Chapter 143
Back in the secluded wing of the mansion that Rafael called his own, Rafael paced like a caged lion. The room smelled of aged whiskey and lingering cigar smoke, the dim lamps creating dancing shadows that mirrored his turmoil. He had dismissed Celina and Caleb to the hospital with a curt wave, their accusing glares burning into his back. James stood by the door, ever the faithful shadow, his expression unreadable.
“James Rafael’s voice came out rough, the kind that carried the weight of sleepless nights and things left unsaid. He stopped mid-motion, turning toward his secretary as if steadying himself for a blow. The faint light from the window caught the hard planes of his face, softening the sharpness that once made him seem untouchable.
His steel-grey eyes—usually cold, unreadable—now burned with something raw and unguarded. Regret.
“I need you to find Clara,” he said, the words trembling out of him like a confession. “Right now. I have to apologize. God, James… what have I done p>
He dragged a shaky breath, his composure unraveling by the second. “I treated her like the enemy. Accused her of conspiring with Mirabel to destroy me—to kill me—just because they share the same blood. I didn’t listen, not once. She tried to explain, to defend herself, and I… I silenced her. Shut her down. Shut everyone down who dared to speak for her p>
His voice broke then, low and heavy with guilt. “And now, I don’t even know if she’ll ever forgive me p>
James adjusted his glasses, his tone measured but empathetic. “Sir, Clara’s been loyal to this family—to you—for years. She didn’t deserve that p>
“No, she didn’t,” Rafael admitted, running a hand through his dark hair, his chiseled jaw clenched. “And Eliana… my God, Eliana. I did the same to her. Threw her out like she was nothing, all because of my fears, my paranoia. I wouldn’t let them explain. Hell, even my very good friend—he defended her, said she couldn’t have done it, and what did I do? Blocked him. Stopped his calls. Now he’s gone silent, and I regret it all, James. Every damn word p>
James nodded solemnly. “I’ll locate Clara immediately, sir. There might be a staff who knows her whereabouts. I’ll start from there p>
“Do it,” Rafael urged, his voice cracking slightly. “And thank you. For everything today p>
As James exited with a quiet click of the door, Rafael sank into his leather armchair, the weight of his mistakes pressing down like an invisible force. He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialed Eliana’s number for the umpteenth time. The automated voice mocked him: “The number you have reached does not exist.” He slammed the phone down, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
He turned to the stack of documents on his desk—files James had compiled in their desperate search for Eliana. Bank records, travel logs, nothing. But then his gaze snagged on a folder tucked halfway under a stack of papers—”Henry Jackson p>
The name alone made his pulse falter. Henry Jackson—the man who had taken Eliana away on several occasions, the man Rafael had dismissed as irrelevant, long gone overseas, no longer a piece of the puzzle.
He reached for the folder, his fingers trembling slightly as he flipped it open. Inside were glossy photos of a man who looked every bit the success story—confident smile, expensive suit, eyes that knew exactly how to charm a room. Neatly clipped reports detailed his international ventures, partnerships that stretched across continents.
Rafael’s jaw tightened as he scanned the pages. Something wasn’t right. The air seemed to grow colder, the light dimmer, as the thought hit him—sharp, electric, terrifying.
An idea struck him like lightning, sending a chill crawling down his spine. What if Henry hadn’t been a Chapter closed… but the key to everything that had gone wrong?
“What if she really went with him?” Rafael whispered to the empty room, his voice laced with dread. “Abroad. What if she’s given up on me completely? Left the country, started over with him?” His hands began to shake uncontrollably, the papers fluttering in his grasp. The thought of Eliana—his Eliana, with her warm skin, expressive honey eyes, and that hopeful smile—carrying his child, alone in some foreign land with another man… it was unbearable. Panic clawed at his chest, his heart pounding as if echoing Mirabel’s attack.
In a frenzy, he grabbed his phone again, scrolling through contacts until he found the blocked number of his mysterious friend. With a deep breath, he unblocked it and hit call. Ring after ring echoed in the silence—no answer. He tried again, and again, each unanswered tone twisting the knife deeper. “Pick up, damn it,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “Please p>
His life felt inverted, the once-unshakable billionaire reduced to a man on the brink. Desperation fueled him as he typed out a message, his thumbs flying over the screen:
“Friend, I’m sorry. I was a jerk, an ungrateful bastard. You were right about everything—about Eliana. I blocked you because I couldn’t face the truth, but now I need you. I can’t find her anywhere. She’s pregnant with my baby, and I don’t know where she is or if she’s okay. Please, call me back. I beg you p>
He hit send, his thumb lingering on the screen as if sheer willpower could summon a reply. The silence that followed was deafening. The faint glow of his phone reflected in his eyes, catching the tremor of desperation he tried so hard to hide.
The walls seemed to close in around him, the air heavy with the weight of his own thoughts. His pulse thundered in his ears as regret twisted through him—sharp, merciless, unforgiving.
He began to pace again, running a trembling hand through his hair. “What have I done?” he muttered under his breath, voice cracking with disbelief. “How do I fix this p>
But the room gave no answer—only the echo of his own words bouncing off the cold, empty walls, a cruel reminder that some mistakes don’t wait for redemption.
A soft knock at the door shattered the silence. Rafael whirled, his temper flaring. “What?” he bellowed through the thick wood, his voice thunderous.
The maid’s timid voice filtered through, quavering slightly. “Mr. Vexley, sir? I’m sorry to disturb you, but security at the gate just called. There are two women here looking for you. They say it’s urgent—something about a matter that can’t wait p>
Rafael’s brow furrowed, suspicion mingling with curiosity. He snatched his security tablet from the desk, its screen glowing to life with live feeds from the estate’s cameras. There, at the wrought-iron gates under the golden hues of the setting sun, stood two women beside a flashy red convertible that screamed extravagance. One was tall and poised, with sharp features and a designer coat—Sarai Monroe. The other, taller and more vibrant, with a high ponytail and a mischievous grin even in the grainy footage—Bianca Monroe. They leaned against the car, arms crossed, chatting animatedly while waiting for clearance.
“What the hell do they want?” Rafael murmured, his heart racing anew. But deep down, a spark of hope ignited—perhaps they knew something about Eliana.