Chapter 218
Eliana leaned back, her full lips pressing into a thin line. “I loved that house,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone, her kind-hearted nature warring with the pain. “Henry got it for us—for me, Papa, and him. We were supposed to start fresh here in London, away from all the chaos. But now… I’ve married you, Rafael, and broken his heart in the worst way. I can’t leave our things there like nothing happened. It’s shameless p>
Rafael’s heart twisted at her words, his sarcastic armor cracking. “Eliana,” he said gently, his deep voice laced with so much vulnerability. “You don’t have to do this alone. If it’s too much p>
“No,” she cut him off, her emotional resilience shining through, though her voice trembled. “I hate myself for hurting him. He’s my only friend, the one who was there when no one else was. But this… marrying you… it’s for protection. For Papa, for the baby. It’s the best choice, even if it tears me apart.” She stared out the window, memories flooding her: Henry’s warm eyes, his reserved kindness, the way he’d hidden his love for her during college while she was with Jason. She’d told him at the hospital about the wedding plans, and he’d fled in tears. Since then, silence—no calls answered, no sight of him. It broke her, this loyal soul who suffered in silence.
Rafael shifted uncomfortably, his athletic build hidden under the suit. “I promised you he’s okay,” he reminded her, his tone softening from its usual cold calculation. “I showed you the photos—him with his… friend, Isabella Voss, up in the northern part of the city. I even gave you the address. My men confirmed it p>
Eliana nodded, a tear escaping down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away with a hopeful smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I know. He needs space. I miss him so much, but pushing him now would only hurt more.” Her hand rested on her baby bump, a miracle amid the chaos.
The car pulled up to the charming three story house, its brick facade warm under the London dusk, lights off inside like a ghost of what could have been. Eliana fished out her keys, the jingle echoing her heartbreak. “He’s not home,” she whispered, pushing open the door to a silent hallway lined with unpacked boxes and faded photos.
Rafael’s men—Jax with his sharp eyes, Oliver’s vigilant stance, Will’s quiet efficiency, Liam’s grin fading to sympathy, Kai’s focus, and Viktor’s bulk—piled in behind them, ready to help. “We’ll handle the heavy stuff,” Jax said gruffly, clapping a hand on Eliana’s shoulder. “Just point us where p>
They moved like a well-oiled machine, each man knowing his role without needing a single order. Frank’s belongings went first—his worn books, medical supplies, the faded notebooks filled with his looping handwriting, the neatly packed containers of medicine he’d organized himself. His clothes, still smelling faintly of antiseptic and old cologne, were folded with surprising gentleness by the men who barely knew him.
Eliana guided them quietly, her voice soft but steady, her movements graceful despite the ache hollowing her chest. She pointed, directed, sorted—her natural poise untouched even as grief tugged at her edges. She had always been like this: composed in chaos, steady in storms.
But the nursery… the nursery was a different kind of pain.
The moment she stepped into the room, the air lodged in her throat.
The pastel walls—painted in uneven strokes she and Henry had laughed over—now felt too bright, too hopeful. The crib they’d assembled together sat in the center of the room, half-dismantled, screws resting in a tiny dish James had set aside so nothing would be lost. The mobile of stars she had chosen swayed slowly above it, catching a slice of sunlight and scattering soft patterns on the walls.
Tiny clothes—onesies with cartoon animals, soft knitted socks, blankets they’d folded with so much anticipation—were being packed away one by one.
And as the men lifted each piece, carefully carrying it toward the massive truck that James had managed to summon on impossibly short notice—a hulking vehicle that rumbled up the driveway like a restless giant—Eliana felt something inside her crack.
She stopped in the doorway.
Stopped breathing.
Stopped blinking.
Stopped everything.
Her hand hovered over her belly, trembling.
Her heartbeat thudded painfully against her ribs, each pulse reminding her of the life still growing inside her… and everything that had been taken from her too soon.
A quiet gasp slipped from her lips—too soft to be called a sob, too broken to be anything else. The sight of the crib leaving the room—its wooden frame disappearing down the hallway—shattered her.
The future she had imagined in this space had been peeled away, piece by piece, like the walls themselves were being stripped of color.
And for the first time since the courthouse… Eliana couldn’t hold herself together.
“Eliana,” Rafael said, wheeling closer, reaching for her hand. His touch was tentative, seeking to comfort, his lonely soul yearning for connection.
She pulled away sharply, the action like a slap. “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking, eyes glistening. It stung him deeply, a reminder of his past ruthlessness—the way he’d allow his distrust in her when he should have believed her, come between their love for each other. He swallowed hard, his emotional detachment fracturing. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “This is my fault. All of it p>
She didn’t respond, just watched as the last toy was packed, her over-trusting nature now guarded. Rafael didn’t try again, but he stayed, offering words like lifelines. “You’re strong, Eliana. Stronger than anyone I know. This pain… it’ll pass. We’ll build something new—for you, the baby, your father p>
An hour and a half later, under the cover of emerging stars, they arrived at Rafael’s nice London home—a modern fortress of glass and stone, gardens manicured to perfection, security gates humming shut behind them. The house buzzed with activity as James, Jax, and the team unloaded, arranging Eliana’s things in the room Rafael had chosen: a sunlit suite with views of the Thames, soft furnishings in calming blues, a crib already set up as if he’d anticipated this.
“Over there, by the window,” Eliana directed faintly, her energy waning. The men worked efficiently, banter lightening the mood—Liam cracking a joke about the nursery mobile looking like a UFO, drawing a reluctant chuckle from her.
Once settled, Rafael guided her to his study, a wood-paneled sanctuary lined with books and screens flickering with company data. He wheeled in, closing the door softly. “Eliana,” he began, his voice heavy with concern, piercing eyes searching her face. “We need to talk. I’m worried about you. Since the accident, you’ve been… different. Distant. I know you’re hurting and I don’t know how to fix this—us. Tell me what to do p>
She met his gaze, her quiet strength flickering. “Rafael, I p>
His phone rang sharply, the screen showing his father’s name. Rafael’s expression darkened; he knew the tirade coming—demands, accusations about the marriage. He moved to silence it.
“It’s your father. Pick it up,” Eliana urged, her tone weary but firm. “I need to rest anyway.” She turned, her steps graceful yet heavy, leaving the room like a ghost. Rafael watched her go, his heart fracturing in two, the bitter puppet master now aching for the love he’d destroyed. The phone kept ringing, a harbinger of more chains to come.