h4Chapter 60: Change of ns/h4

    Bianca Monroe’s apartment was the kind of ce that felt more like a stage than a home—every detail curated to perfection, every corner dripping with money and taste. But tonight, despite the soft glow of scented candles flickering from their crystal holders, the atmosphere was thick and unsettled. The perfume of the two sisters mingled in the room like unspoken tension—Bianca’s sharp, citrusy scent cutting against Sarai’s sweeter, floral trace, shing just enough to echo the unease between them.

    The long windows stretched wide, showing off the city skyline in all its glittering arrogance. Usually Bianca loved that view—it reminded her of the empire she believed she owned a piece of. Tonight, though, the city lights felt like they wereughing at her, mocking the illusion of control she and her sister had held so tightly.

    Bianca moved restlessly across the Persian rug, her bare feet sinking into the plush weave. Her silk robe swished as she turned sharply on her heel, its fabric brushing against her legs like whispers she couldn’t escape. The robe had always been part of her armor, the sleek bun pulling her glossy hair into ce the crown that framed her perfectlyposed face. But her mask had cracked. Shock clung to her features, her green eyes wide and unguarded in a way that made her look almost unfamiliar, even to herself.

    On the bed, Sarai sat frozen on the edge of the four-poster, her posture tense as though she might spring up at any second but couldn’t quite decide where to run. The flush still warming her skin hinted at the excitement of just moments before, but it had already drained into something else—confusion, worry, the beginnings of fear. Her own eyes flickered back and forth, searching her sister’s face for answers that Bianca didn’t have. The silence between them stretched, filled only by the muffled hum of the city beyond the ss, heavy and using.

    Bianca stopped abruptly, whirling to face her younger sister with a mix of incredulity and usation. "Sarai, what do you mean you know about Rafael Vexley? You’ve been sitting here scheming with me all this time, and you never once mentioned that Eliana is tangled up with him? Him, of all people—the mysterious billionaire who could crush us like ants under his heel!"

    Sarai blinked, her manicured nails digging deeper into the silk bedspread, the fabric bunching under her grip like a lifeline. She tilted her head, her glossy hair catching the light as it fell in loose waves—she’d let it down earlier in a fit of triumphant glee, but now it framed her fierce beauty like a dark halo. "Bianca, calm down. Why are you looking at me like I’ve grown a second head? Of course I know about Rafael. I mean, how could I not? I’m the one who shoved Eliana right into his path. It was my brilliant idea? Or did you forget our little chats about keeping that pathetic girl upied? I did just that."

    Bianca’s diamond rings shed as she threw her hands up in exasperation, her voice rising in a dramatic tone that echoed off the high ceilings. "Your brilliant idea? Sarai, darling, spill it all. How on earth did that nobody from the wrong side of the tracks end up knowing Rafael Vexley? The man is a fortress—untouchable, mysterious, with connections that span empires. And you just... what? Hand-delivered her to him like a gift-wrapped sacrifice?"

    Sarai leaned back against the mound of embroidered pillows, a sly smile creeping across her full lips despite the tension. She crossed her legs, her designer lounge pants rustling softly, and let out a light, almost nostalgicugh that belied the malice beneath. "Oh, sister, it was perfect. You know how desperate Eliana was after the old man kicked the bucket—poor, unemployed, moping around like a lost puppy. I yed the concerned best friend, of course. ’Eliana, honey, I heard about this job opportunity,’ I told her, all wide-eyed and innocent. ’It’s caregiving for this rich guy who’s blind and crippled. Pays well, and it’s not too demanding.’ Ha! Not too demanding? Rafael Vexley is a monster wrapped in silk sheets. Blind, yes. Crippled, absolutely—stuck in that wheelchair like a king on a broken throne. But tyrant doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s miserable, Bianca, utterly wretched, and he makes sure everyone around him drowns in that misery too. Snapping orders, belittling his staff, isting himself in that massive estate like some gothic viin from those romance novels Eliana loves so much. I figured sending her there would kill two birds with one stone: get her out of my way so I could finally sink my ws into Jason without her pathetic puppy eyes watching, and let her suffer at Rafael’s hands. Imagine it—day after day of his cruelty grinding her down, breaking that hopeful little spirit of hers until she was nothing but dust."

    Bianca shook her head slowly, her sharp features tightening as she sank onto the chaise lounge opposite the bed, the leather creaking under her weight. Her voice dropped to a husky whisper,ced with a mix of awe and warning, "Oh, Sarai, you naive little schemer. With the situation staring us in the face now, it doesn’t seem like Rafael Vexley is the tyrant you painted him to be—at least not to Eliana. Quite the opposite, in fact. Think about it: Mel just dropped the bomb that Austin Miller, the mafia kingpin himself, is mobilizing every underground boss in the country to hunt for her. And who do you think pulled those strings? It has to be Rafael. He’s the one with the pull to get a man like Austin involved. Blind and crippled or not, Rafael’s been protecting her, cherishing her maybe. This isn’t misery; this is devotion. And you know as well as I do that Rafael Vexley is the most well-connected man this side of the ocean. If a powerhouse like him sets his sights on finding someone, he will. No shadows deep enough, no schemes clever enough to hide from him. We’ve poked a ho’s nest, sister, and the swarm ising."

    Sarai’s eyes clouded with a storm of emotions—confusion giving way to frustration, her flushed cheeks paling as the gravity sank in. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her voice trembling with a vulnerability she rarely showed, even to her sister. "Bianca... what do we do now? I mean, this was supposed to be it—the final nail in Eliana’s coffin. Jason would see her scarred, repulsive, ande running to me. But Austin Miller? Rafael pulling mafia strings? We’re in over our heads. Do we call it off? Tell Mel to dump her somewhere and run?"

    Bianca’s lips curved into a calcted smile, her shock morphing into the cunning resolve that had always defined her. She rose gracefully, gliding over to the bed and perching beside Sarai, her hand reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her sister’s ear in a gesture that was equal parts affectionate andmanding. "Oh, my ruthless little darling, we’re not backing down—we’re pivoting. From now on, you y the victim, Sarai. The heartbroken, noble best friend who’s been torn between love and loyalty. You’re the one who’s going to swoop in and secure Eliana from those ’kidnappers.’ Mel and I will stage the whole thing perfectly—a heroic rescue that’ll make you look like a saint."

    Sarai’s eyes shed with fury, her body recoiling as if pped. She shot up from the bed, her bare feet sinking into the thick carpet, pacing like a caged panther. Her voice rose in a childish whine edged with venom, the dramatic ir making the scene almost theatrical. "Me? y the victim? Why on earth would I want to do that? Bianca, have you lost your mind? I hate her! That simpering, over-trusting fool with her begging eyes and that infuriating hopeful smile. She’s the one who should be suffering, not me pretending to save her. I’d rather watch her rot in that car’s truck than lift a finger to help!"

    Bianca chuckled, a rich, throaty sound that filled the room like velvet thunder, her green sparkling with mischief and ambition. She leaned back against the headboard, crossing her arms over her chest, her diamond rings catching the light like tiny stars. "Oh,e on, Sarai, don’t be so shortsighted. This is our golden ticket. I’ve always been looking for a way to get close to Rafael Vexley—close enough to weave my way into his world, his empire, his bed if possible. And you’re going to be my key. Think about it: you pull off this rescue, and when we kick Eliana out of his house for good—expose her as the naive interloper she is and permanently silence her, you’ll gain everything. Jason will be yours withoutpetition, and I’ll have Rafael wrapped around my finger. We’ll both win, sister. Two peas in a pod, remember? Inseparable, unbreakable."

    Sarai stopped pacing, her breathing in short, heated bursts, her sharp features twisting in reluctant curiosity. She turned back to Bianca, her voice a sulky murmur that carried the weight of their shared history—the whispers in the dark, the schemes that had bound them tighter than blood. "Fine, you’ve got my attention. What exactly do you want me to do? How do I pull off this ridiculous charade without vomiting all over my designer shoes?"

    Bianca’s smile widened, predatory and elegant, as she gestured for Sarai to sit back down. The city lights twinkled outside like distant fireworks, underscoring the drama unfolding within. "It’s simple, darling. You go in there—Mel will set it up so it looks like you’re bursting in on the kidnappers. You’ll ’save’ Eliana, all tears and heroism. And when she’s trembling in your arms, grateful and confused, you spin the tale. Tell her you overheard Jason plotting the whole thing. Say he was desperate to get her back, to force her away from Rafael and into his arms again. But you, Sarai Monroe, couldn’t stand by and watch. Even though you’re both in love with the same man—even though you know she discovered your affair with Jason behind her back—you still see her as your childhood friend. The girl who shared secrets and dreams with you under the stars. Tell her you may never earn her forgiveness for what you did with Jason, but you won’t let anyone hurt her the way you hurt her yourself. Make it emotional, Sarai—let those pretty eyes of yours well up with fake tears. Pour on the remorse, the loyalty. It’ll crack her wide open, and when Rafael hears about your ’bravery,’ doors will open. For both of us."

    Sarai huffed childishly, flopping back onto the bed with exaggerated drama, her arms crossing over her chest like a spoiled child denied a toy. The silk sheets whispered in protest, and she shot Bianca a re that could wilt flowers, her voice dripping with sarcasm and defiance. "Over my dead body, Bianca. I won’t do it. Spout that nonsense to her? Pretend I’m some redeemed angel when all I want is to see her crumble? No way. Find another pawn for your game—I’m out."

    The tension hung in the air like a storm about to break, the sisters locked in a silent standoff, their unbreakable bond tested by the fires of ambition and fear.

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