Page 22 of Her Alien Owner

"A bit," I admit, feeling my cheeks warm.

He smirks. "Good."

We eat in comfortable silence for a few moments before he speaks again. "Tell me more about yourself, Ariana. What brought you to Armstrong?"

I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. "I was born here. And my family, well…" I think about them, for the first time in a while. They're struggling just as much as I am, but they'd be upset if I spent any time worrying about them.

"They were looking for a better life. They thought they found one, anyway," I say. "Life has been... challenging."

"Haven't we all had our challenges?" His tone is softer now, almost understanding.

I nod slowly. "Yes, I suppose we have."

The main course arrives—succulent meat paired with exotic vegetables—and I'm momentarily distracted by its perfection.

Valen watches me as I take my first bite, his gaze never wavering. "Is it to your liking?"

"It's wonderful," I say honestly, savoring each flavor.

The aroma lingers in the air, creating a momentary distraction from the questions swirling in my mind. I take a sip of wine, feeling a surge of bravery rise within me.

"Valen," I begin, my voice steady despite my racing heart. "What brought you to Armstrong? It's not exactly known for being a welcoming place for outsiders, especially kilgari."

He pauses mid-bite, his green eyes locking onto mine. There's a flicker of something—hesitation?—before he sets his fork down with deliberate slowness.

"Challenges," he says finally, his tone measured. "Armstrong is full of them. But I see nothing but potential here."

I lean forward, curiosity piqued. "Potential? On a planet ravaged by war and poverty?"

"Precisely," he replies, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Where others see ruins, I see opportunity. Armstrong's history is its strength; it just needs the right hands to mold it into something greater."

"And those hands are yours?" I can't help but ask, intrigued by his confidence.

"Why not?" He shrugs slightly, but there's no mistaking the intensity in his eyes. "I've faced worse odds."

I tilt my head, studying him. "But why you? Why would someone like you—wealthy, successful—choose to come here and rebuild?"

He leans back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly against the table. "Not all humans appreciate a man with horns," he admits, his voice carrying an edge that suggests past wounds. "But here, differences can be overlooked if you're determined enough."

I nod slowly, understanding more than he probably realizes. "So it's about proving something? To yourself or to others?"

"Maybe both," he says quietly, looking out at the stars for a moment before turning back to me. "But mostly to myself."

I take another bite of the delicious meal, chewing thoughtfully. His words resonate with me more than I'd like to admit.

"Do you ever regret it?" I ask softly. "Coming here?"

He shakes his head almost immediately. "Regret is for those who lack vision."

I can't help but smile at that. His unwavering belief in himself is both admirable and daunting.

"So what's your vision for Armstrong?" I press on, genuinely curious now.

"To turn it into a place where potential isn't just seen but realized," he says simply. "A place where people can rebuild their lives without the shadows of the past looming over them."

His words strike a chord within me. Despite our differences—our worlds apart—I find myself drawn to his vision.

"I hope you succeed," I say earnestly.

---