CHAPTER 203: CHAPTER 203

Valentina gasped softly, her eyes squeezing shut as her hand instinctively shot up to her temple.

It came fast and heavy—like a bell being struck from deep within her head. For a moment, everything around her felt like it tilted, pulsing, blurring at the edges.

Raymond straightened instantly, his eyes narrowing.

"Valentina?" he called, stepping toward her.

But just as quickly as it came, the pain faded. The pounding stopped. Her breath steadied.

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking away the haze. It was gone. Completely.

Raymond was now right in front of her, his voice edged with concern.

"What was that?" he asked, his tone still calm, but his eyes darkened with alertness. "Are you alright? What’s going on with you?"

Valentina didn’t speak right away. She just stood there, her breathing shallow, one hand still lightly pressed against the side of her head as if trying to hold the last bit of the pain at bay. Raymond stayed close, watching her every movement, reading every flicker of discomfort on her face.

For a few seconds, she looked lost in thought—like her mind was drifting somewhere else, trying to place the sudden pain. But whatever it was that had surged through her, it passed as quickly as it came. The pounding in her skull faded, slowly retreating until it was little more than a whisper, and finally... gone.

Her shoulders relaxed.

She lowered her hand, blinking away the fog that had briefly clouded her sight.

"I’m fine," she said softly, trying to offer a small smile but not quite managing it. "I think I just... I really need some good rest."

She took a deep breath. "That’s what I need. It came out of nowhere. Just a sharp headache, then it disappeared. Maybe stress."

Raymond nodded, though his eyes didn’t lose their focus. "Okay," he said gently. "Then get the rest you need. No one’s expecting you to make Sterling Design great overnight."

He moved to her side, brushing a hand across her back in quiet reassurance. "This isn’t a race, Valentina. Take your time. You’re allowed to breathe too."

She looked up at him, her heart warming just a little. That tone of his—firm but calm—was something she had grown to find comfort in.

"Alright," she whispered. "Then I’ll go lie down for a while. That headache..." she paused, rubbing her forehead briefly, "was just too strong."

The moment Valentina’s words reached the ears of her grandmother—who had been resting quietly in the adjacent room—her calm shattered like glass beneath a hammer. She had overheard just enough: Valentina’s soft-spoken complaint about the sudden, pounding headache, and Raymond’s attempt to soothe her with promises of rest.

But rest wasn’t enough.

Not when it came to Valentina.

Not when she, the last living echo of everything the old woman held dear, was in even the slightest discomfort.

The grandmother rose from the armchair, her hands trembling—not from age, but from the storm brewing in her chest. Her jaw clenched. Her breath grew heavy with a controlled fury, the kind that had ruled an empire of respect in her prime, and hadn’t dulled with time.

She stepped toward the hallway, quietly but with fire in her steps.

To her, nothing Valentina said was ever small. A slight headache? That was a warning. A passing moment of fatigue? That was a signal.

Because when the world had taken so much from them, from their family, and from her bloodline—she had learned never to dismiss anything as coincidence.

And now this?

This sharp, unexplained pain that came suddenly... and left just as fast?

Her mind started to spin.

Raymond might have appeared calm, but she knew him. She knew what churned behind those eyes. And just as she suspected, he was already thinking deeper, digging inward, wondering about the unseen.

And he’d be right.

Because if there was one thing she had learned in this life—and the many secrets it carried—it was that unexplained pain never came without a shadow.

Her mind raced back to the outing. Luca.

Valentina had been fine. Radiant, even. But now, she was pale, withdrawn, disoriented.

Could it be him?

Raymond had said they didn’t eat anything at the mall. They hadn’t even shared drinks. It was just a walk, a few photos, laughter—and yet, Valentina had returned home looking drained. Her energy snuffed out like a candle.

Her heart pounded. Her fists tightened.

It didn’t add up. None of it.

The headache. The suddenness. The way it came and vanished like smoke.

Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

And Valentina didn’t understand it yet—but her grandmother’s instincts, honed over decades of war, betrayal, and blood... were already screaming.

At that moment, Raymond turned to her quickly, his calm unraveling into deep concern. His voice lowered, soft but urgent.

"Valentina," he said, stepping closer, "how are you feeling? Talk to me. Are you weak? Is it spreading? Can you stand?"

She tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t come.

Her hands were trembling slightly, and her eyes had lost their focus, like they were struggling to stay locked on his. She shook her head, slowly, and her voice came out fragile — thinner than he’d ever heard it.

"I... I don’t know what’s happening, Raymond."

Her knees buckled slightly. He reached out on instinct, steadying her.

She gripped the sleeve of his shirt tightly, as if trying to ground herself in something real.

"I’ve never... I’ve never taken anything for granted," she whispered, her voice now laced with fear. "Ever since I got this second chance at life, I’ve been careful. I’ve been trying to be stronger... smarter. But this—this headache—"

She winced as another wave of pain sliced through her skull, and this time, she couldn’t hold it in.

She dropped to her knees.

Her arms wrapped around herself instinctively as her breathing grew shallow, her body trembling under the weight of something unseen and unbearable.

"It’s getting worse," she murmured, barely audible. "So much worse... everything’s spinning—Raymond—I can’t... I can’t even feel my legs right now..."

Raymond’s heart hammered in his chest. He was already down beside her, scooping her into his arms before she could collapse further.

He didn’t speak. His jaw clenched. His focus sharpened like the edge of a blade.

This wasn’t just exhaustion.

This wasn’t just stress.

Something was wrong.

He carried her quickly toward their bedroom, pushing the door open with one hand and cradling her tightly with the other. The moment he laid her gently on the bed, her face contorted in pain again, her hand clutching the sheets as another shockwave surged through her.

Without hesitation, Raymond turned to their tall cabinet—carved with symbols that hadn’t been seen in modern medicine for centuries. He opened it and reached to the highest shelf, moving aside the false containers to reveal a slim, obsidian box with silver trims.

Inside were the ancient vials. Formulas that had long been erased from existence. The kind that didn’t technically exist anymore... except for in his hands.

Except for in their home.

And tonight, he was going to use them.

Knowing full well this wasn’t the kind of sickness that came with late nights or skipped meals, Raymond’s hands moved with precision and speed. He pulled out the strongest vial from the black obsidian box—a rare antibiotic serum crafted centuries ago, far beyond anything human pharmaceutical science could replicate today. It shimmered slightly in the low light, a soft violet glow pulsing in its core like it was alive.

Without hesitation, he uncapped it and gently injected it into Valentina’s arm.

For a moment, she lay still—her body trembling, face damp with sweat, chest rising and falling unevenly. Raymond sat by her side, not blinking, watching for even the smallest change in her breath, the twitch of her fingers, the shifting of her brows.

Then, slowly... her body began to still.

The shaking eased. The strain in her face loosened. Her breathing became steadier.

Valentina stirred with a soft groan, her eyelids fluttering open like someone pulling free from a nightmare. She blinked twice, then reached up to touch her forehead.

"I can... I can feel my head," she whispered.

Raymond leaned in slightly.

"I can feel my hands. My legs... still a little heavy, but I feel them," she added with a shaky breath. "It’s like the pressure is gone. There’s still a little... tension in my chest, but it’s not unbearable."

Raymond didn’t smile. He didn’t relax.

If anything, his expression became darker—colder. Because what she had just described only confirmed what he already suspected: this was not an illness. This was an attack.

The kind that left no visible marks.

The kind that hid its hand but showed its force.

He rose from the edge of the bed, then looked down at her, eyes hard and voice low.

"From this moment on," he said, "you’re not going anywhere alone."

Valentina blinked up at him, confused.

"I’m going to be keeping a very close eye on you," Raymond continued. "What just happened to you... wasn’t a mistake."