One Night in Valeria - Chapter 18: Chapter 18
You are reading One Night in Valeria, Chapter 18: Chapter 18. Read more chapters of One Night in Valeria.
It started with silence. Not the usual kind not the calm before a storm, or the quiet ache that lived between her and Liam.
This silence was off.
Too still.
Too careful.
Jessica walked into her studio early, expecting to find Celeste prepping samples or cleaning up threads from last night’s fittings.
But the lights were already on.
And the fabric her newest collection, the one she’d been preparing in secret was ruined.
Slashed.
Every piece of silk was torn through the center. Embroidered bodices were shredded, beads scattered like broken promises across the floor.
Her breath caught.
Not in fear.
In fury.
Celeste came running a moment later, heels clicking hard against tile. “Jessica!”
“I didn’t touch anything,” Jessica quietly. “Call security. Now.”
She crouched beside the red dress prototype. The one she’d stitched by hand hours of work, layers of pain sewn into beauty. Now it lay limp and defaced, black ink scrawled across the hem in rushed handwriting.
“You think you can rise without blood?
Velaria eats its orphans.”
No signature this time. Just venom.
Celeste returned with a guard and the building manager, who looked pale and nervous. “There was no forced entry,” he muttered. “All doors logged with access cards. We’ll pull the security tapes.”
Jessica rose slowly, eyes hard, fists clenched.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “Whoever did this knew the cameras.”
Celeste touched her arm. “This is personal.”
Jessica nodded once. “It always has been.”
Later that evening, Liam sat at the edge of his desk, reading the report the guard had already forwarded him discreetly. His contact within the Conservatory fed him everything Jessica refused to tell him herself.
Her studio had been violated. Her art desecrated.
And she still hadn’t called him.
He could’ve stormed in. Demanded to know what she needed. But something about her silence told him not to yet.
She was angry now. Focused.
And when Jessica Hale was focused, she was fire.
He wanted to protect her.
But he also knew she had to burn her own way forward.
Jessica sat alone on her balcony, wine untouched beside her. The wind was soft tonight, but the air still carried something bitter.
She clutched the ruined hem in her lap, fingers tracing the scrawled ink.
You think you can rise without blood?
Her mother had risen. Briefly. And fallen harder.
Now they were trying to drag Jessica down too through whispers, threats, sabotage.
But they’d made one mistake.
They touched her art.
And that… she wouldn’t forgive.
She reached for her sketchpad, flipped to a blank page, and started drawing.
Not a dress this time.
A message.
Armor made of silence.
Beauty made of grief.
A woman standing tall in a broken city stitched in red, eyes defiant, holding a pair of golden scissors.
And beneath it, she wrote: "If they want to cut me down…
I’ll show them how sharp I’ve become."
This silence was off.
Too still.
Too careful.
Jessica walked into her studio early, expecting to find Celeste prepping samples or cleaning up threads from last night’s fittings.
But the lights were already on.
And the fabric her newest collection, the one she’d been preparing in secret was ruined.
Slashed.
Every piece of silk was torn through the center. Embroidered bodices were shredded, beads scattered like broken promises across the floor.
Her breath caught.
Not in fear.
In fury.
Celeste came running a moment later, heels clicking hard against tile. “Jessica!”
“I didn’t touch anything,” Jessica quietly. “Call security. Now.”
She crouched beside the red dress prototype. The one she’d stitched by hand hours of work, layers of pain sewn into beauty. Now it lay limp and defaced, black ink scrawled across the hem in rushed handwriting.
“You think you can rise without blood?
Velaria eats its orphans.”
No signature this time. Just venom.
Celeste returned with a guard and the building manager, who looked pale and nervous. “There was no forced entry,” he muttered. “All doors logged with access cards. We’ll pull the security tapes.”
Jessica rose slowly, eyes hard, fists clenched.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “Whoever did this knew the cameras.”
Celeste touched her arm. “This is personal.”
Jessica nodded once. “It always has been.”
Later that evening, Liam sat at the edge of his desk, reading the report the guard had already forwarded him discreetly. His contact within the Conservatory fed him everything Jessica refused to tell him herself.
Her studio had been violated. Her art desecrated.
And she still hadn’t called him.
He could’ve stormed in. Demanded to know what she needed. But something about her silence told him not to yet.
She was angry now. Focused.
And when Jessica Hale was focused, she was fire.
He wanted to protect her.
But he also knew she had to burn her own way forward.
Jessica sat alone on her balcony, wine untouched beside her. The wind was soft tonight, but the air still carried something bitter.
She clutched the ruined hem in her lap, fingers tracing the scrawled ink.
You think you can rise without blood?
Her mother had risen. Briefly. And fallen harder.
Now they were trying to drag Jessica down too through whispers, threats, sabotage.
But they’d made one mistake.
They touched her art.
And that… she wouldn’t forgive.
She reached for her sketchpad, flipped to a blank page, and started drawing.
Not a dress this time.
A message.
Armor made of silence.
Beauty made of grief.
A woman standing tall in a broken city stitched in red, eyes defiant, holding a pair of golden scissors.
And beneath it, she wrote: "If they want to cut me down…
I’ll show them how sharp I’ve become."
End of One Night in Valeria Chapter 18. Continue reading Chapter 19 or return to One Night in Valeria book page.