Chapter 172
Mirabel extended a gloved hand, the gesture poised somewhere between desperation and performance. “Eliana, please,” she said softly, her voice trembling with carefully measured sorrow. “I’ve come all this way… we need to talk. Just a few minutes. For old times’ sake?” Her lips curved into something that almost passed for tenderness, but her eyes gleamed with something colder—anticipation, control. “Or perhaps,” she added, lowering her voice just enough to sound intimate, “for what’s to come p>
She made no attempt to hide her posture—a subtle blend of pleading and dominance. Around them, the curious students had slowed their pace, whispers rippling as they recognized tension where there should have been none. Mirabel caught their stares and let them linger, using their presence like a weapon. Let Eliana be the one who looked unkind, unyielding. Let the crowd see her rejecting a pleading woman. It was manipulation at its finest—artful, deliberate, and devastatingly effective.
Eliana’s pulse quickened, her breath catching in her chest. For a fleeting moment, she couldn’t move—caught between shock and the ache of too many memories. The woman before her wasn’t just the mother who had walked away when she was only a child; she was the same person who had once slapped her across the face for speaking up, who had threatened her life in the name of pride, who had turned cruelty into an art form when it came to Rafael.
And yet, she looked… almost human now. Vulnerable, even. It twisted something deep inside Eliana—a tug-of-war between compassion and self-preservation.
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said finally, her tone steady but tight with emotion. Her fingers curled around her bag strap as if for grounding. She shifted to the side, intending to walk away—but Mirabel moved too, graceful and unrelenting, stepping into her path once more.
“Please,” Mirabel implored, her voice rising just enough to draw more eyes. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’ve changed. Let me explain. Just a conversation—over coffee, somewhere quiet. My car is right here.” She gestured to the Mercedes, its polished surface gleaming like a black pearl.
The crowd murmured louder. “Is this some kind of reality show?” a guy joked, eliciting nervous laughter from his friends. “Nah, that’s real drama. Look at her ride—must be worth a fortune p>
Eliana hesitated, her emotional resilience cracking under the public scrutiny. She didn’t want a scene, not here, not with her pregnancy making her feel exposed. Reluctantly, she nodded. “Fine. But just to talk. And if I say stop, you let me go p>
Mirabel’s face lit up with relief—authentic in its calculation. “Of course, darling. Thank you.” She led the way to the car, opening the rear door with a flourish. Eliana slid in, her senses assaulted by the scent of leather and expensive perfume. Mirabel joined her in the back, while Lydia took the front passenger seat, her presence a silent sentinel. George started the engine, pulling smoothly into traffic.
As the car merged onto the busy London streets, Eliana’s hand slipped into her pocket, fingers trembling as she pulled out her phone. She had a new number from Rafael—given during her hospital visits. Her thumbs flew across the screen: “Rafael, Mirabel is here in London. She showed up at my university, blocked my way, and begged me to talk. I’m in her car now, heading somewhere. I’m scared but I need to hear her out p>
She hit send, then quickly typed a similar message to Henry: “Henry, Mirabel Vexley just ambushed me outside campus. She’s taking me to talk. In her car now. Don’t worry, but… keep your phone on p>
The replies came almost instantly. Rafael’s first: “Eliana, NO! Do not go with her. Get out now. She’s dangerous—turn around!” Henry’s echoed the urgency: “What? Eliana, stop the car! Tell the driver to pull over. I’m coming to you—where are you headed p>
Eliana bit her lip, glancing at Mirabel, who stared out the window with a serene expression. She texted back to both: “It’s too late. Already in the car. I’ll text you the location when we stop. Please, just stay calm p>
The car ride stretched in agonizing silence, the hum of the engine the only sound. Eliana’s mind whirled—how had Mirabel found her? She’d been so careful, fleeing to London with Henry, enrolling under a low profile. The city blurred past: red double-decker buses, historic buildings, pedestrians bundled against the chill. Mirabel sat poised, her hands folded in her lap, a picture of maternal warmth that clashed violently with Eliana’s memories of slaps and venomous threats.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was only twenty minutes, George pulled up to a quaint restaurant tucked away in a side street of Kensington—a hidden gem with ivy-covered walls and soft lantern light spilling from the windows. “Le Jardin Secret,” the sign read, promising privacy amid blooming gardens visible through the glass.
Mirabel turned to Eliana with a gentle smile, her voice soft and loving— a far cry from the icy tyrant who’d once vowed to end her life. “Here we are, dear. A quiet spot, away from prying eyes. Shall we?” She exited gracefully, holding the door for Eliana like a doting mother.
Eliana stepped out, her legs unsteady, the cool air nipping at her skin. As they entered the restaurant, the maître d’ greeted Mirabel by name—”Mrs. Vexley, your private room is ready”—ushering them to a secluded alcove adorned with fresh flowers and candlelight. The aroma of herbs and roasted meats wafted through, but Eliana’s stomach churned with anxiety rather than hunger.
They settled at a linen-draped table, menus placed before them. Lydia lingered outside the door, a shadow of protection. Mirabel ordered tea for both—chamomile, calming—her movements fluid and affectionate. “You look well, Eliana,” she said, her eyes lingering on the bump under Eliana’s coat. “Radiant, even. Motherhood suits you p>
Eliana couldn’t hold back any longer. Her patience snapped like a brittle twig, emotions bubbling over—fear, anger, confusion. “What do you want from me, Mirabel?” she demanded, her voice rising, honey-brown eyes flashing. “How did you even find me? I left everything behind to get away from people like you. And now you show up, acting all… kind? Like you didn’t slap me across the face or threaten to kill me more than once p>
Mirabel’s expression crumpled, tears welling up—practiced, but convincing in the dim light. She reached across the table, her hand hovering near Eliana’s, not quite touching. “Oh, my sweet girl… I deserve every word of that. I’ve been a monster, I know. But please, let me explain. Let me beg for your forgiveness p>
Eliana leaned back, arms crossed protectively over her belly, dumbfounded. This wasn’t the Mirabel she knew—the elitist manipulator who’d seen her as nothing but a pawn. “Forgiveness? For what? Abandoning me as a child? Or trying to destroy me and the man I love p>
Mirabel’s voice broke, a sob escaping as she clasped her hands together. “For all of it, Eliana. Especially for leaving you. I was young—barely out of my teens—trapped in poverty with your father. He was kind, but we had nothing. No future. I left to build something better, thinking I could come back one day. But life… it twisted me. Power corrupted me. I’ve never stopped regretting it. Never stopped thinking of you p>
Eliana’s mouth fell open, her heart twisting despite herself. The words hit like arrows, piercing her emotional wounds. “You… regretted it? Then why didn’t you come back? Why let me grow up thinking my mother didn’t want me p>
Tears streamed down Mirabel’s cheeks now, her elegant makeup smudging just enough to look real. “Fear, darling. Shame. I married into wealth, became someone else. But seeing you now… carrying my grandchild… it breaks me. Forgive me, Eliana. Let me make it right. Join our family. Let me protect you both from the storms I’ve caused p>
Eliana sat there, stunned into silence, her world tilting. The restaurant’s soft music played on, oblivious to the emotional hurricane swirling in the room. Was this real? Or another layer of deception? Her phone buzzed in her pocket—likely Rafael or Henry—but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the woman before her, begging like a penitent soul.