The decoration in Valen’s room was even worse.
His bed was completely covered in pink, from the bedsheets to the cushions, with pink balloons scattered all around it.
The entire room looked so lively and ridiculously girly that it barely resembled Valen’s bedroom anymore.
And the funniest part was that Isadora hadn’t even done it herself.
Since she had been warned never to go to the third floor, she had simply sent Anthony to do it for her that afternoon.
Valen stood in the middle of the room, staring at his bed in complete disbelief.
“I’m going to kill that girl.” Ruel, who had been struggling to hold back his laughter since they entered the room, finally stepped forward when he saw Valen’s expression.
“Boss, don’t.” Valen slowly turned toward him.
“Don’t what?” “Kill her.” Ruel paused, trying very hard not to smile.
“She did it with good intentions.” “What good intentions?” Valen snapped.
“She’s a witch.” Ruel pressed his lips together.
“Boss, calm down.” Valen took a long breath and rubbed his forehead.
He looked around the room one more time, clearly questioning every decision that had led him to this moment.
“Right.” He exhaled slowly.
“She just wants to test my nerves.” He walked toward the bed, still surrounded by an offensive amount of pink.
“I’m going to sleep.” .
.
.
The next morning, Isadora had no intention of leaving her room anytime soon.
She sat on her bed, still thinking about yesterday.
The gunshot, the way Valen had looked at her, and most importantly, the fact that he had actually put a gun to her head because of some balloons.
She swallowed just thinking about it.
“I really don’t understand this man,” she muttered, staring at the ceiling.
“He just acts like a mafia boss all the time.
And why the hell does he always have a gun?” She frowned for a moment.
“Rich people don’t normally walk around with guns, do they?” Probably not.
With a tired sigh, she let herself fall back onto the mattress.
She had only wanted to make his birthday a little less miserable, and somehow she’d ended up nearly getting herself shot.
“Now I’m stuck here because I don’t want to die.” Downstairs, however, Valen seemed to have already moved on from the previous day’s disaster.
The estate was back to normal.
There wasn’t a single pink balloon or ridiculous ribbon left in sight, as if nobody had turned his home into a pink birthday party the day before.
He went into the dining room expecting to see Isadora, but she wasn’t there either.
After a quick glance around, he returned to the living room, where something on the table caught his attention.
A cake.
Valen stopped in front of it.
There was a message written across the icing in bright letters:Happy Birthday, Mr.
Grumpy Valen.
His expression immediately changed.
Of course.
He was still staring at the cake when one of the servants came over and picked it up, probably intending to get it out of his sight before it caused another problem.
“What is that?” Valen asked.
The servant stopped and looked at him nervously.
“It was… the cake Miss Matthew made for your birthday yesterday, Master.” The servant looked down at the cake, then back at Valen.
“I was actually going to throw it away.” Valen was about to tell him to do exactly that when Ruel’s words from the night before came back to him.
She did it with good intentions.
He stared at the cake again.
It was childish.
The message was irritating.
And he still hadn’t forgiven her for turning his entire house pink.
But… “No.
Don’t throw it away.” The servant looked surprised.
“Give it to me.” He handed Valen the cake, and Valen took it without another word.
His eyes returned to the icing.
Mr.
Grumpy Valen.
He muttered it under his breath, clearly unimpressed.
Yet he didn’t throw the cake away.
.
.
A soft knock on Isadora’s door made her sit upright so quickly that her heart nearly jumped out of her chest.
For a second, she wondered if Valen had finally come to finish what he had started the night before.
“Come in,” she said cautiously.
The door opened, and there he was.
Valen stepped inside with the cake in one hand, looking as composed as ever, as though he hadn’t nearly given her a heart attack twenty-four hours ago.
“Good morning.” Isadora stared at him.
She didn’t answer.
The silence stretched between them until Valen glanced at her, seemingly unaffected by her refusal to speak.
“I saw your cake.” “Oh…” She wasn’t sure what else to say.
After yesterday, she was honestly surprised he hadn’t thrown it at her head.
“Thank you,” he added.
“But I don’t like cakes.” Isadora blinked.
Then why did you come all the way here with it?
“Is there even something you like?” she murmured under her breath.
Valen’s eyes shifted toward her.
“Yes.” Her stomach dropped.
He heard me?
“I like things,” he continued, perfectly calm.
“Just not this.” Isadora gave him an awkward little smile, suddenly very aware that she had been caught talking about him.
Valen walked over to the table and placed the cake down.
“I came to give it to you.
Since you’re not a grumpy person, I’m sure you’ll like it.” She smiled despite herself.
“Very funny.” He turned toward the door, but before he could leave, Isadora’s curiosity got the better of her.
“Wait.” Valen glanced back.
“Why don’t you like your birthday?” This time, he didn’t answer with a joke.
His expression changed so subtly that she almost missed it.
The amusement disappeared from his eyes, replaced by something she couldn’t quite read.
He looked toward the window for a moment, as if the question had taken him somewhere far away from the room.
Then he looked back at her.
“Because there isn’t much to celebrate.” Isadora frowned.
“What does that mean?” A faint smile returned to his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“You’re always this curious?” “Maybe.” He gave a quiet, almost amused breath.
“It’s a long story.” He started toward the door again.
“Wait,” she said.
“What happened?” Valen stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
For a few seconds, he said nothing.
Then, without turning around, he murmured, “Some birthdays are better forgotten.” And he left.
Isadora remained completely still.
She stared at the closed door, then at the cake sitting on her table.
Something about the way he’d said it made her forget all about the gun from yesterday.
she wondered what could possibly have happened on Valen Da Costa’s birthday that made a man like him wish he could erase the day from his memory.