"Trust you?" Rafael chuckled darkly, the sound devoid of humor. "That’s rich, coming from you two. But fine—let’s say I believe you. What hospital? Think hard."
Bianca leaned in, her smirk barely contained. "We told you, we don’t know. That’s why we’re here, begging for your help. You’re the powerful one, after all."
The golden light of Rafael Vexley’s lavish living room spilled across the marble floors, glinting off every polished surface like it was trying too hard to impress. The air carried that familiar blend of mahogany, wealth, and quiet deceit—an intoxicating mix that could make anyone forget what honesty slled like.
Rafael sat motionless in his wheelchair, his tall, athletic fra drawn taut as if a single wrong word might snap the tension holding him together. His hands gripped the armrests, knuckles pale, while his steely grey eyes—supposedly blind—held a hidden fire that made his jaw tighten with restrained rage.
Across from him, the Monroe sisters lounged on an antique leather sofa, looking as though they’d stepped out of a glossy magazine rather than into the lion’s den. Sarai’s sharp green eyes flickered with unease, betraying the fear she tried to mask beneath her poise. Her raven hair was pulled back into a severe bun that only made her look more dangerous. Beside her, Bianca—calm, radiant, and calculating—sat with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, her honey-toned skin shimring beneath the chandelier’s soft light.
They looked like mirrors of each other—two beautiful predators who shared the sa heartbeat, the sa secrets, and the sa talent for destruction. The only question now was who would strike first.
Rafael’s hands—once steady, authoritative, the hands of a man who ruled every room he entered—began to tremble against the armrests of his chair. The anger that surged through him wasn’t just a flare of emotion; it was wildfire, consuming logic, feeding on betrayal. Every word that spilled from their painted lips stoked the flas higher. Lies. Poison wrapped in honey.
But beneath the fury was sothing far more dangerous—a creeping terror that dug icy claws into his chest. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out reason, as his mind betrayed him with a single, horrifying thought: what if they weren’t lying?
Eliana’s face rose before him—those gentle honey-brown eyes that always saw him, not his blindness; the soft curls that frad her face like shadows dancing in candlelight; the quiet grace that made her presence feel like calm in the middle of chaos. The image of her—hurt, alone, maybe calling his na into the void—sent a shiver down his spine.
He wanted to deny it. To believe she was fine. But fear has a way of whispering the cruelest truths.
Bianca, ever the picture of poised elegance in her form-fitting designer dress that scread money, money, tilted her head with feigned concern. Her sharp green eyes, so like her sister’s, flickered over Rafael’s shaking form. "Mr. Vexley," she said smoothly, her voice like velvet laced with hidden thorns, "are you alright? You look... unwell... Is there sothing we can do? Perhaps a glass of water?"
Rafael’s piercing gaze, though pretending to be sightless, fixed on her with an intensity that made her shift uncomfortably. He forced his voice to remain steady, though it cracked at the edges with raw emotion. "No, Bianca. I’m not alright. But I have to find Eliana. I have to make sure she’s okay. That’s all that matters right now."
Sarai leaned forward, her full lips curving into what she hoped was a sympathetic pout, her expensive perfu wafting through the room like a cloying fog. "Oh, Mr. Vexley, we understand. We’re just as worried. She’s like family to us—well, not quite like Bianca and , of course. We’re inseparable, you know? Blood and all. But Eliana... we just want her safe too."
Inside, Rafael’s mind raced, weaving a dark tapestry of plans. If these vipers had truly hard Eliana—if their hands were stained with her blood—he would dismantle their world piece by piece. His billionaire resources, his tech empires and shadowy connections, would beco weapons of retribution. He’d expose their greed, shatter their socialite facades, and leave them begging for rcy. But first, verification. He couldn’t let emotion cloud his calculating nature.
With a deep breath to steady himself, Rafael reached into the hidden compartnt of his wheelchair, his fingers brushing against the cool tal of his phone. He pulled it out, maintaining the charade of blindness, and activated the voice command with a deliberate, theatrical flair. "Phone, call Jas," he intoned, his voice low and urgent, echoing slightly in the cavernous room.
The device beeped in compliance, and monts later, Jas’s voice crackled through the speaker, professional yet tinged with surprise. "Mr. Vexley? What’s going on? You sound... off."
Rafael’s heart hamred as he leaned closer to the phone, his pretended sightless eyes staring blankly ahead. Panic edged his words, making them spill out in a rush. "Jas, listen carefully. I need you to find out about an accident that happened on Elm and Broad—the main road—six days ago. The exact day you had that eting with Eliana. Dig into it now."
Sarai and Bianca exchanged a confused glance, their perfectly manicured brows furrowing in unison. Sarai’s green eyes widened slightly, and Bianca’s lips parted as if to speak, but they held their tongues, their cunning minds whirring. What eting? they seed to wonder silently, but neither dared interrupt, lest they reveal too much of their web of lies.
On the other end, Jas’s voice faltered, a note of alarm creeping in. "An accident? What the matter is, sir? Why that day specifically?"
Rafael gripped the phone tighter, his knuckles whitening despite the tremor in his hands. "It’s likely Eliana might have been in it, Jas. She could be hurt—or worse. Check the hospitals where the victims were taken. Find out everything—nas, conditions, anything. Hurry."
Jas felt a cold fear slither up his spine, icy fingers gripping his chest. He had invited kind, resilient Eliana out that day for what he thought was a harmless discussion. If sothing had happened to her because of it... the guilt crashed over him like a wave, making his voice tremble. "Oh God, sir... if she’s in the hospital because of ... I’ll get on it right away. Give twenty minutes."
The call ended with a click, leaving the living room in suffocating silence. Sarai fidgeted with her sleek bun, her sarcastic edge bubbling up despite the tension. "A eting with Jas? What was that about, Mr. Vexley? Eliana never ntioned anything like that to us."
Bianca shot her sister a warning glance, squeezing her hand in that unbreakable sisterly bond. "Sarai, darling, let’s not pry. Mr. Vexley is clearly distraught. We should just wait and hope for the best."
Rafael ignored them, his mind a whirlwind of dread and determination. He stared at the floor, pretending to be lost in blind contemplation, but inwardly praying for a miracle—that there was no accident, that these sisters were nothing but lying opportunists. The minutes ticked by agonizingly, the grandfather clock in the corner chiming like a death knell. Sarai and Bianca whispered to each other, their voices low and conspiratorial, laced with hidden glee.
"Sis," Sarai murmured, her eyes sparkling with malice, "do you think he’s buying it? He looks like he’s about to crack."
Bianca smirked, her voice a silky whisper. "Patience, little pea. Our pod is unbreakable. Eliana’s out of the picture, and soon he’ll be too broken to fight back. Everything is going according to plan."
Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was precisely twenty minutes, the phone buzzed again. Rafael’s voice command answered it instantly. "Jas? What did you find?"
Jas’s voice ca through, heavy with reluctance, each word a hamr blow to Rafael’s hopes. "Sir... there was an accident that day. A bad one—cab versus a van on Elm and Broad. The victims were taken to Jackson’s Hospital. And... Henry Jackson himself was involved. He took charge of the female victim personally. Transported her himself."
Reviews
All reviews (0)