In the lavish confines of her London hotel suite, where the scent of fresh lilies mingled with the faint aroma of her expensive perfu, Mirabel Vexley paced furiously across the plush carpet. The Thas outside her window sparkled mockingly under the late afternoon sun, but her world had darkened into a storm of rage. Her smooth brown skin flushed with anger, and her immaculately styled hair, usually a symbol of her unyielding control, now had a stray strand falling across her forehead like a crack in her armor. How could that girl—Eliana, that insignificant speck from her discarded past—speak to her with such audacity? The words echoed in her mind like poison: "I’m Mrs. Vexley now... This is just the beginning of your problems, Mother dearest." Mother? The term twisted in her gut, a vague unease she couldn’t place, fueling her fury until her hands shook, clutching the phone as if she could crush it.
Before she could compose herself, her phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with Celina’s na. Mirabel hesitated for a split second, her commanding presence faltering, but she answered with a clipped, "What is it, Celina?"
"Mom!" Celina’s voice exploded through the phone, sharp enough to make Mirabel pull it slightly away from her ear. Panic drenched every word, the kind of panicked outrage only a woman who had never been denied anything in her life could muster. She was probably sprawled across so velvet couch in an overpriced Manhattan boutique, half-buried in designer bags—but none of that luxury softened the raw fear quivering beneath her breath.
"Have you seen the news?" she shrieked. "It’s everywhere—Rafael actually married that... that caregiver! Eliana Bennett! There are videos of them kissing at the courthouse, Mom. And the pregnancy—oh my God, she’s actually pregnant. I thought that rumor was just a tactic! What the hell is happening?"
Mirabel’s expression iced over, her jaw tightening as hatred simred quietly behind her eyes. Her reflection in the glossy black dining table looked colder than she felt—which said a lot.
"Yes, I’ve seen it," she said, each word honed to a blade. "I just got off the phone with her. The little wretch had the audacity to talk back to —as if she’s suddenly the queen of the world. Can you imagine? She even threatened ."
Celina sucked in a sharp breath, scandalized to her bones. "Threatened you? Mom, this is a disaster—an actual disaster!" Her voice wavered between outrage and hysteria. "With that marriage, she and her bastard child have a legal claim to everything. Rafael’s companies, the estates, the billions—everything. And now everyone online knows they’re officially married. If anything happened to him today, she’d inherit all of it as his widow. We’d be left with nothing. Caleb and I... we’d be ruined!"
Mirabel flared up, her eyes flashing with elitist fire as she stopped pacing and gripped the back of a velvet armchair, her pearls clinking against her silk dress. "Do you think I’m an idiot, Celina? That I haven’t already thought of every angle? Of course I know the implications! That girl thinks a ring makes her invincible, but she’s wrong. Dead wrong. I’ll handle her—I’ll dismantle her piece by piece until she’s begging for rcy. You and your brother just stay out of it and let work."
"But Mother—" Celina whined, her voice turning passive-aggressive, the way it always did when she felt threatened. "What if she—"
"Enough." Mirabel’s voice sliced through the line, crisp and unforgiving, her manipulative charm sharpening like a blade. "Trust , darling—vulnerability is weakness, and that girl bleeds with it. Now go... buy yourself sothing glittery and calm down. I’ll call you when it’s handled."
She didn’t wait for Celina’s reply. The call died with a cold, decisive click. Mirabel exhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. The phone lit up again almost imdiately—Caleb. Of course. The boy could run a tech startup into the ground and still find the energy to whine.
She stared at his na flashing on the screen, her elegant fra going still, tightening like a predator sighting prey. She already knew what he wanted: reassurance, money, protection from consequences he created himself.
With a lazy, dismissive flick of her thumb, she let the call slide into voicemail.
"I’ve raised cowards," she murmured with disgust, tossing the phone onto the marble counter. "If I want anything done right, I’ll have to do it myself."
And so she began to plot.
Across London, the city pulsed with life—horns blaring, people weaving through the cold, and a damp wind rolling off the Thas. Through it all, a sleek black car cut through the streets like a shadow with purpose.
Jas drove with the disciplined calm of a man who’d seen Rafael at his worst and still stayed. His grip on the wheel was steady, unwavering, a stark contrast to the tension simring in the backseat.
Eliana sat stiffly beside Rafael, her simple white dress hugging her body like a mory she was suddenly desperate to shed. The afternoon sun spilled through the windows, warming her smooth brown skin, but her honey-brown eyes held a storm—worry, fear, resolve. It all swirled quietly behind her lashes.
Rafael couldn’t stop himself from looking at her.
Again.
And again.
Her silence gnawed at him. The distance between them—re inches physically—felt like miles emotionally. His jaw flexed, the weight on his chest growing heavier each second. He wanted to reach for her hand, to erase the hurt, to tell her everything... but the rift was wide, and words kept failing him.
"Jas," Eliana said softly, her voice breaking the heavy quiet like a small stone dropped in deep water.
Both n glanced back at her, but she kept her gaze forward, her long curls shifting as she turned slightly, her resolve solidifying.
"Please don’t take us to Rafael’s house yet," she said. "Turn around. Take back to Henry’s house." Her throat tightened, but she pushed through. "I need to get my things... and my father’s. All of it."
Her tone wasn’t angry. It was sothing far more painful—determined heartbreak.
And that hurt Rafael more than any shouting ever could.
Jas’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, eting Rafael’s for a brief, questioning mont. Rafael nodded subtly, his steel-grey eyes—pretending cloudiness—betraying a flicker of sadness he quickly masked. "Of course, Miss—Mrs. Vexley," Jas replied evenly, his voice a calm anchor. He signaled and rged lanes, the car humming as it redirected.
To be continued...
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