Chapter 246
The sleek black SUV slid to a graceful halt in the driveway of the opulent London townhouse, its tires crunching softly over the gravel like they were trying not to announce their arrival. Eliana stepped out carefully, one hand instinctively resting on the gentle curve of her pregnant belly. The evening air kissed her cheeks with a cool bite, and she inhaled slowly, grounding herself.
Behind her, Will, Liam, Jax, Viktor, and Oliver emerged from the vehicle in practiced unison—broad shoulders, sharp eyes, and the kind of presence that made the house look even more guarded than it already was. They exchanged murmured jokes and subtle nods before dispersing around the property, their silhouettes stretching long beneath the warm glow of the streetlamps.
Eliana barely noticed them.
Her gaze had already locked onto the man waiting by the door.
Rafael sat there on his wheelchair there like he belonged to the house in a way bricks and marble never could—captivating, composed, impossibly handsome. He leaned casually against his chair, his dark, wavy hair slightly mussed, as though impatience had driven his fingers through it more than once. His grey eyes—carefully unfocused, convincingly blind—tilted toward her, and despite herself, her breath hitched. He wore one of his immaculate designer suits, tailored to perfection, but it was the soft curve of his smile that disarmed her completely.
“Welcome home, love,” Rafael said, pushing himself upright with deliberate care, moving as though he were navigating by memory alone. His voice was smooth, warm—dangerously intimate. “I have a present for you p>
Eliana stopped halfway up the steps, her brows lifting in mild disbelief. “A present?” she echoed, lips twitching. “Rafael, you really don’t have to keep doing this. The flowers yesterday were more than enough.” She crossed her arms lightly, then added, unable to resist, “And why are you suddenly acting blind and crippled with me p>
Nearby, the bodyguards instinctively lingered—until Rafael lifted a hand in a subtle, dismissive wave. Like shadows obeying their master, they retreated, granting the couple their privacy.
Rafael chuckled, the sound low and rich, curling down her spine in a way she pretended not to notice. “I want to spoil you,” he said, stepping closer. Then, lowering his voice, he added, almost conspiratorially, “As for the rest… come inside, Eliana. Let me show you why p>
He sat back down on the chair, extended his hand toward her, palm open, waiting—trusting her to guide him as part of the familiar charade.
She hesitated.
For just a heartbeat, her mind betrayed her, dragging her back to that hospital room a month ago—the sterile scent, the beeping machines, Rafael lying pale and fragile against white sheets. She remembered his voice cracking as he told her his sight had failed again, stress dragging him back into darkness. How he’d begged for her forgiveness, promised change, promised truth. She’d believed him then. Or maybe she’d wanted to.
Now, standing on the steps of their shared home, married and still carrying his child, the question stirred again: Was the hospital thing real… or just another carefully crafted performance?
Eliana swallowed, then pushed the thought aside. Rafael wouldn’t lie to her again. James wouldn’t lie to her. Also, real doctors were involved. She had to believe that.
With a quiet breath, she reached out and placed her hand in his—warm, steady, familiar.
“Alright,” she said softly. “Show me why p>
And Rafael smiled, just a little too knowingly, as he guided her inside.
Slipping her slender hand into his, she led him inside, the door clicking shut behind them. The foyer, usually a grand expanse of marble and crystal chandeliers, had been transformed. Soft, ambient lighting flickered from dozens of unscented candles arranged in elegant clusters, casting a warm, ethereal glow. The air was infused with calming scents—lavender and chamomile wafting from diffusers strategically placed around the room. Plush white robes hung on antique hooks, and in the adjacent living room, massage tables were set up, draped in soft linens. Gentle instrumental music played from hidden speakers, a soothing melody of harps and flutes that seemed to melt away the day’s fatigue.
Eliana gasped, her lips parting in surprise. “Rafael… what is all this p>
“Your very own home spa day,” he replied, his grin widening as he “felt” his way toward her, his fingers brushing her arm. “I figured after a long day of lectures and those overzealous bodyguards treating you like royalty, you deserved some real pampering. Prenatal massages for you, adaptive therapies for me—since, you know, I’m still ’recovering.’” He air-quoted the word with a sarcastic edge, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
She couldn’t help but smile, her warm brown skin flushing with a mix of delight and wariness. “You turned our home into a spa? How did you even p>
“James helped orchestrate it,” Rafael admitted, nodding toward the young man who emerged from the hallway. James, with his dark hair neatly combed and wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, offered a kind smile.
“Everything’s set, sir,” James said, his voice loyal and efficient. “The professionals are in the guest suite, ready when you are. I vetted them personally—no questions asked about your… condition p>
“Good man,” Rafael replied, giving James a fistbump. “Eliana, love, go change into that robe. The masseuses are top-tier; one’s specialized in prenatal care for you, and the other in adaptive techniques for someone like me p>
Eliana eyed them suspiciously, but the allure of relaxation pulled her in. “Alright, but only because my back is killing me from those lecture hall chairs.” She disappeared into her bedroom to change, emerging moments later in the fluffy white robe she had found neatly folded on her bed, her curly hair tied back loosely. Rafael had “changed” as well into a matching robe with James waiting patiently for him in his bedroom, maintaining Rafael’s pretense of needing assistance.
The masseuses—two poised women in crisp uniforms—entered the room, their footsteps soft on the Persian rugs. “Mr. and Mrs. Vexley,” the lead one said with a professional nod, “we’re here to make this evening unforgettable. Shall we start with individual sessions p>
Rafael shook his head, his chiseled jaw set in determination. “No, let’s do the couples’ session from the start. I want to be right there with my wife.” He reached out, his hand finding Eliana’s with uncanny accuracy, pulling her gently toward the side-by-side tables.
As they settled in, the room enveloped them in serenity. The masseuses began with aromatherapy oils, dabbing hints of eucalyptus on their temples. Soft music swelled, and the air grew heavier with tranquility. Eliana lay on her side, the prenatal table adjusted for her belly, while Rafael reclined beside her, his “clouded” eyes closed as if in bliss.
The masseuse working on Eliana—Maria, she introduced herself—kneaded her shoulders with expert care. “Breathe deeply, Mrs. Vexley. Let the tension go p>
To be continued p>