Eliana Bennett’s ho was a haven of warmth amid the chill of the morning, its nice blue door flanked by potted plants that her father, Frank, tended with loving care despite his frailty. Inside, the air slled of fresh coffee and toast, a simple breakfast Eliana had prepared before the day’s demands pulled her away. When the doorbell rang, Eliana, her slender fra clad in a nice sweater and jeans that hugged her warm brown skin, opened it to find Jas standing there, his imposing figure softened by a polite nod.
"Ms. Bennett," Jas said, his voice steady and reassuring, like a guardian delivering good news. "I’m back."
Eliana’s expressive honey-brown eyes widened with a mix of surprise and hope, her lips parting slightly. "Jas... yes, of course. Co in. Is this about Henry? Did you find him?"
Jas stepped inside, the cozy living room enveloping him with its warm and inviting furniture—a leather couch, family photos on the mantel showing Eliana, Henry and her father. He pulled out his phone, displaying the photo. "We did. This was taken about thirty minutes ago. He’s at a hotel downtown, talking with a couple of people. Looks fine—alive and well."
Eliana took the phone gently, her hair falling over her shoulder as she studied the image, her heart pounding with relief. Henry stood there, tall and handso, mid-conversation with a striking redhead and a disheveled man, but the angle made it seem innocuous, almost friendly. "Oh, thank God," she whispered, a tear slipping down her soft, heart-shaped face. "I don’t know who these people are—the woman with the red hair, or the man—but Henry... he looks okay. Not hurt. I was so scared after last night’s call."
Jas offered a faint, empathetic smile, his rough exterior cracking just a bit. "No need to worry anymore, ma’am. He’s safe. Mr. Vexley wanted you to know personally."
Eliana handed back the phone, her voice trembling with gratitude. "Thank you, Jas. Really. Going through all this trouble... for , for Henry. It ans the world."
"Just doing our job," Jas replied modestly, tipping his head. "Take care, Ms. Bennett."
As Jas left, climbing back into the van and vanishing down the street, Eliana wasted no ti. She dialed Rafael, her fingers steady now, the phone pressed to her ear as she paced the living room, sunlight filtering through the curtains in golden shafts.
"Rafael? It’s Eliana," she said when he answered, her tone lighter, infused with emotion. "Jas just stopped by with the photo. Henry’s okay—he’s alive. I can’t thank you enough for looking out for us last night. You didn’t have to, but... you did."
Rafael’s voice ca through, cool and calculated, but with an undercurrent of warmth that only she could draw out. "Eliana. Good to hear your voice steady. I told you we’d find him. No thanks needed—it’s what I do."
She smiled—small, fragile, but real—though he couldn’t see it from the other end of the line. The expression broke through the bruised places inside her, a quiet bloom of hope pushing past all the fear she’d been carrying. "Still... it ans everything," she murmured. "I’m not scared anymore, Rafael. You can tell your n to go ho—the ones who stayed last night. I appreciate it, truly. But I don’t need them shadowing today."
Silence stretched for a beat. She could practically hear the gears turning in his mind, the sa mind that ran an empire built on precision and paranoia.
"Eliana," Rafael breathed, voice dropping into that low, steady register he used when danger brushed too close. "Mirabel is still out there. And I don’t trust her. Not with you. Let the n stay—just in case."
"No, Rafael." Her tone was gentle but immovable, the kind of softness that carried steel beneath it. "I’ll be fine. I’m taking Papa to the hospital for his checkup before heading to school. It’s already a hectic day... and having a whole team following around..." She paused, searching for the right words. "It will makes feel caged. Like I can’t breathe. Please. Just today."
On his end of the line, Rafael’s defenses faltered. His sarcasm, his stubbornness—everything he used as armor—lted under the weight of her honesty. "Alright," he said at last, a reluctant exhale. "I won’t argue. But if anything feels wrong—even a little—call ."
"I will. Thank you," she whispered, and ended the call.
The mont the line clicked off, Rafael leaned back in his leather chair, the soft creak of it swallowed by the tension that coiled through him. His jaw tightened; his eyes sharpened with a resolve that could cut steel.
He dialed his security lead, Jax. "Keep the detail on Eliana," he ordered, voice cold and absolute. "Discreetly. She doesn’t need eyes on her every step—just protection. Follow from a distance. She mustn’t know."
"Understood, sir," ca the crisp reply.
Rafael ended the call, his gaze darkening as he stared ahead—already calculating, already preparing for the threat he knew was coming.
That sa morning, as the sun lifted itself over the rooftops, its warm gold spilling across the sleepy neighborhood, the world seed to breathe a little softer. Leaves whispered against one another in the mild breeze, carrying with them the earthy scent of early daylight—calm, peaceful, deceptively ordinary.
Inside the house, Eliana moved with quiet purpose. She slipped into her shoes, brushed down her outfit, and turned to her father. Frank stood by the doorway, waiting patiently, his thin shoulders bundled in a blue sweater. His once-dark hair, now streaked with silver, softened his features.
"Co here, Papa," she said gently, reaching for his coat. She guided his arms through the sleeves with practiced care, smoothing the fabric over him like she was tucking warmth directly into his bones. Frank looked at her with grateful eyes—the kind that held a lifeti of love and apology.
"Ready, Papa?" she asked once he was settled, her voice a soft lody in the quiet morning.
Frank smiled, his eyes crinkling with paternal love. "As ready as I’ll ever be, Ellie. Hospital first, then you off to school. Don’t worry about —I’ll grab a cab back after."
Eliana nodded, her hair swaying as they descended the steps to the sidewalk, the air crisp with the scent of fallen leaves and distant rain. Since relocating to London, she hadn’t bothered with a driver’s license—public transport or rideshares sufficed, a remnant of her modest life. "I’ll order a ride," she said, pulling out her phone. "It’ll be here in five."
They waited at the curb, chatting lightly—Frank asking about her classes, Eliana sharing a funny anecdote about a professor’s quirky habits—when suddenly, the roar of an engine shattered the calm. A sleek black SUV, tinted windows hiding its driver, barreled down the street at breakneck speed, swerving deliberately toward them like a predator zeroing in on prey.
Eliana’s eyes widened in horror, ti slowing as the vehicle hurtled closer. "Papa—look out!" she cried, but Frank, sensing the danger in an instant, shoved her with all his strength, his voice a desperate shout. "Ellie, move!"
She stumbled backward onto the grass, her heart slamming against her ribs, as the SUV clipped Frank with a sickening thud. He flew like a ragdoll, crumpling to the pavent in a heap, blood pooling from his head as the vehicle sped away, tires screeching in triumph.
"No! Papa!" Eliana scread, scrambling to his side, her hands shaking as she cradled his limp form, tears blurring her vision. The distant security n, hidden in a parked car blocks away, leaped out too late, their shouts echoing futilely as chaos erupted—neighbors rushing out, sirens wailing in the distance. Mirabel’s hit-and-run had struck, swift and rciless, leaving devastation in its wake.
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