The opulent suite of the five-star London hotel glittered around her, but Mirabel Vexley barely registered a thing. Luxury had always been her language, her armor, her throne—but right now, every polished surface felt like a mirror reflecting her unraveling.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Thas glided by in a lazy, molten sweep of silver, the kind of serene afternoon scene tourists fawned over. To Mirabel, it felt like mockery—how dare the river remain so calm when her world was splintering?
Inside, the suite resembled a sanctuary crafted for a queen: silk drapes moving with the softness of breath, a crystal chandelier catching the light and scattering it into prismatic rainbows across the flawless marble floor, and a king-sized bed drowning in layers of Egyptian cotton. It was decadent. Lavish. Perfect.
On any other day, it would have grounded her. Reminded her who she was. Reminded her of the empire she’d sculpted with precision and blood and sheer determination.
But today?
Today it only made her feel hunted.
Cornered.
Mirabel paced the length of the suite like a panther on the brink of snapping, her erald gown whispering against the polished floorboards. Every inch of her surroundings scread control, but inside her, chaos churned. The gala she was ant to be dazzling in—an hour from now—was a distant, irrelevant mory. Her world had tilted far off its axis.
Her fingers trembled as she clutched the tablet. The screen’s glow hit her like a slap each ti she replayed the video—that horrifying, unforgivable scene recorded in pristine, rciless HD. Rafael. Her stepson. Standing before a judge with her daughter.
And then the kiss. God, that kiss. Slow, deliberate, sealing a vow that had no business existing.
It burned through her, acid tearing through calm, composure, and reason. It was a taunt. A declaration of war. And it threatened everything Mirabel had spent decades building. If anyone ever pieced together the truth—that Eliana was her biological daughter—everything would unravel in an instant.
Eliana as Rafael’s baby mama had been manageable. A problem easily erased once the child was in Mirabel’s hands. But a wife?
A Vexley wife?
That changed the ga entirely.
Her vision wavered with fury, her elegant fra trembling beneath the erald silk. The pearls around her neck—once a symbol of poise—felt suddenly like shackles, growing tighter with each breath. How dare that girl defy her? How dare she ignore the ultimatum? Three days. Mirabel had given her three days to surrender herself and that child. Three days to choose survival.
And instead Eliana chose marriage.
Chose Rafael.
Chose defiance.
Mirabel’s nails bit into her palms as she slapped the tablet down and snatched up her phone. Her hands were shaking, but her rage made her movents sharp, almost surgical. She dialed Eliana’s number, her heart thundering in sync with each ring.
Once.
Twice.
Her jaw clenched so tight it ached.
"Pick up," she hissed, breath trembling, eyes narrowed to slits. "Pick up, you little fool."
The line kept ringing. Mirabel’s pulse climbed higher, hotter.
"You have no idea what you’ve done," she whispered, voice shaking with venom. "But you’re going to regret this."
Miles away in the bustling heart of London, the courthouse steps buzzed with chaotic energy. Flashbulbs popped like fireworks, illuminating the crisp autumn air as reporters sward Eliana and Rafael like bees to honey. The modest stone building lood behind them, its columns creating long shadows, but the scene was anything but modest. Eliana stood radiant in her simple white dress that hugged her growing belly, her long hair flowing over her shoulders like a midnight waterfall. Rafael, seated in his wheelchair with an air of quiet command, looked every inch the billionaire—his dark wavy hair perfectly tousled, his steel eyes (feigning cloudiness) fixed on her with what appeared to be unbridled adoration. Jas stood dutifully behind the chair, his stoic face betraying nothing, while Jax and the rest of the team—Oliver, Will, Liam, Kai, and Viktor—ford a subtle periter, their eyes scanning the crowd.
A young reporter with a microphone thrust forward, her eyes wide with excitent, zeroed in on Eliana’s subtle baby bump, barely concealed under the flowing fabric. "Ms. Bennett—er, Mrs. Vexley now—congratulations on the wedding! We’ve noticed... is that a baby bump? Are you expecting?"
Eliana’s honey eyes sparkled with a mix of genuine warmth and perford bliss as she placed a protective hand over her abdon. She glanced down at Rafael, who t her gaze with a proud smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Yes," Rafael interjected before she could respond, his voice deep and resonant, carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. He reached up, placing his large hand gently over hers on the bump, his touch lingering with a tenderness that made the reporters coo. "We’re expecting our first child. It’s the greatest gift I could ever imagine." His words dripped with pride, his chiseled jaw softening as he bead up at her, the caras capturing every intimate detail—the way his fingers intertwined with hers, the subtle glow on Eliana’s warm brown skin.
Eliana nodded, her lips curving into a serene smile. "This little one is our miracle," she said softly, her voice laced with emotion that tugged at the heartstrings of everyone listening. "After everything we’ve been through, it’s like a beacon of hope." The reporters snapped photos furiously, the clicks echoing like applause as Rafael’s hand remained on her bump, his thumb tracing small, affectionate circles.
An older journalist, notepad in hand, leaned in with a sly grin. "Mr. Vexley, is the pregnancy the reason for this sudden wedding? Was it a shotgun ceremony?"
Rafael’s expression didn’t falter; if anything, his steel eyes sharpened with conviction as he shook his head firmly. "Absolutely not," he replied, his tone steady and assured, laced with a depth of feeling that silenced the skeptics. "Eliana and I have been planning this for a long ti—long before we knew about the baby. I love her with every fiber of my being. She’s the light in my darkness, the reason I wake up each day with hope." He paused, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that carried through the microphones. "Today is the happiest day of my life. Marrying her isn’t just a vow; it’s my salvation." The crowd murmured in approval, so wiping away tears, as Eliana squeezed his shoulder, her eyes misty with what looked like real affection.
Another reporter, a woman with a sharp bob haircut, piped up from the front. "Why such a simple courthouse wedding, Mr. Vexley? You’re a billionaire—most people in your position go for lavish affairs with celebrities and yachts. What made you choose this?"
To be continued...
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