The rain had stopped, but the sky remained overcast when Arina Belle stepped out of the sleek black car in front of Vale Mansion.
The estate looked like something out of a high-end architectural magazine—marble driveways, sharp angles, massive glass panels, and sprawling modern gardens, perfectly manicured and silent. It was all immaculate. Cold. Sterile.
Just like the man who lived inside.
Arina clutched her bag tighter as the butler opened the front door with a slight nod. Her shoes clicked gently against the polished marble floor as she stepped inside. The air was scented faintly with sandalwood and something darker—cedar, perhaps. The kind of scent that lingered in expensive suits and luxury cars.
She took in her surroundings without being obvious. Every corner of the mansion was immaculate. Tasteful. Minimalist. Yet she felt no warmth. No soul.
This was not a home. It was a fortress.
And the man behind the fortress was watching her.
Leonard Vale stood at the top of the grand staircase, his presence commanding despite the simplicity of his outfit—black slacks, gray shirt, no tie. He looked down at her with unreadable eyes, arms crossed over his chest like a silent challenge.
Arina didn't flinch.
She met his gaze, calm and composed, her expression soft but unwavering. Her hair was pulled into a low twist again, a few strands framing her face. Her blouse was cream-colored today, paired with a charcoal gray coat that complimented her skin tone.
Elegant. Quietly confident.
Leonard descended the stairs slowly, each step deliberate.
When he reached her, he spoke first. "You're early."
"I find it's better to arrive before expectations can form," Arina replied gently. "It keeps things... neutral."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Neutral. That's your goal?"
"Just for now," she said.
He looked away, as if unimpressed, and gestured toward the hallway. "Follow me."
She did.
---
They walked through the mansion in silence, the only sound their footsteps echoing across the stone floor. Leonard led her past towering windows and minimalist décor until they reached a warm-toned sitting room—less cold than the rest of the house, but still impersonal.
"You'll find everything you need in the guest wing," he said. "Your room connects to mine. There's a separate door, but it stays unlocked at night."
"Understood," Arina nodded.
Leonard moved to pour himself another glass of whiskey, the same ritual from the night before. But before he could take a sip, Arina set her bag down and stepped forward.
"I brought something for you."
He glanced at her. "What is it? Another professional suggestion?"
"A personal one," she said, pulling out a small tin from her satchel. "It's an herbal blend I prepare myself. Chamomile, lavender, and lemon balm—with a hint of valerian. You won't like the taste. But the aroma might help you unwind."
Leonard stared at the tin, skeptical. "You want me to drink tea?"
"I want you to try," she said. "Smell it first."
He didn't take the tin from her, but watched as she opened it and scooped some into a small mesh infuser. From her bag, she pulled out a thermos of hot water, poured it with practiced precision into a porcelain cup she must've brought herself.
A gentle, floral aroma began to rise from the cup. Not overpowering. Subtle. Warm.
Leonard's expression didn't change, but something in his shoulders seemed to ease just slightly.
She offered the cup. "Smell it. That's all."
He didn't move at first. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and inhaled softly.
A pause.
Then another breath, deeper this time.
He didn't say it out loud, but Arina noticed the shift. The way his posture loosened. The way his eyes blinked a fraction slower. Even if just for a moment, his body responded.
"Not bad," he muttered.
Arina smiled. "That's a start."
---
They sat in silence for a while, Leonard sipping the tea—begrudgingly—and Arina taking notes, not on paper this time, but mentally. She studied his movements, his tone, his breathing patterns.
Every second was data. Every breath, a story.
"Why this job?" he asked suddenly.
She looked up.
"You could be working in a hospital, managing a team, making twice as much without the headache of clients like me."
Arina met his eyes calmly. "Because I don't believe in mass treatment. People aren't checklists. Healing isn't one-size-fits-all."
He tilted his head. "That sounds... noble."
"It's not," she said. "It's just real."
Leonard stared at her for a moment longer, then leaned back into the armchair, the tea still in his hand.
"You're not what I expected."
"I get that a lot."
---
As evening crept into the sky and shadows lengthened across the floor, the conversation between them slowed to a lull. Arina excused herself briefly to settle into her room, leaving Leonard alone in the sitting room.
He stared at the half-empty cup in his hands.
The scent was still there. Faint. Familiar. Comforting in a way that made him uncomfortable.
He wasn't used to this. The soft kind of presence. The stillness of someone who didn't need to speak to be heard.
And yet… the mansion didn't feel as cold tonight.
---
Later that Night
Arina returned to the master bedroom, this time carrying a small satchel and a folded blanket.
"I'll stay in the reading chair," she said. "I don't need a bed."
Leonard raised a brow. "You think you'll fix me by camping out across the room?"
"I think sleep is built on safety," she said, unfolding the blanket over the chair. "Sometimes, just knowing someone is there... helps."
He didn't respond, just climbed into bed and turned away.
Silence fell.
For nearly an hour, neither of them spoke. Arina didn't move. Didn't fidget. She sat still, her presence steady and calm, breathing slow and rhythmic.
Eventually, Leonard's voice broke the quiet.
"You said earlier that healing isn't one-size-fits-all."
"Yes."
"What if some people can't be healed?"
She opened her eyes. "Then they need to be understood."
A pause.
Leonard exhaled, slow and uneven.
"I don't think I've ever been understood."
"You will be," Arina said softly. "That's why I'm here."
---
The sound of her voice lingered in the dark, not like an echo, but like a hand resting lightly on his chest.
Comforting.
Unwelcome, but... comforting.
Leonard closed his eyes. The scent of her tea was still in the room, woven into the air like a lullaby.
And slowly, slowly... his breathing began to slow.
---
Midnight
He didn't know when he fell asleep.
But he did.
And when he woke just before dawn, there was no jolt. No sweat. No thunderous panic in his chest.
Just quiet.
Just peace.
And in the corner of the room, Arina still sat, eyes closed, hands resting on her lap like a guardian who had been watching all night.