Chapter 6 The Boy in the Rainer

The soft roar of the Valois family private jet engines began to subside as the plane's wheels kissed the private runway on the outskirts of Paris.

Inside the luxurious cabin, Agatha sat stiffly. Her knuckles turned white as she unconsciously squeezed the fabric of the emerald green dress she was wearing. The silk hugged her curves perfectly, featuring a high slit on the left thigh that teased danger with every movement. Yet, Agatha felt like she was wearing a clown costume.

She was "The Rose," an assassin who lived in shadows and blood. Now, she was forced into the blinding light of the aristocratic world.

"Stop squeezing your dress," Xavier reprimanded without looking up from the tablet in his hand. "You’ll wrinkle the silk before we even arrive."

Agatha released her grip, shooting him a sharp glare. "I’m not used to this, Xavier. Parading 'merchandise' like me before your mother? Do you really want to humiliate your own family name?"

Xavier turned off his tablet. He leaned forward, staring into her hazel eyes with an intensity that made the air in the cabin feel thin.

"Listen carefully, Agatha." His voice was low, vibrating with authority. "You are not merchandise. Tonight is your welcome party. You are the future Mrs. Valois. So, hold your head up. Don't let anyone see doubt in your eyes, not even my mother."

Agatha snorted softly, masking her nervousness with arrogance. "I’m not afraid of your mother. I just... dislike situations where I’m not in control."

"By my side, you are safe." Xavier stood up, offering his hand. "Come. Paris is waiting."

Château de Valois, Paris.

The black Rolls-Royce halted in front of the giant marble staircase of a magnificent 18th-century castle. Spotlights illuminated the ancient stone, making it look majestic yet intimidating, like a sleeping beast.

Security was tight. Dozens of guards in black suits blended into the shadows, ensuring not even a fly could enter without permission.

Xavier stepped out first, then extended his hand. Agatha took a deep breath, plastered on her signature cold mask, and accepted his grip. His palm was warm, a stark contrast to the cold night air.

They climbed the stairs.

Tap.... Tap.....

The sound of Agatha’s stiletto heels echoed, clashing with the rhythm of Xavier’s firm steps.

At the top, right in front of the massive oak doors, stood a woman.

Melynda Valois.

She was the epitome of intimidation. The middle-aged woman stood tall with perfect posture, draped in an elegant silver evening gown. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and her face was a feminine, sharper copy of Xavier’s. Her gaze felt capable of skinning anyone alive.

Agatha’s muscles tensed. In her head, she had already calculated the worst-case scenarios: a slap, a spit, or a degrading insult about her being a "bought" wife from a bankrupt family.

Melynda stepped forward. Her expression was unreadable.

"Mom," greeted Xavier, his tone slightly wary. His hand on Agatha’s waist tightened protectively. "Meet..."

Before Xavier could finish, Melynda’s icy defense crumbled.

It wasn't a slap that landed. The woman suddenly spread her arms and pulled Agatha into a bone-crushing hug.

Agatha froze. Her eyes widened in shock. Her assassin instincts screamed 'Danger!', but her body was enveloped in warmth.

A scent assaulted her nose—not stinging perfume, but the soft, fresh scent of lilies. A motherly scent that contrasted sharply with the cruelty of the Valois reputation.

"Finally..." Melynda whispered near Agatha’s ear. Her voice trembled, thick with held-back emotion. "Finally, my son brought you home."

Agatha stood stiffly, her hands hanging awkwardly by her sides. She glanced at Xavier, confused. He just stood there, the corner of his lips lifting into a thin, knowing smile.

Melynda pulled back, cupping Agatha’s face with warm hands. Her sharp eyes were now glassy with tears, examining every inch of Agatha’s features.

"Those hazel eyes..." Melynda murmured, her thumb stroking Agatha’s cheek. "You must not remember me, right? Or maybe you forgot the incident because you were too young."

"I... I’m sorry, Ma'am..." Agatha’s voice was hoarse. "I think you have the wrong person. I am just the adopted child of the Elara family. We have never met."

Melynda shook her head slowly, smiling through her tears. She turned to her son. "You haven’t told her, Xavier?"

"Not yet," Xavier answered casually, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I wanted her to hear it directly from you."

"Tell me what?" Agatha looked between them, her heart pounding. "What is this game?"

Melynda looked back at Agatha with deep gratitude.

"Fifteen years ago. In a dirty alley behind the market," Melynda began. "There was a boy, kidnapped and badly injured, hiding behind a pile of trash in the heavy rain. He was bleeding out, terrified of the hitmen chasing him."

Agatha’s breath hitched. A vague memory, buried under years of trauma and blood, suddenly clawed its way to the surface. Narrow alley. Smell of trash. Heavy rain.

"Then a little girl came," Melynda continued. "Thin, dirty, with fierce hazel eyes. She didn't run. She bravely threw stones at the hitmen to distract them, then pulled the boy into a narrow sewer where adults couldn't fit."

Agatha took a step back, pulling away from Melynda’s touch. Her head throbbed.

"I..." she whispered.

The image became clear. Her small hands, covered in mud, pressing on a wound in a boy's stomach. Sharing half a piece of stale bread. Guarding him all night until police sirens wailed in the morning. She had run away before the police arrived, afraid of being arrested for stealing that bread.

Agatha turned slowly towards Xavier. The powerful billionaire in the million-dollar suit standing before her... was the dying boy in the sewer?

"That was you?" Agatha asked in disbelief.

Xavier stepped closer, invading her personal space. He brushed aside a stray lock of hair covering her face.

"I never forgot the face of the person who saved my life, Agatha," Xavier whispered, his voice dark and velvety. "And I never forgot the hazel eyes of that fierce little girl."

"So..." Agatha swallowed hard, her brain scrambling to process the deception. "You knew? From the beginning? At the night club... you already knew who I was?"

"I always knew," Xavier answered. His emerald eyes glinted with possessive darkness. "I didn't buy you just because of Silas's debt. I took what should have been mine fifteen years ago."