Chapter 154
The sterile hum of the hospital room had become a monotonous backdrop to James’s vigil. Twenty-four hours had ticked by agonizingly slow since he’d placed that fateful call to his trusted investigator. Rafael lay in the bed, his once-imposing frame now subdued by the sedatives, his chiseled features softened in uneasy slumber. James paced the room, his mind a whirlwind of suspicions—Nurse Reyes’s abrupt interruption, the Monroe sisters’ gleeful malice, Henry’s boyfriend claims. The pieces didn’t fit, and the puzzle gnawed at him like a persistent ache.
His phone buzzed sharply, jolting him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen: the investigator. “Talk to me, Sam,” James answered, his voice low and urgent, stepping toward the window to ensure privacy.
“James,” the investigator replied, his tone clipped and professional. “I’ve got the prelims on that accident on Elm and Broad. No official police report lists Eliana Bennett as the victim—turns out, the woman who died was someone named Ruth Hargrove. But get this: I’ve pulled CCTV footage from a nearby traffic cam. Sending it over now. Watch it closely; it’s damning p>
James’s heart raced as the video file pinged into his inbox. “Anything else? Ties to Henry Jackson or the Monroes p>
“Not yet,” he said, his voice low but steady. “But the van that slammed into the cab—yeah, it wasn’t random. No logos, no registration, and the plates were fake. Someone planned this.” He paused, the faint sound of typing echoing in the background. “I’ll keep digging into the names you gave me. Something about this stinks. Stay alert, alright? Whoever’s behind it isn’t sloppy—they knew exactly what they were doing p>
The call ended with a soft click, leaving behind a silence that seemed to hum in James’s ears. He exhaled slowly, unlocking his phone with fingers that trembled just enough to betray his nerves. The video flickered to life—grainy, black and white, the kind of footage that made reality feel distant.
A busy intersection filled the screen, morning light glinting off wet asphalt as cars weaved through traffic. At exactly 9:13 a.m., a yellow cab pulled up to the curb. The door opened, and there she was—Eliana. Even through the low resolution, James recognized her instantly. Her silhouette was graceful, familiar. Her long, curly black hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the light in fleeting silver strands as she leaned toward the driver, offering what looked like a polite smile and a thank-you.
She stepped onto the sidewalk, tugging her coat tighter against the chill that seemed to hang in the air. For a brief second, she stood still—her eyes, deep and expressive, scanning her surroundings as if looking for someone… or something. Then, with a wide smile, she turned and walked toward the convenience store at the corner, her steps hurried, her figure quickly fading into the blur of city life.
Moments later, a woman—Ruth, presumably—flagged down the same cab and climbed in. The cab pulled out into traffic. That’s when the van appeared, a dark, hulking vehicle accelerating from a side street. It swerved deliberately, tagging the cab’s rear with precision, sending it spinning into oncoming traffic. The crash was brutal—a symphony of screeching tires and crumpling metal. But Eliana… she was already safe inside the convenience store, oblivious to what just happened.
James replayed the clip, his breath catching. The van had been aiming for the cab right after Eliana exited. It was no accident; it was an assassination attempt. She had escaped by mere seconds, a miracle of timing. And now, whoever orchestrated this believed her dead—Ruth’s body mistaken for hers, the cremation seal the deception. If there was even one… or that too was a lie.
He pocketed his phone, glancing at Nurse Reyes’s station down the hall through the room’s small window. Her lie about Eliana’s death and paralysis burned in his mind, but he wouldn’t confront her. Not yet. Tipping his hand could unravel everything. No, he’d investigate her privately—trace her connections, her motives. For now, the priority was clear: tell Rafael the truth, then find Eliana before the shadows caught up to her. At least her “death” bought them time; the hunters thought their prey was gone.
As if on cue, Rafael stirred in the bed, his steel eyes fluttering open. The sedation had worn off, and reality crashed back like a wave. He sat up slowly, his athletic build tense, his dark wavy hair disheveled. Tears welled instantly, spilling down his chiseled cheeks as he clutched the sheets. “Eliana… where is she? James, tell me it was a nightmare. Bring her back—I need her. Our baby… God, please p>
James rushed to his side, his own voice thick with controlled emotions. “Rafael, listen to me. It’s not what we thought. She’s alive p>
Rafael’s head snapped up, his piercing eyes wide with disbelief and hope. “What? Alive? But the nurse—the accident p>
“I called Sam, the private investigator. Look at this.” James pulled out his phone, queuing the CCTV footage. He held it up, narrating softly as it played. “See? That’s Eliana getting out of the cab. Another woman got in right after. The van hit the cab on purpose—it was meant for her. But she walked away. She’s out there, Rafael. Someone tried to kill her, and they think they succeeded p>
Rafael watched in stunned silence, his breath hitching. As the crash unfolded on screen, he gripped the phone, tears streaming anew—but these were different, laced with fury and relief. “She’s alive… my Eliana… my baby. They’s both okay! Who did this, James? Who p>
“We don’t know yet. But we’re going to find out. And find her first p>
Rafael swung his legs over the bed’s edge, his commanding presence returning despite the hospital gown. “Get me out of here. Now. We’re going home. Launch a full search—discreet, no leaks. Use every resource: private eyes, tech surveillance, everything. But quiet. If word gets out she’s alive, they’ll try again p>
James nodded, helping him steady himself. “Who do you suspect? We need to prioritize p>
Rafael’s jaw clenched, his voice a low growl. “Henry Jackson—top of the list. That ’hero’ act smells like cover. Then Sarai and Bianca Monroe; their glee at her ’death’ was too real. And Mirabel… my stepmother. She’s ruthless, always scheming for control. If she saw Eliana as a threat to the family empire—or worse, if she knows about the baby p>
“Understood. I’ll coordinate from the mansion. Let’s get you discharged p>
Two weeks blurred into a haze of desperation and dead ends. The Vexley mansion, with its sprawling marble halls and echoing corridors, became a war room. Rafael paced endlessly, his crisp designer suits rumpled from sleepless nights, his grey eyes haunted. He was an emotional wreck—snapping at staff one moment, crumbling into silent sobs the next. Meals went untouched; whiskey bottles emptied. “Where is she, James?” he’d mutter during late-night strategy sessions, staring at maps and surveillance feeds. “She needs me. Our child needs me p>
James, ever the loyal anchor, coordinated the search with iron focus. “We’ve got teams combing the city, hacking into traffic cams, checking aliases. She’s smart; she’s probably hiding. But we’ll find her p>
To be continued p>