Chapter 156
The relentless tick of the antique clock in Rafael Vexley’s sprawling study seemed to mock the passage of time, each second stretching into an eternity of fruitless searching. Three weeks had slipped by like sand through clenched fists—twenty-one agonizing days where every lead on Eliana Bennett evaporated into thin air. The mansion, once a fortress of calculated isolation, now felt like a cage, trapping Rafael in a whirlwind of frustration and despair. James, loyal as ever, paced the polished marble floors, his usually composed demeanor frayed at the edges.
“Mr. Vexley,” James said one evening, bursting into the study with a stack of reports clutched in his hand, his voice laced with a mix of certainty and exasperation. “I’ve hit wall after wall. Every trace—phone records, surveillance footage, even whispers from our contacts in the city—it’s all being blocked. Systematically. And I know who’s behind it p>
Rafael looked up from his desk, his steel eyes shadowed by dark circles, his chiseled jaw clenched in barely contained rage. He hadn’t shaved in days, the rough stubble on his face and the disheveled waves of dark hair falling across his brow gave him a feral, untamed edge. Pretending to be confined to his wheelchair added to the charade, but the real paralysis was in his heart. He’d considered telling Clara the truth — that the blindness, the immobility, were nothing but smoke and mirrors — but decided against it. The fewer who knew, the safer the secret. The day of revelation would come soon enough, and when it did, the world would remember his name. “Spit it out, James. Who’s hiding her? Who’s daring to keep her from me p>
James set the papers down with a thud, leaning forward as if the walls themselves might be listening. “Henry Jackson. He’s using his family’s wealth like a shield—private servers rerouting data, bribes to silence informants, even fake trails leading us in circles. It’s too clean, too deliberate. If he’s going to this much trouble to stay off the grid, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. Eliana’s with him. She’s got to be p>
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Rafael’s hands gripped the arms of his wheelchair so tightly that his his hands hurt. A storm brewed in his eyes, a volatile mix of fury and heartbreak. “Henry… that spineless fool! He thinks he can waltzes out of nowhere and steal what clearly belong to me? Does he think I’m a toothless dog he can steal from without consequences? Oh, he better think again!” His voice rose, cracking with emotion. “Eliana is mine. She’s carrying my child for God’s sake! And she’s out there, probably thinking I’ve abandoned her, while he’s playing hero p>
James nodded solemnly, his warm eyes filled with sympathy. “It’s the only explanation that fits, sir. But we’ll break through. I’ve got more eyes on the ground p>
“More eyes?” Rafael interrupted, his sarcastic tone biting like acid. “We’ve had ’more eyes’ for weeks, James. And what do we have? Nothing but echoes. She’s gone, vanished like smoke, and it’s killing me.” He slammed his fist on the desk, sending a pen skittering across the floor. The room fell silent, save for the distant patter of rain against the windows. Rafael’s shoulders slumped, the anger giving way to a deeper depression that clawed at his soul. “I can see now—truly see, after that surgery—but without her, it’s all darkness again. Her smile, James… it was the only light that pierced through even with clear eyes p>
James placed a reassuring hand on Rafael’s shoulder, his voice steady. “We’ll find her, sir. Hold on. Clara’s been saying the same—Eliana’s resilient. She won’t betray your feelings with someone else. You both will find your way back to each other p>
As if summoned by her name, Clara entered the study carrying a tray of steaming tea and sandwiches, her kind eyes scanning the tension in the room. “Gentlemen, you both look like you’ve been through a war. Rafael, eat something.” Ever since she came back, she’s been on first name bases with Rafael and he didn’t seem to mind. “Starving yourself won’t bring her back faster.” She set the tray down, her voice softening with maternal concern. “James told me about Henry. It’s infuriating, but let’s not lose hope. Eliana’s loyal—she won’t let anyone in just because their nice to her p>
Rafael managed a weak nod, but the depression weighed on him like chains. “Thank you, Clara. For everything. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, let alone your help p>
Clara smiled faintly, squeezing his hand. “Family forgives, Rafael. Now, eat p>
Rafael nodded with a small smile before turning his attention back to James. “James, any word on that black van driver? The one who targeted Eliana p>
James straightened, a spark of determination in his eyes. “I’ve been pushing Sam, hard on it. Since you asked me to rush the investigation—put every resource into it. We can’t let those bastards slip away p>
Rafael’s voice hardened, cutting through the momentary warmth. “Do it, James. Find them. They nearly killed her—my Eliana. I want names, confessions. I want to know who sent them. Sarai Monroe and her scheming sister Bianca have to be behind this. Their greed knows no bounds p>
But as new days came and went, the problems piled on like storm clouds. Bianca, with her predatory persistence, hovered around Rafael like a persistent fly buzzing at a flame. Every conference he attended she’d appear, her designer dresses clinging like second skin, her smile a calculated weapon. At a tech summit in the city, as Rafael’s wheelchair was pushed through the crowded lobby, she “bumped” into him, her perfume assaulting his senses.
“Oh, Rafael! What a coincidence,” Bianca cooed, her voice dripping with false surprise, her manicured hand brushing his arm. “Fancy meeting you here. You look… well, considering everything. Need company? I could push your chair—keep the vultures away p>
Rafael’s face remained a mask of cold indifference, his steel eyes fixed ahead. “Coincidence? Hardly. Leave me be, Bianca. I have no time for your games p>
She pouted, undeterred, leaning closer. “But darling, we’ve so much in common. Power, ambition… and loneliness. Let me help you forget that little caregiver who died on you p>
James, ever the shield, stepped between them before Rafael could explode in anger. “Miss Monroe, Mr. Vexley has a schedule. Excuse us. And mind your words next time p>
Similar scenes unfolded at parties, even simple outings from the mansion. Bianca’s “accidental” encounters were as predictable as they were infuriating. Rafael ignored her each time, his silence a sharper rebuke than words. But the constant harassment gnawed at his frayed nerves, deepening his depression.
Then, for the first time in weeks, a flicker of hope pierced through the heavy fog that had settled over the office. It happened on a warm, golden afternoon — sunlight spilling across the marble floors, mocking the darkness that had taken root in Rafael’s chest. Two more weeks had passed since the search began, each day heavier than the last.
Then the door burst open. Sam, the private investigator, strode in, his usually calm demeanor replaced by a rare, electric excitement. His face was flushed, eyes bright with the thrill of a breakthrough. James, ever composed, followed closely behind him, ushering him into Rafael’s office with urgency.
“Mr. Vexley,” Sam began, breathless but triumphant, “I’ve got them — the men from the black van p>
Rafael’s head snapped up, the air in the room shifting. Sam continued, his words tumbling out with restrained excitement. “Their names are Vince and Rocco. Small-time hitmen, both of them, working for an underground syndicate. I traced their van through some… let’s say, unconventional channels. Got a tip from a snitch who finally decided he liked breathing more than loyalty p>
He paused, catching his breath before delivering the final blow. “They’re in custody now. The police picked them up early this morning p>
Rafael wheeled forward, his athletic build tense with anticipation, a rare spark of happiness igniting in his haunted eyes. “Finally! Good work, Sam. They’ll talk—reveal who hired them. Bianca and Sarai Monroe, no doubt. Those vipers are nothing but bad news p>
Sam nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. “They’re tough nuts, but under pressure, they’ll crack. Court date’s set soon. This could blow the whole thing open p>
James clapped Sam on the back, grinning. “You’re a lifesaver, Sam. Drinks on me later p>
But joy was fleeting. Days later, as the group gathered in the study poring over legal strategies, James’s phone buzzed urgently. He answered, his face paling as he listened. Hanging up, he turned to Rafael, his voice grave. “Sir… Vince and Rocco. They’re dead. Assassinated in their cells before trial. Sniper shots through the prison yard—clean, professional hits p>
The room froze. Rafael’s happiness shattered like glass, replaced by a dawning horror. “Assassinated? Who… how?” His voice trembled, the implications sinking in like poison. “This is deeper than I thought. Not just the Monroes. Someone with real power—connections in prisons, hitmen at their beck and call. My family? Mirabel? Or something even bigger p>
Clara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh God, Rafael. If they’re silencing witnesses… Eliana’s in more danger than we knew p>
Sam paced, frustrated. “I’ll dig deeper, boss. But this reeks of a conspiracy. Layers upon layers p>
James nodded grimly. “We’ll adapt. But sir, you need to be careful. They’re tying up loose ends p>
The depression crashed over Rafael anew, heavier than before. “Deeper… always deeper. And Eliana’s out there, caught in the web p>
Amid the turmoil, Bianca’s persistence escalated. One crisp morning, still within those harrowing three weeks, she strode into the gleaming lobby of Vexley Enterprises, Rafael’s towering empire downtown. Her heels clicked against the marble like gunfire, her red lipstick a slash of defiance. She bypassed the reception, heading straight for the elevators.
“Miss,” the security chief, a burly man named Ben, intercepted her, his voice firm. “Do you have an appointment p>
Bianca flashed a saccharine smile, tossing her black hair. “Appointment? Darling, I’m practically family. Tell Rafael I’m here. We have… unfinished business p>
Ben crossed his arms, unmoved. “Mr. Vexley isn’t seeing uninvited guests. Please leave, or we’ll escort you out p>
Her eyes narrowed, the smile fading into a snarl. “Escort me? Do you know who I am? The Monroes own half this city! Get out of my way p>
Up in his penthouse office, Rafael watched via security feed, his expression thunderous. “James, handle this. I won’t see her p>
James radioed down. “Ben, if she won’t go, remove her. No exceptions p>
Downstairs, chaos erupted. Bianca shrieked as two guards grabbed her arms. “Let go! You barbarians! Rafael! Rafael, call them off p>
The guards manhandled her toward the doors, her designer purse spilling contents—lipstick, keys, a compact mirror clattering across the floor. Onlookers whispered, phones out recording the spectacle. Bianca’s face burned crimson with humiliation, her elegant facade crumbling as she was unceremoniously tossed onto the sidewalk.
Fuming, she straightened her dress, dialing her phone with shaking hands. “Sarai? You won’t believe what just happened. That bastard Rafael had security throw me out—like trash! Manhandled me in front of everyone p>
Sarai’s voice crackled through, calm but edged with steel. “Calm down, Bianca. What were you thinking, barging in p>
“I was done waiting! But this… this humiliation? I’m furious!” Bianca paced the sidewalk, drawing stares. “But I’m not giving up. Not on him, not on his billions. Vexley money will be mine. All of it. But no more playing nice. Time to change tactics—go dirty if we must. He’ll regret this p>
Sarai chuckled darkly. “That’s my girl. We’ll plot. Patience, darling. The web tightens p>
Bianca hung up, her eyes gleaming with vengeful fire. The game had just begun anew.