Chapter 251
“Eliana could slip,” Bianca continued smoothly. “Lose her footing. Tragic. Unfortunate. No witnesses, no suspicion. Just grief… and opportunity p>
The silence that followed was thick.
Then Sarai’s lips parted into a slow, dangerous smile.
That did it.
Her possessiveness surged, old jealousy roaring back to life. Ever since news of Eliana’s marriage to Rafael had broken, Jason had vanished from her life like she’d never existed. Blocked her calls. Ignored her messages. And when she’d finally cornered him, he’d snapped, “Stay away, Sarai. I don’t want Eliana getting the wrong idea about us when I win her back p>
Win her back.
As if Eliana—soft, naïve Eliana—was some prize he deserved more than Sarai ever did.
Her nails dug into her palm.
“That bitch,” Sarai hissed, her polished mask cracking. “Even married, she’s still in my way. Jason throws me aside like I’m nothing, and Rafael—Rafael chooses her again and again!” Her voice trembled with fury. “I’m better than her. In every way. Looks. Status. Power. Men always choose her and her sad little smiles p>
She exhaled sharply, eyes blazing.
“If this conference gives us a chance to erase her for good,” Sarai said coldly, “I’ll sell an arm and a leg to be there p>
Bianca nodded approvingly, her elitist grin widening. “That’s my sister. We’ll pull strings—call in favors from Dad’s contacts. This is our shot p>
Back in London, high above the restless streets, the city softened into a quiet hum behind floor-to-ceiling glass.
Isabella Voss sat at her desk in a sleek, minimalist office that mirrored her personality—sharp, elegant, unyielding. Her red hair framed her face in loose waves, a vivid contrast to the controlled calm she projected. She was beautiful in an understated way, the kind that didn’t beg for attention but held it anyway. Still, anyone looking closely would notice the faint cracks beneath the polish. Heartbreak had a way of leaving subtle fingerprints.
She flipped through documents with focused efficiency until a knock interrupted her thoughts.
“Come in,” she said.
Easter, her ever-competent secretary, stepped inside with a tablet tucked neatly under her arm. “Ms. Voss, the invite for the New York tech conference just came in. It’s addressed to you and select board members.” She smiled. “Sounds like prime networking territory p>
Isabella paused, fingers resting lightly on the page.
New York. America.
The conference name stirred something unexpected—an echo of Henry Jackson. He was American. Of all the wreckage her failed engagement to Logan had left behind, Henry remained the one good thing that came out of it. Kind. Steady. Uncomplicated in a world that rarely was.
“Thank you, Easter,” Isabella said quietly. “I’ll think about it p>
Once the door closed, she didn’t hesitate. Isabella reached for her phone and dialed.
It rang twice.
“Hello?” Henry’s voice came through, calm but tired.
“Henry? Hi,” she said gently. “How are you today p>
Miles away, Henry Jackson sat in the grand study of the house Eliana had once filled with warmth and laughter. Now it felt cavernous, too large for one lonely soul. Medical textbooks lay open in front of him, but his eyes weren’t reading. His sharp features looked more worn than usual, his warm eyes distant.
“I’m… doing fine,” he replied. “How about you p>
“I’m okay,” Isabella said. Then, casually—almost too casually—”Have you heard about the New York tech conference p>
Henry exhaled slowly. “Yeah. My father got an invite. He wants me to represent him.” A pause. “I told him no p>
Isabella frowned slightly. “Why p>
Another sigh. He didn’t bother pretending. “Eliana’s marriage still hits harder than I like to admit. I don’t feel like playing charming heir while my heart’s a mess p>
Her voice softened instantly. “I understand. Logan still feels like a bruise someone keeps poking.” She hesitated, then added, “What if you came with me p>
Henry blinked. “With you p>
“As my partner,” she said simply. “People will talk if I show up alone, though honestly, I don’t care. But you’d be good company. Smart. Kind. Familiar.” A small smile crept into her tone. “And we could both use a distraction p>
Henry leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Temptation flickered—then doubt. “I don’t know, Isabella. Staying home and moping sounds… easier p>
She laughed softly. “Easy isn’t healing.” Then, more earnestly, “Come on. Let’s stop mourning people who chose differently. Fly to New York. Network. Pretend we’re thriving—even if we’re still figuring it out p>
Silence stretched.
Then Henry chuckled, faint but real. “You make a convincing argument p>
“So that’s a yes?” she teased.
Isabella smiled fully for the first time that day. “Perfect. I’ll book the flights. I think—no, I know—this will be good for us p>
Across the country, in the grand Vexley estate, tension clung to the walls like stale air.
Charles Vexley paced his study, silver-streaked hair immaculate, his tailored suit sharp enough to cut glass. His company was wobbling dangerously close to the edge of destruction, and the New York conference felt less like an invitation and more like a lifeline.
But taking his wife, Mirabel? That was something he didn’t want to do. Unfortunately, appearances mattered. Especially now.
He stopped abruptly and strode into the adjoining salon.
“Mirabel p>
She sat elegantly on a chaise, pearls resting against her flawless brown skin, silk draped effortlessly over her frame. She looked up from her magazine, cool and composed, eyes sharp with calculation.
“Yes, Charles p>
“The New York conference,” he said briskly. “I’m attending. You’ll come with me. It’ll strengthen the company’s image p>
Their marriage which started out of love on Charles part was now little more than a polished illusion—cold, strategic, transactional. But in their world, unhappiness was hidden behind champagne flutes and camera flashes.
Mirabel’s lips curved into a restrained smile. Inside, excitement flared. Millionaires. Billionaires. Power in its purest form.
“Of course, darling,” she replied smoothly. “I’ll pack my best.” Her eyes gleamed. “We must make an impression p>
That evening, as the sun sank low and painted London in warm amber tones, Eliana finally made it home from campus. The moment she stepped through the door, she didn’t even get the chance to set her bag down.
Rafael was already there.
He leaned casually against the doorway like he’d been waiting for hours—which, knowing him, he probably had. At six-foot-three, broad-shouldered and effortlessly intimidating, he still managed to look welcoming. The casual shirt he wore clung just enough to remind the world he had no business looking this good after a workday, his dark wavy hair slightly undone, his chiseled jaw unfairly perfect. When his steel-grey eyes met hers, they softened instantly.
“Welcome home, my love,” he said, pulling her into a warm embrace that smelled faintly of cologne and comfort. His tone carried that familiar mix of sarcasm and tenderness. “I missed you terribly. I even cooked. Slaved over it, really p>
Eliana laughed into his chest, the last remnants of the anonymous text finally loosening their grip on her chest. “Slaved?” she teased, tilting her head up to look at him. “You? The billionaire? Please tell me you didn’t traumatize the kitchen again p>
He gasped, offended. “Wow. No faith. Come on p>
He guided her toward the dining room, and she stopped short.
Candles flickered softly, casting a warm glow over the table. It wasn’t over-the-top—just intimate enough to make her heart squeeze.
“Lasagna,” Rafael announced proudly. “My specialty. Sit. Eat. And tell me everything about your day p>
They settled in, conversation flowing easily between playful banter and comfortable silence. Rafael stole bites off her plate, then insisted on feeding her a forkful, both of them laughing when a bit of sauce missed and landed where it shouldn’t have.
“Campus was fine,” Eliana said between bites. “Your men are something else. Liam called me ’princess’ again p>
Rafael’s mouth curved into a satisfied smirk. “Good. They understand your value p>
She raised an eyebrow. “Possessive much p>
“Only appropriately,” he replied smoothly.
After dinner, Eliana retreated to shower. When she emerged, she wore a soft nightgown that skimmed her curves and gently outlined the small swell of her pregnant belly—still their quiet little miracle, still theirs alone. She was brushing her hair when a knock came at the door.
Rafael stood there holding a pillow as usual, his expression solemn in the most unserious way possible.
“Eliana,” he said gravely, “my room is haunted again p>
She burst out laughing. “Haunted p>
“Yes. Creaking floors. Suspicious shadows. Definitely a ghost with bad intentions p>
She shook her head, stepping aside. “You’re ridiculous p>
“And yet,” he murmured, slipping in, “you love me p>
They lay together on the bed, his arm wrapping around her as if it belonged there—which it did. His hand drifted to her belly, warm and gentle, his touch both grounding and electric.
“Feel that?” he whispered. “Our little one’s kicking. Strong. Just like you p>
Eliana covered his hand with hers, emotion blooming softly in her chest. “It’s incredible,” she said. “Sometimes I forget it’s real p>
Rafael shifted, propping himself on one elbow, studying her face with that intensity that always made her heart stumble.
“There’s a tech conference in New York next week,” he said carefully. “The board insists I attend. Family-friendly. Hikes. Networking.” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “You should come with me. You’d humanize me p>
She didn’t even hesitate.
“No, Rafael p>
He blinked.
She sat up slightly, her honey-brown eyes conflicted but firm. “I’m not ready for that world. Your world. The crowds, the pretending, the expectations.” Her hand instinctively moved to her belly. “And like this? Not now p>
Silence stretched between them—not sharp, not angry, but heavy with everything unsaid.