Chapter 134
The morning sun spilled a molten gold over the city skyline and gilding glass towers. But James Harding barely registered the beauty of it. His grip on the steering wheel of his sleek gray Audi A7 was tight, knuckles pale, every muscle in his jaw locked in quiet frustration.
The traffic around him pulsed like a living thing—honking horns, the distant wail of sirens, the rhythmic thrum of tires on asphalt. Yet beneath all that noise, James heard only the steady thump of his heartbeat and the soft, impatient drumming of his fingers against the leather wheel.
For the past thirty minutes, he’d been calling Rafael. Over and over. Each unanswered ring chipped away at his calm, replacing it with a slow-burning unease he couldn’t shake. It wasn’t like Rafael to vanish into silence. The man was a perfectionist, almost obsessively punctual with his replies, whether it was a text in the dead of night or a call during a board meeting.
James’s gaze flicked to the phone mounted on the dashboard. The glowing screen mocked him with the same message it had for the last half hour: “Calling Rafael… No answer p>
His brow creased deeper, a knot forming in his chest. Something was off—he could feel it. And when Rafael Vexley went quiet, it never meant anything good.
“Come on, pick up,” James muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and worry. He pressed redial, the ringtone echoing through the car’s speakers like a persistent alarm. One ring, two, three—voicemail. Again. “What the hell is going on? You better not be pulling one of your dramatic stunts, Rafael.” His mind raced through worst-case scenarios: an accident, a relapse into one of those dark, isolating episodes, or worse, something tied to the family’s tangled web of betrayals. Yesterday’s blowup over Eliana still lingered in the air between them, but James had shoved it aside for now. Loyalty came first.
The traffic light turned red, forcing him to a halt. He sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. “If you’re ignoring me on purpose, we’re going to have words,” he grumbled to the empty car. But deep down, a knot of unease tightened in his stomach. Rafael had been unraveling lately, the pain of his falling out with Eliana pressing down like an invisible anvil. James stepped on the gas as the light changed, weaving through lanes with a newfound urgency. “Screw this—I’m getting there now.” The engine roared as he accelerated, the mansion’s distant silhouette growing larger on the horizon.
By the time James pulled up to the grand wrought-iron gates of the Vexley estate, his heart was pounding. The guards nodded him through without a word, recognizing the familiar vehicle. He parked haphazardly in the circular driveway, gravel crunching under the tires, and bolted toward the entrance. The massive oak doors swung open as a butler greeted him with a polite bow. “Mr. James, good morning. Mr. Vexley is in the dining room p>
James barely acknowledged him, striding past with long, purposeful steps. The mansion’s opulent halls—marble floors gleaming under crystal chandeliers, walls adorned with priceless art—felt eerily quiet this morning, amplifying his anxiety. He burst into the dining room, expecting chaos or at least a disheveled Rafael nursing a hangover. Instead, he froze at the sight before him.
There sat Rafael Vexley, impeccably dressed in a tailored navy suit that hugged his athletic frame, his dark wavy hair neatly combed, steel-grey eyes focused on a plate of eggs Benedict and fresh fruit. He looked every bit the commanding CEO, fork in hand, sipping black coffee as if the world hadn’t imploded around him the night before. The morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, creating a halo around him that made the scene almost surreal.
“Rafael?” James blurted out, his voice a mix of relief and incredulity. He stepped closer, hands on his hips. “What the—I’ve been calling you nonstop! Before I left home, during the drive—ring after ring, no answer. I thought something happened to you! An accident, or… God forbid, one of your family’s schemes finally caught up. I floored it here, breaking every speed limit in the book p>
Rafael looked up slowly, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his chiseled jawline. He set his fork down with deliberate calm, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. “Morning to you too, James. Sit down before you give yourself a heart attack. Coffee p>
James blinked, exasperated. “Coffee? That’s all you have to say? I was worried sick! Why weren’t you answering p>
Rafael leaned back in his chair, his piercing eyes meeting James’s with that trademark cool detachment. “My phone had an unfortunate encounter with the wall last night. Smashed to bits. Black screen, the works. Didn’t think it’d be such a crisis p>
James stared at him for a beat, then let out a long, dramatic sigh, his shoulders slumping as the tension drained away. “An unfortunate encounter with the wall? You mean you threw it, don’t you? God, Rafael, you’re going to be the death of me one day.” He pulled out his own phone, already scrolling through contacts. “Fine, let’s fix this. I’ll call one of the stores—VexTech Mobile on Fifth Avenue. They can have a new one here in under an hour p>
Rafael watched him with mild amusement as James dialed. “Always the fixer,” he murmured, but there was a warmth in his tone that belied his sarcasm.
The line connected quickly. “This is James Harding, executive secretary to Rafael Vexley. We need a top-of-the-line smartphone delivered to the estate immediately—latest model, fully equipped. Yes, the Vexley estate. Charge it to the corporate account. And make it snappy.” He hung up, pocketing the phone. “Done. It’ll be here soon p>
Rafael nodded approvingly, picking up his fork again. “Efficient as ever. What would I do without you p>
James waved it off, pulling out a tablet from his briefcase and taking a seat across from him. He cleared his throat, shifting gears seamlessly. No mention of yesterday’s heated argument, where he’d exploded at Rafael for his callous treatment of Eliana. Water under the bridge—for now. “Alright, let’s get to your schedule. Busy day ahead. You’ve got the board meeting at 10 a.m. sharp—pharma division updates on the new drug trials. Lunch with the real estate investors at noon; they’re pushing for that downtown acquisition. Afternoon calls: tech R&D briefing at 2, then a virtual with the European partners at 3:30. Oh, and don’t forget the charity gala invite—RSVP by end of day p>
Rafael listened, chewing thoughtfully, his smirk growing into something almost genuine. Secretly, a wave of gratitude washed over him. James was more than a secretary; he was the anchor in Rafael’s stormy sea of paranoia and isolation. Loyal, unflinching, even when Rafael’s walls were at their highest. ’I’d never trade him for anyone,’ Rafael thought, the sentiment warming the cold edges of his heart. “Sounds riveting,” he replied dryly. “Add in a nap if you can squeeze it p>
James chuckled lightly, the tension from earlier fully dissipated. “A nap? In your dreams, boss. But I’ll see what I can do p>
Once breakfast wrapped up—Rafael polishing off the last bite with a satisfied sigh—they headed out. The luxury car, a gleaming black Rolls-Royce Phantom, waited in the driveway, its engine purring like a contented beast. James slid into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors with practiced ease. Rafael settled into the passenger side, his wheelchair pretense momentarily forgotten in the privacy of the moment, though he’d resume it at the office.
“Ready?” James asked, glancing over.
“Always,” Rafael replied, his voice steady. As they pulled away from the mansion, the city unfolded before them, a tapestry of skyscrapers and bustling life.
The drive to Vexley Enterprises was smooth, the car’s interior a cocoon of leather and quiet luxury. Soft classical music played on the stereo, a rare indulgence Rafael allowed. James kept the conversation light—market trends, a joke about a rival CEO’s latest flop—pretending, as always, that the fractures in Rafael’s world didn’t exist.
There was no talk about Eliana—none at all. Her name hung unspoken in the air like a ghost Rafael refused to acknowledge. Last night, while drowning himself with whiskey, he had made a choice—not a fleeting, fragile promise, but a quiet, steel-edged decision. He would not look back. No more circling old memories like open wounds. No regrets. What’s done is done.
The ache in his chest was real, sharp in a way that made him want to claw the feeling out, but he knew pain. He’d lived through it before; it always came like a storm and eventually faded like one too. This would be no different.
Letting her go was the only way to set them both free, even if the thought felt like pressing a knife against his own heart. So he told himself, again and again, until the words started to take root: She’s not the one for me. And that’s okay.
He would let the pain burn itself out. He would not chase her shadow or beg the past to give her back. No—Rafael would walk forward, even if each step felt heavier than the last. He won’t be made a fool out of again, forgetting her wasn’t just a hope. It was a vow.
To be continued p>