Chapter 202
Eliana Bennett sighed, her gaze drifting to the window where the afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, forming golden stripes across the floor. Five months ago, the idea of marrying Rafael would have filled her with joy—unfettered, passionate, without strings. Now, it was a tool, a weapon in her arsenal. “Yes, that sounds fine,” she replied nonchalantly, her tone devoid of the romance that once colored her words. “As long as it gets me what I need p>
Rafael studied her, noting the shift in her demeanor—the quiet strength hardening into something sharper. “And what is it you need, exactly? Beyond the protection p>
Her eyes flashed with emotion, tears welling but not falling as she thought of her father, frail and hooked to machines, and the venomous threat against Henry. “I want Mirabel to feel the pain I’m feeling right now. The fear, the helplessness. She dared to touch my father, to threaten my baby… and Henry. I don’t care how I accomplish it, Rafael, but I’m going to get my revenge. One way or another p>
The words unsettled him deeply, a wave of discomfort washing over his calculating mind. He didn’t want this—his sweet, kind-hearted Eliana twisted into a monster by Mirabel’s poison. ’That’s my burden to bear,’ he thought silently. ’I’m the puppet master here. I’ll handle Mirabel, rid the world of her for good, before Eliana stains her hands.’ But aloud, he said nothing, simply reaching out to squeeze her hand. “I hear you. But let’s focus on getting you out of here first. Revenge… it can wait p>
Eliana pulled her hand away gently, her resolve unyielding. “No, it can’t. Promise me you’ll help, Rafael. With your resources, we can make her pay p>
He hesitated, his sarcastic wit failing him for once. “I promise I’ll do what’s necessary. For you. For us p>
The conversation hung heavy between them, the room filled with unspoken tensions and budding alliances. Rafael’s mind whirled with plots—calls to his shadowy contacts, ways to expose or eliminate Mirabel without Eliana’s involvement. He couldn’t let her descend into darkness; that was his domain.
Meanwhile, across the city in Isabella Voss’s sprawling penthouse, the air carried a strange blend of fresh paint, expensive candles, and the bitter sting of betrayal that hadn’t quite settled. The apartment—once a gleaming symbol of her shared future with Logan—felt different now, like a fortress she’d finally reclaimed brick by brick.
Isabella, the stunning self-made millionaire in her late twenties, paced slowly across the marble floor. Her bare feet whispered against the cold stone as she moved, dressed simply in jeans and a fitted T-shirt—an intentional contrast to the high-glamour life she’d built. Her dark red hair fell in loose waves down her back, catching the light like an ember refusing to die out. Her eyes—emerald green and tired—kept flicking toward the hallway where movers carried out the last traces of Logan’s existence.
By the window stood Henry Jackson, tall, steady, and irritatingly handsome in that quiet, dependable way that made people trust him without thinking. He watched the movers silently, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. Every so often he glanced toward Isabella as if checking she hadn’t shattered under the weight of what had happened.
When she finally turned to him, her voice wasn’t steady—it quivered under layers of gratitude, fury, and the leftover tremors from last night’s nightmare. Overhearing Logan’s whispered plan to marry her, kill her, and steal her fortune still echoed through her skull like a bad dream she wished she could wake from.
“Henry She swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “I can’t thank you enough for coming with me to the police station this morning. And now you’re here helping me pack up all his crap She let out a shaky exhale, half laugh, half disbelief. “You’re a lifesaver. Literally p>
Henry pushed himself away from the window at last, the city lights flickering behind him as he stepped toward her. His expression softened—not pity, but something gentler, steadier. He moved slowly, like a man approaching someone he feared might crumble if touched too suddenly.
A small, almost reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes… they held something far heavier. Something distracted. Something back home.
Eliana.
A name that lived quietly behind every measured breath he took.
Still, he focused on Isabella, grounding himself in the moment for her sake.
“It’s really nothing, Isabella,” he said, voice low and warm. “After everything you’ve just been hit with—finding out he was cheating, then discovering he planned to marry you just to kill you He shook his head slowly, jaw clenching for her. “No one should face that kind of darkness alone. Especially not on the day your wedding was supposed to be held p>
She laughed bitterly, tossing another shirt into a box with dramatic flair. “Wedding? Ha! More like a funeral for my trust in men. But you… you’re different. Kind, reserved. Not like that snake Logan.” She paused, her eyes softening as she sealed the box. “The locksmiths just finished. New keys, new life. What about you? You’ve been quiet. Thinking about that girl you mentioned last night at the bar? Eliana p>
Henry’s cheeks flushed slightly, his warm eyes averting. “Yeah. I should check on her. It’s already noon—look at the clock.” He glanced at the ornate wall clock, its hands ticking past 12:20 PM, and a pang of worry hit him. He hadn’t contacted Eliana since the previous night, too entangled in Isabella’s crisis and his own jealousy over her being with Rafael.
Isabella nodded understandingly, scribbling her number on a sticky note with elegant script. “Here. My number. Call me anytime—you’ve been my knight in shining armor. If you need help, I’m there.” She picked up her phone, dialing her driver swiftly. “Elise? Yes, take Mr. Jackson wherever he needs to go. And Henry? Thank you. For everything p>
Henry pocketed the note, his voice sincere. “Thanks, Isabella. Stay safe. And if Logan shows up… call the cops immediately p>
The driver, a stoic man in a black suit, led Henry to the sleek green Mercedes waiting curbside. “Where to, sir p>
“Home. Kingston address—127 Gale Street,” Henry said quietly as he settled into the leather seat of the car. The engine hummed to life, and the city outside smeared into streaks of gray and green.
But he barely saw any of it.
His thoughts were already spiraling back to Eliana.
He should’ve borrowed Isabella’s phone earlier. He should’ve called. Every time the urge hit him, he’d hear Eliana’s voice replaying in his head—soft, exhausted, but firm:
“No, Henry, that won’t be necessary. Rafael’s… pretty shaken up by all this. He wants me to stay here for a full checkup. After, he said he’d take me home himself. His security team’s on high alert now. It’s safer this way p>
At the time, he felt useless and incompetent.
But now?
Now the silence pressed against his ribs like a vice. Something in his chest twisted, a tightness that only grew the longer he sat there doing nothing.
He needed to hear her voice.
Needed to know she was okay.
Needed confirmation that Rafael’s version of “safe” was actually safe.
Henry dragged a hand over his face, exhaling slowly as the car picked up speed.
’I should’ve called. I should’ve called the second I woke up this morning p>
But it wasn’t too late. Not yet.
He leaned back in the seat, decision settling like a weight in his stomach.
Arriving at the three story house he shared with Eliana and her father, Henry bounded up the steps, the door creaking open to an eerie silence. No aroma of Frank’s late coffee, no sound of Eliana’s soft humming. Panic flickered just a bit in his chest. “Eliana? Frank?” he called, but only echoes answered.
Rushing upstairs to his room, he rummaged through his drawer, pulling out his spare phone—a dusty old model. He plugged it in, powered it on, and dialed Eliana’s number from memory, his fingers trembling slightly. Come on, pick up.
The phone rang once, twice. Then, her voice—edgy, laced with tension—answered. “Hello? Who is this p>
Relief flooded him, warm and immediate. “Eliana, it’s me. Henry. Where are you? Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you since last night p>
On the other end, in her hospital bed, Eliana’s breath hitched, her honey eyes widening in relief. Henry’s voice was a lifeline, confirming the threatening text hadn’t come to pass. “Henry… oh, thank God it’s you. I’m… we’re at St. Patrick’s Hospital. There was an accident. Papa and I… we’re here p>
The phone slipped from Henry’s hand, clattering to the floor in shock, the screen cracking further as his world tilted. Accident? Hospital? The words echoed in his mind, a dramatic cliffhanger freezing him in place.