h4Chapter 64: Promises/h4

    The sleek ck Mercedes rolled up the long, sweeping drive of Rafael Vexley’s estate, its headlights cutting pale ribbons through the thinning night. Dawn was breaking, staining the sky with strokes of soft pinks and golds, but Rafael barely noticed. To him, the world outside the tinted ss was a blur, nothing more than background noise to the storm wing inside his chest.

    It was just past seven. Most of the city was still yawning into the day, but Rafael had been awake since three—wired on fear, rage, and a grim determination that refused to loosen its grip. Every hour without Eliana had felt like a sharp knife pressed deeper into his ribs.

    The Mercedes purred to a final stop, engine humming onest time before quieting, like a beast settling into sleep. For a moment, Rafael sat there in the dim cabin, jaw clenched, his hands flexing against his knees as if he could squeeze the exhaustion out of his body. Pretending to be blind, to be paralyzed—it had always been his shield, his weapon in the art of deception. Tonight, though, the mask had felt like chains, dragging on him with every passing hour.

    The rear door opened with a crisp, familiar click. James, ever precise, ever unshaken, stood waiting. His suit was immacte, his movements efficient, but even in his stillness there was an edge—like he’d been running the same endless night beside Rafael without letting it show. He didn’t have to say a word. The way his eyes flicked toward the house, then back to Rafael, was enough.

    And Rafael finally moved, maneuvering his wheelchair down the ramp with practiced ease, his athletic frame hidden beneath the facade of fragility. He "stared" nkly ahead, his eyes sharp but unfocused for show. James leaned in to gently lift the still-sleeping Eliana from the seat, her long curly hair falling like a silken veil over her warm brown skin, her pink lips parted in peaceful slumber.

    "Careful with her," Rafael murmured, his voice a low rumbleced with possessiveness.

    James nodded, cradling her slender form. "Of course, sir. I’ll carry her inside."

    But before James could take a step, Rafael extended a hand, his chiseled jaw tightening. "No. Give her to me. I’ll take her myself."

    James paused, surprise flickering in his eyes, but heplied without question. He carefully ced Eliana onto Rafael’sp, her body curling instinctively against his chest. Rafael wrapped one strong arm around her waist, securing her as if she were a precious artifact, while his other hand gripped the wheelchair’s control. With a soft whir, he rolled toward the grand entrance, the gravel crunching faintly under the wheels.

    The towering oak doors groaned open as they stepped inside, giving way to the vast foyer beyond. Light from the crystal chandeliers shined down in golden waves, catching on polished marble floors and gilded railings, making the space glow like the heart of some grand cathedral.

    The hush broke almost immediately. A line of maids, already alerted by the crunch of tires on gravel and the opening of gates, had gathered near the staircase. Their ck-and-white uniforms looked suddenly stark against the opulent backdrop, their nervous energy crackling in the air.

    Gasps slipped out before anyone could catch them. First, at the sight of Eliana—her hair mussed, her skin pale, her presence itself a shock. Thest they’d heard, she’d dared to escape the mansion, many had assumed she would never step foot in this house again. Yet here she was, very real, fragile in a way none of them had ever seen.

    And then their eyes shifted to Rafael. To the way he carried her—not as the cold, untouchable man they knew, but as someone stripped raw. Eliana’s head rested against his chest, her body cradled protectively in his arms, and the sight unraveled something in the staff. Whispers rippled through them like wind through tall grass, a mix of shock, envy, and spection.

    "Is that Miss Eliana? He found her!"

    "And she’s... in hisp? Mr. Vexley never lets anyone that close."

    ra, the young maid with a kind face and a guilty conscience—the one who’d slipped Eliana the key to freedom earlier that night—stood at the back, her heart pounding. She wrung her apron in her hands, silently wondering if Eliana was truly okay. Why was she sound asleep in Rafael’s arms? Had he hurt her? Punished her for running? ra’s mind raced with regret and worry, but she dared not speak.

    Rafael ignored them all, his focus solely on the woman in his embrace. He rolled past the grand staircase, bypassing the corridor to Eliana’s room and heading straight for his own master suite next to hers. The estate’s marble floors echoed softly with the wheelchair’s hum, the air filled with the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers.

    As they neared the door to his room, Eliana stirred. Her brown eyes fluttered open, disoriented at first, then widening in shock as she realized she was still nestled against Rafael’s broad chest. The warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his breathing—it all flooded back in a rush. She shifted, trying to push herself up, her hands pressing against his crisp suit.

    "Rafael? What—let me down. I can walk," she whispered, her voice husky from sleep, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

    He tightened his hold gently, his arm like an iron band around her. "Don’t move, Eliana. We’re almost there. Just stay still."

    She froze, something about the situation tugging at the edges of her memory. Being carried like this, the protective curl of his body around hers—it felt so familiar, like a half-remembered dream. But why? She couldn’t ce it, the thought slipping away like smoke. Reluctantly, she settled back, her heart racing as he pushed open the door to his room.

    The master suite was a testament to Rafael’s hidden world: vast and luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows draped in heavy velvet curtains, a king-sized bed dominating the center, its silk sheets rumpled from his sleepless night. Dark wood furniture gleamed under soft lighting, and the air carried his signature scent—sandalwood and spice, intoxicating and masculine.

    Rafael rolled them inside, the door clicking shut behind them. Eliana nced around, confusion knitting her brows. "Why... why didn’t you take me to my room? This is yours."

    He stopped at the bedside, his "clouded" eyes tilting toward her voice, though inwardly, he drank in every detail of her expressive face. "Because I want you here, in my room. With me."

    Her breath caught, a mix of surprise and something warmer stirring in her chest. "But—"

    "Eliana," he interrupted softly, his voice a buttery caress, "I know you’re exhausted. And still scared from... everything that’s happened. The kidnapping, the escape. But you don’t have to worry anymore. I’m going to watch over you from now on. No one will touch you again."

    She searched his face, those piercing eyes that seemed to see nothing yet everything. Words failed her for a moment, the weight of his promise hanging in the air like a vow. But one question burned brighter than the rest. "My father... where is he? You took him from the hospital without telling me. Why?"

    Rafael’s expression softened, a rare vulnerability cracking his cold facade. He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek in a feather-light touch, as if guiding himself by feel. "I didn’t change his hospital to control you, Eliana. You thought that in your anger, and I understand why. But the truth is, I did it to protect him—to make sure Mirabel couldn’t find him and use him against you."

    Her eyes widened, honey-brown depths shimmering with sudden realization. She hadn’t considered that, blinded by her fury at being confined. A pang of guilt twisted in her gut—she’d used him so harshly, painted him as a monster. But she didn’t apologize; after all, he’d locked her in this gilded cage, preventing her from leaving, from living her life. Still, the revtion softened the edges of her resentment. "I... I didn’t think about Mirabel. She would have gone after him, wouldn’t she?"

    "Yes," he replied, his tone grave. "She’s ruthless. I couldn’t risk it."

    Eliana bit her lip, her mind whirling. "Can I see him? Please, Rafael. I need to know he’s okay."

    He nodded, his hand lingering on her arm. "I promise, once you wake upter, I’ll take you to the new hospital myself. See him with your own... well, you’ll see him." A faint, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips, the sarcasm a shield for his secret. "I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It all happened so quickly—arranging the transfer, ensuring his safety. There wasn’t time, and then... everything else exploded."

    She studied him, the apology hanging between them like a fragile bridge. Part of her wanted tosh out, to demand more, but exhaustion dulled her edges. Instead, she nodded faintly. "Okay. I... thank you. For protecting him."

    The air shifted then, charged with an unspoken tension. Rafael’s hands moved with deliberate care, "feeling" his way as he lifted her from hisp and onto the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight, the silk sheets cool against her skin. She watched him, her heart pounding, as he pretended to navigate blindly—his fingers tracing the edge of the bed, his movements precise yet hesitant for show.

    "Here," he said softly, pulling back the covers with one hand while steadying himself with the other. "Lie down. You need rest."

    Eliana hesitated, her cheeks flushing a deep rose. This was intimate, vulnerable—him tucking her in like a cherished lover. But sheplied, sliding under the sheets, her worn-out sweater rumpling beneath her. "Rafael, you don’t have to—"

    "I want to," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent shivers down her spine. He smoothed the nket over her, his touch lingering on her shoulder, warm and reassuring. Then, with a fluid motion that belied his feigned paralysis, he transferred himself from the wheelchair to the bed’s edge, leaving the chair behind. He slid in beside her, the mattress shifting as his tall, athletic frame settled.

    Eliana’s breath hitched, her body tensing. "What are you doing?"

    "Staying with you," he replied simply, his arm snaking around her waist. To her own surprise, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let him draw her close, her back pressing against his chest, his warmth enveloping her like a cocoon. His scent— that heady mix of sandalwood and power—washed over her, lulling her senses.

    "Rafael..." she whispered, half-protest, half-surrender, her voice shy and trembling.

    "Shh," he soothed, his lips brushing her forehead in a soft, tender kiss. It was feather-light, yet it ignited a spark in her core, sweet and electric. "Just rest. I’ll take good care of you from now on, Eliana. I promise."

    Shey there, confused and conflicted, her mind a whirlwind. Why was he suddenly so sweet, this cold, calcting man who’d upended her life? And why wasn’t she pushing him away? Instead, she rxed into his strong arms, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her back aforting rhythm. His embrace felt safe, forbidden, exhrating. A small, shy smile curved her lips as sleep tugged at her again, his scent and warmth luring her into oblivion.

    As the morning light filtered through the curtains, Eliana drifted off, unaware of the love taking root in the shadows of deception.

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