm, maybe a few days of her pretending to follow through before trying to run. But she stayed. She obeyed. And yet, somehow, it pissed him off more than if she had fought.
Because she didn't just obey—she obeyed with venom in her gaze and ice in her smile.
Every time she walked into his office with coffee, she slammed the mug hard enough on the table to crack it. Every time she passed him in the hallway, her chin was high, her silver eyes blazing with contempt. She didn't yell. She didn't scream. She didn't even curse him out. But her silence was louder than all of that combined.
And damn if it didn't crawl under his skin.
Liam sat at his desk now, watching the security feed on his tablet. She was in the guest kitchen, scrubbing the stovetop. Again. It was already spotless. She'd cleaned it three times that week alone. But the way she scoured the surface, like she was trying to erase him from it, made him clench his jaw.
She hated him. That much was obvious.
And she wanted him to know it.
He let out a breath and leaned back in his chair, tossing the tablet aside. He'd never felt so unsettled. Not during business takeovers. Not even when he led missions for the underground. But this woman—this infuriating, proud, beautiful woman—was inside his house, inside his space, and inside his damn mind.
He rubbed his temples.
Why had he done this?
Why hadn't he just let her walk out of the dungeon and disappear?
Because I wanted her close.
Because I wanted to see what betrayal looks like when it breathes and walks and scrubs my floors with hatred.
Because part of me wanted her to suffer.
But he hadn't anticipated that watching her day in and day out would mess with his head. She was so composed. So calm. She didn't break, didn't beg, didn't even flinch when he gave her the cruelest tasks.
Last week, he told her to clean the garage in the pouring rain. She did it without a word.
Two days ago, he gave her a list of meaningless errands, deliberately making her walk around the estate for hours. She didn't complain. Not once.
She just came back, wet, tired, dirty… and still proud.
She wasn't the woman he knew four years ago. And yet, she was. The same spark. The same fire. Only now it burned colder, fiercer, sharper. He didn't know if he respected her more or hated her more for it.
And then there was that night.
He remembered coming home late. He was tired, irritated after a board meeting, and all he wanted was silence.
But Valkyrie had fallen asleep on the library floor, curled up with a blanket she must have found. Books surrounded her like she was building a fortress from him. He stood there, watching her chest rise and fall, black wavy hair loose, lashes long over pale cheeks.
For a moment, just a second, he saw the girl he used to love.
And he hated it.
He hated that his chest tightened.
He hated that he wanted to touch her, just once, to see if she'd still flinch away.
He hated that even in hate, she still held a piece of him.
Liam stood and moved to the window, hands in his pockets. Outside, the rain had started again, soft and slow, like the skies were mourning something too.
He didn't know what to do with her.
She was completing every task. She didn't break the rules. She followed his orders. But it wasn't submission—it was a challenge.
Like she was saying, "Is that all you've got?"
And maybe that's what kept him from firing her, or letting her go.
She reminded him that he hadn't won.
She reminded him that no matter how much control he had, she still held a knife to his pride.
A knock sounded at the door. He didn't answer.
A second later, the door opened anyway. Valkyrie stepped inside, her expression unreadable. She was dressed in the plain black uniform he made her wear, but nothing about her ever looked plain.
"I've finished the rooms upstairs," she said, tone clipped and professional.
"Then clean the garage," he said without looking at her.
"I did. Yesterday."
He turned to face her.
"Then do it again."
She didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just nodded once. "As you wish, sir."
Sir.
The way she said it made his blood boil. It wasn't respect—it was mockery wrapped in obedience.
He watched her turn and leave the office. No hesitation. No reaction.
And he realized something that disturbed him more than anything else.
She wasn't just surviving this.
She was waiting.
Waiting for something.
For him to break?
For revenge?
He didn't know.
But the silence between them had become louder than their past ever was.
And Liam knew—he couldn't ignore it much longer.