In the opulent study of his Kensington ho, Rafael Vexley paced with the restless fury of an angry lion. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, broken only by the warm, trembling glow of the crystal chandelier overhead. Each step he took was sharp, controlled, yet reckless beneath the surface—like a man holding himself together with fraying thread.
Eliana’s voice still clung to him. Raw. Broken. Frantic.
He had replayed her every word a dozen tis already, each repetition carving deeper into him. The threat Mirabel had spat at her—a threat from his own stepmother—burned like acid in his veins. His jaw tightened, his hands curling at his sides as though he could still feel the phone pressed to his ear.
The worst part? He wasn’t blind anymore. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t bedridden.
And yet he had to pretend he was all those things.
His eyes—no longer glazed with the carefully trained façade of blindness—burned like twin storms, bright and furious, reflecting all the things he could not yet say or do. All he wanted was to grab his keys, barrel out into the night, go to her house, and wrap her trembling body in his arms. To hold her against his chest until her fears quieted. To tell her he was here, alive, stronger than ever, and that nothing—not Mirabel, not the past, not the cruelty of the world—would ever touch her again.
But reality stood in front of him like a locked door.
A painful, immovable truth.
Across the room, Jas lingered like a pillar of reason—steady, composed, but visibly rattled by what they’d just heard. He’d been standing beside Rafael when the call ca in, and hearing Eliana’s sobs amplified on speakerphone had carved its own mark on him too. He tugged at the collar of his suit, adjusting it with a stiff, nervous motion he usually hid better.
"Rafael," Jas said carefully, his voice low, heavy with everything he was trying not to say too loudly, "you can’t go charging over there right now." He stepped closer, eyes steady but full of concern. "Think. She still believes you’re in that hospital bed—blind, weak, barely able to walk. If you show up at her door looking like this..." He gestured to Rafael’s tall, strong fra. "She’ll know the whole thing’s a lie."
Rafael stopped pacing, chest rising and falling with the force of the emotions hamring inside him.
Jas continued, voice firr now, anchoring them both. "All that acting, all the careful planning—the fake breakdown, the staged blindness—everything you did to get her back? It’ll all fall apart in an instant."
Silence swallowed the room for a few seconds.
Only Rafael’s breathing—and the echo of Eliana’s trembling voice—filled the space.
And for the first ti since the call, Rafael realized sothing unbearable: His love for her was becoming impossible to contain. And his lies were becoming impossible to sustain.
Rafael finally stopped pacing, the motion snapping to a halt as if the floor itself had pulled him still. His chiseled jaw clenched, a muscle ticking as he dragged a frustrated hand through his tousled, wavy hair. The act had worn him thin—this whole twisted charade he’d built brick by brick. A lie born out of necessity, a performance crafted to expose Mirabel’s festering greed... and yet now, he depended on it just to stay close to Eliana.
Eliana.
Her na alone twisted sothing deep in his chest.
Her soft-hearted trust, those warm, honey-brown eyes that always searched his face as if she could see through him—God, it made the guilt feel heavier. And every day, right before her visits, he slipped into his hospital room, playing the invalid to perfection. breathing slow, limbs limp, voice soft. A perfect illusion. A perfect lie.
"Damn it, Jas," Rafael muttered, voice dropping into a low, volcanic rumble. The words vibrated with frustration, fear, and sothing far more vulnerable. "She’s terrified. Mirabel’s threats aren’t empty—they’re escalating. Kidnapping. Murder. Using our child as leverage. I can’t just sit here pretending to be helpless while she’s out there looking over her shoulder."
Jas exhaled slowly, his expression a blend of sympathy and stern restraint, the kind of look only a friend who has seen every one of your worst monts can give. "I know," he said softly, yet with unshakable resolve. "I know you hate this. But you’ve got to be smart, Rafael. If you rush in now, you’ll make her suspicious."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Let handle this. I’ll take the team—Oliver and the rest. We’ll lock down her place like a damn fortress. No one gets within ten feet of her without us knowing. She’ll be protected."
His reassurance hung in the room like a lifeline—thin, but strong enough for Rafael to cling to.
Rafael’s mind raced, calculating risks like the CEO he was—tech empires, real estate kingdoms, pharmaceutical giants all under his command. But none of that power could erase the ache in his chest, the regret for how he’d pushed Eliana away with his cold detachnt and suspicions. "Fine," he conceded, his tone clipped. "Go. Now. And Jas—Keep her safe, or heads will roll."
"Understood, boss," Jas replied, already motioning toward the door where the n awaited in the shadows of the house’s grand hallway. Oliver, thin and hawk-eyed, blended into the background like smoke curling from a forgotten cigarette. Will, the muscle with a tinker’s ingenuity, fiddled with a discreet gadget hidden in his sleeve. Liam, ever the reader of souls, scanned the room with eyes that traced intentions in every twitch. Kai moved like a whisper of wind—quiet, sudden, lethal up close. Viktor, the unflappable driver, stood ready with keys in hand, his calm precision a balm in chaos. And Jax, the orchestrator, coordinated them all with a nod, his presence syncing the group like a well-oiled machine.
As Jas and the team piled into the sleek black van parked in the driveway, Rafael sank into a leather armchair, his mind a storm of emotions. He couldn’t be there physically, but he’d be her anchor in every other way.
To be continued...
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