Chapter 137
He tried again, his pulse racing, but the same message repeated, cold and impersonal. Frustration boiled over, and he switched to texting: “Eliana, I’m ready to talk. Call me as soon as you get this. We need to discuss everything.” He hit send, watching the delivery status. Undelivered. A red exclamation mark blinked like a warning light.
A pit opened in his stomach, cold and dense, dragging him under like lead sinking into black water. The weight of it made it hard to breathe. Something was wrong—terribly, bone-deep wrong.
Eliana had been persistent to the point of breaking. She’d shown up at his office despite the icy walls he’d built, stood outside his home in the rain when he refused to let her in, left messages at hours when the city itself slept. Her loyalty had burned bright, steady—a flame he’d deliberately turned his back on. And now, the very moment he was ready to lower his guard, ready to listen… she was gone.
It didn’t fit. None of it.
The logical part of his mind tried to piece it together, to line up facts like soldiers on a chessboard—but nothing aligned. A colder, more familiar voice slithered through the cracks of his thoughts, an old companion he knew too well.
Betrayal.
Sabotage.
Someone was moving pieces in the dark, and he could feel it—the invisible hand twisting everything he thought he controlled. The world outside his window sparkled like a liar’s smile, but the air in the room had grown sharp and thin, humming with the static of an unseen threat.
“James!” Rafael barked, his commanding presence filling the room like a storm front. “Contact her. Now. If you can’t reach her by phone, find her. Track her down. And that man—Henry. The one who’s always by her side. Who is he? Why is he always with her p>
James nodded vigorously, his warm eyes reflecting a mix of loyalty and concern. “Right away, sir. I’ll pull her last known address, check her socials, everything. As for Henry… I’ll dig into him too. But what if p>
“No what-ifs,” Rafael cut him off, his voice steel-edged. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m getting to the bottom of it. Go. Now p>
James hesitated for a split second, then bolted from the room, the door clicking shut behind him with finality. Rafael sank into his chair—not the wheelchair he used for his facade, but the executive throne that symbolized his power. He dialed Eliana again, the futile rings echoing in the empty office. “Come on, pick up,” he muttered, his sarcasm giving way to desperation. “Where are you, Eliana? Why now, when I finally p>
But silence answered him, mocking his isolation. He scrolled through old messages, her words from weeks ago pleading: “Please, Rafael, just hear me out.” Back then, he had seen her everywhere—haunting his thoughts, begging at his gates. Now, she was a ghost. The irony twisted like a knife in his gut, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Of course. When I push you away, you’re relentless. When I reach out… poof. Gone. What game is this p>
The next three days blurred into a frenzy of sleepless nights and relentless pursuit. Rafael’s office became a war room, papers strewn across the desk like battle plans, coffee cups piling up as silent sentinels to his vigil. He barely ate, his athletic build seeming sharper, more honed by tension. James shuttled in and out, his face growing wearier with each update.
On the first day, James had crashed through the door like a storm—mid-afternoon, tie crooked, hair slightly disheveled, a tablet gripped tight in his hand. His usually calm, composed demeanor was replaced by a sharp, almost electric urgency.
“Sir,” he said, a little breathless, “I’ve got something on Henry Jackson p>
Rafael’s gaze flicked up from the papers on his desk, his expression tightening. James didn’t burst in unless it was serious.
James swiped the tablet awake, the screen glowing between them. “Henry Jackson. Twenty-six. Comes from the Jackson Enterprises dynasty—old money. We’re talking private jets, sprawling estates, and a family name that opens doors most people don’t even know exist. He’s studying to be a doctor—brilliant record, clean image. Volunteers at children’s hospitals and homeless shelters. Basically, the poster boy for good intentions p>
He paused, his voice lowering a notch. “He met Eliana back in college. They were friends. But the word is… he had feelings for her. Big ones. Their classmates knew—everyone except Eliana herself. He kept it quiet because at the time, she was dating Jason Asher p>
Rafael’s jaw ticked. The name hung between them like a spark in dry air, and in that moment, the world inside his office felt smaller, sharper—like the first ripple before a storm.
Then he leaned forward, his grey eyes piercing. “And now? Where is he p>
James shifted uncomfortably. “That’s the thing. I went to his family’s estate—impressive place, gated, security like a fortress. Spoke to his parents. They said Henry relocated out of the country. ’For safety reasons,’ they claimed. Wouldn’t say where. Clammed up tighter than a vault p>
Rafael’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking like a countdown. “Safety? From what? Me?” He slammed a fist on the desk, the sound reverberating. “And Eliana? Any trace p>
“Nothing yet, sir.” James’s voice carried a weight that immediately made Rafael’s chest tighten. He stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, but the faint unease in his eyes said enough.
“Her former apartment’s empty,” he continued, the words crisp and low. “Landlord said she hasn’t been back since the day her father was admitted to the hospital. No forwarding address. No notes. Nothing p>
Rafael’s knuckles whitened against the edge of the desk.
“Her phone’s disconnected—just like you saw. Social media’s gone dark. No posts, no activity, not even a whisper.” James exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “It’s like she vanished into thin air p>
The silence that followed was deafening. Outside, the city roared on—horns, engines, the ceaseless pulse of a world that didn’t care someone had disappeared. But inside Rafael’s office, everything felt suspended.
Vanished. The word dug into his mind like a hook.
Rafael rubbed his temples, the gravity of it all pressing down. “She wouldn’t just leave. Not after everything. She was fighting for us—for me. Running off with this Henry? No. She loved me, James. Or… thought she did.” Doubt crept in, a shadow over his resolve, but he shook it off. “Henry’s a dead end. He’s probably fleeing whatever mess he’s in. We need to look elsewhere p>
By the second day, exhaustion etched lines on Rafael’s face, his designer suit rumpled. He paced endlessly, phone in hand, dialing phantom numbers. “Damn it, Eliana,” he whispered to the empty room, his voice breaking. “Where are you? If you’re really carrying a child… our baby… I need to know p>
James returned that evening, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. “Sir, I checked hospitals, clinics—nothing under her name or her father’s. Friends from her old life? Scattered, no leads. It’s like someone’s erased her p>
Rafael stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Erased. That sounds deliberate. Who would—?” A cold realization dawned, freezing him in place. His stepmother. Mirabel Vexley. The elegant ice queen. She valued money over blood, saw weakness as a sin. If anyone could orchestrate a disappearance, it was her.
“James,” Rafael said, his voice low and dangerous, like thunder rolling in. “The next person we drill is Mirabel. She’s behind this—I can feel it in my bones. She’s probably hiding Eliana since I got on to their schemes p>
James’s eyes widened in alarm. “Sir, confronting her? She’s ruthless. If she’s involved p>
“Then we’ll expose her,” Rafael growled, his calculating mind whirring back to life. “Set it up. I want answers. And I want them now p>
As James nodded and left, Rafael stared out at the darkening sky, the city lights flickering like distant hopes. The pit in his stomach deepened, but so did his resolve.