<h4>Chapter 20: The Arms of a Predator</h4>


    The air in Rafael Vexley’s office carried that rich scent of old leather and his expensive sandalwood cologne – the kind of smell that said power without needing words. Rain mmed against the tall windows, each drop adding to the restless energy in the room.


    Eliana Bet stood just inside the doorway, soaked to the bone. Her thin dress clung to her shivering frame as she hugged a damp towel to her chest, like it could protect her from the storm inside and out. Her big brown eyes flicked between the shining marble floor and the man by the window, fear and determination flickering together.


    James, Rafael’s ever-efficient secretary, froze mid-step, his armsden with a sleek leather folder. His sharp blue eyes widened at the sight of Eliana, her curls stered to her face, water pooling at her feet. <i>Rafael was right, </i>he thought, a bitter edge to his inner voice. <i>Everyone has a price. </i>Even her. He’d seen countless people bend under the weight of necessity, their pride crumbling like dry leaves when money was dangled before them. Eliana, with her quiet strength and hopeful smile, had seemed different. But here she was, drenched and trembling, proving Rafael’s cynical worldview correct. James’s lips pressed into a thin line, disappointment flickering in his chest.


    "Sir," James said, clearing his voice, turning towards Rafael. The man sat in his motorized wheelchair, wearing a wless ck suit that made his broad shoulders look even more imposing. He didn’t move, just looked towards Eliana’s direction with those cold steel-grey eyes, a small smirk curling his lips.


    "If you don’t need me anymore tonight, I’ll head out," James said quietly.


    Rafael’s head tilted slightly, his steel-grey eyes—glinting with a cold amusement. "Go, James," he said, his voice smooth andmanding, like velvet draped over a de. "Miss Bet and I have... matters to discuss."


    James gave a curt nod, sparing Eliana onest nce before striding out of the room, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him. The sound echoed like a gavel, sealing Eliana’s fate in the lion’s den.


    Eliana’s breath hitched as she took a tentative step forward, her shoes squelching softly. "Mr. Vexley," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I... I know I left, but—"


    Rafael raised a hand, cutting her off. His lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. "Spare me the apologies, Miss Bet. To be honest with you, I don’t need your services anymore. I’ve found another caregiver. Someone less... prone to running away." His tone was icy, each word a deliberate jab. "You should leave. The rain won’t wait."


    Eliana’s heart plummeted, her knees trembling as if the floor had shifted beneath her. She couldn’t leave—not now, not when her father’s life hung by a thread, tethered to machines she couldn’t afford. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Instead, she sank to her knees, the cold marble biting into her skin through her soaked dress. "Please, Mr. Vexley," she pleaded, her voice cracking with raw desperation. "I’m on my knees. I’ll do anything. Anything you ask. Just help me save my father. He’s all I have."


    Rafael’s smile widened, a predator savoring the scent of surrender. He leaned forward slightly, his wheelchair humming softly as he adjusted his position. "Anything?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, like a storm gathering on the horizon. "Are you sure, Miss Bet?"


    She nodded, sending tiny droplets of water falling from her curls onto the floor. Then she caught herself, remembering with a pang that he couldn’t see her nod. "Yes," she whispered, her voice thin and shaky, but there was a steel edge beneath it. "I’m sure," she added, her words trembling but firm.


    A faint smile ghosted across his lips as his unseeing eyes narrowed, a glimmer of curiosity and dark amusement flickering behind that pale cloudiness. "Come closer," he murmured, his voice low and velvety, each syble curling around her like smoke. He extended a hand in her direction, his long fingers spread with quiet confidence, the simple gesture carrying a silentmand she couldn’t refuse.


    Eliana rose unsteadily, her legs trembling beneath her as if they might give out at any second. Each step toward him felt heavier than thest, her soaked dress clinging coldly to her skin. When she reached him, she ced her shaking hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, firm and unyielding, pulling her closer until she stood just inches away from him. His touch was warm, almost shockingly so, cutting through the chill that gnawed at her bones.


    "Prove it," Rafael murmured, his voice dropping into a low, husky whisper that sent shivers racing down her spine for reasons she couldn’t name. His eyes, though blind, seemed to pierce straight through her. "Strip. Right here. Right now."


    His words hit her like a p across the face, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Tears sprang to her eyes, hot and fast, blurring his sharp features. Not letting herself think, her hand trembled slowly as she reached for the small zipper at her side, her fingertips brushing against the cold metal. Everything inside her screamed to run, to scream, to hold onto thest fragile piece of dignity she had left.


    But her father’s face shed in her mind – weary, lined with pain, his breaths ragged and weak. The memory sliced through her resolve like a hot knife. With a bitter swallow, she tugged the zipper down. The sound of it unfastening – that quiet, rasping whisper of fabric parting – felt louder than the storm raging outside.


    But just as she tried to push on, her vision wavered, and exhaustion mmed into her like iron shackles locking her in ce. The room swayed, the golden chandeliers overhead fracturing into swirling shards of light. Her knees buckled under her weight, and before she could stop herself, darkness swept in. She copsed forward, her body folding into Rafael’s arms. Thest thing she felt was his solid warm chest against her cheek, so steady and strongpared to the ice sinking deep into her bones.


    Rafael’s breath hitched as Eliana’s small body suddenly went limp, copsing softly against him. For a moment, he froze. The mask of calm calction he always wore slipped away, revealing a flicker of panic as he stared down at her tear-streaked, pale face. She looked so delicate in that instant, like a porcin doll someone had carelessly dropped.


    With careful hands, he adjusted her, shifting her weight so shey cradled across hisp, her head lolling gently against his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of her cheek against his neck, her breathing shallow and uneven. The quiet hum of his wheelchair broke the silence as he turned and began rolling out of the study, the smooth wheels gliding soundlessly over the polished marble floors.


    He was halfway down the corridor when a familiar, sharp voice sliced through the stillness. "Oh hi, son. What do we have here?"


    Rafael’s gaze flicked up to see Mirabel Vexley, his stepmother, standing at the end of the hall. She looked effortlessly regal, draped in a flowing emerald silk gown that shimmered under the chandelier’s light. Pearls gleamed around her graceful neck, their cool sheen matching the glint in her honey-brown eyes. Her smooth brown skin seemed to glow in the golden light, but her smile held no warmth. Instead, her lips curled into a smirk as her gaze travelled over the unconscious woman in Rafael’s arms, amusement and something darker flickering in her eyes.


    Rafael’s jaw tightened, his hatred for Mirabel simmering like a coiled snake. He knew her for what she was—a gold-digger who’d wed her way into his father’s bed, her heart as cold as the diamonds she wore. His father, Vexley Sr., was too enamored to see her for the viper she was, but Rafael wasn’t so blind. Still, he never acted rashly. His words were always refined,yered with double meanings that cut deeper than any shout.


    "Mirabel," he said, his voice smooth as polished steel, "I suggest you attend to your own affairs. This doesn’t concern you." His tone was polite, almost deferential, but the underlyingmand was clear: <i>Fuck off.</i>


    Mirabel’s smirk faltered, but she recovered quickly, tossing her head. "Touchy, darling. I was only curious about your... guest." Her eyes lingered on Eliana, sharp and calcting.


    Rafael pressed the remote on his wheelchair, the motor whirring as he moved past her without another word, leaving her standing in the corridor, her smirk fading into a scowl. He didn’t look back as he guided the chair into his private suite, the heavy door closing with a soft thud.


    Inside, the room was a sanctuary of dark wood and deep blues. The massive king-sized bed sat beneath a sculpted ceiling, its silk sheets pooling like liquid silver in the dim light. Rafael pressed the small brass service bell resting on his side table, the sound sharp and delicate in the quiet room.


    Within moments, the door creaked open, and ra stepped in. She was young, her uniform crisp, her brown hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck. "Sir?" she asked softly, but her gaze shifted immediately to Eliana, and her expression melted into quiet worry.


    "Help her out of those wet clothes," Rafael said, his voice losing its usual edge, bing almost tender. "Find one of my dress shirts for her. Somethingfortable. Be quick."


    ra nodded without hesitation and hurried to his side. Rafael slipped his arms beneath Eliana and lifted her effortlessly onto the bed, careful not to jostle her. As ra began her task, he turned his wheelchair and rolled himself out, leaving the maid to work in private.


    Minutester, ra’s gentle call reached him. He returned to the room to find Eliana lying against the pillows, her damp curls fanned out like dark ink across the white pillowcase. She wore one of his crisp white dress shirts, the fabric drowning her slender frame, the sleeves slipping past her small hands. The shirt clung softly to her curves, and Rafael felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight.


    He flicked his gaze to ra’s direction and gave her a silent nod of dismissal. She slipped out, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. Alone now, Rafael wheeled himself closer to the bed. Reaching up, he slowly removed the tinted contact lenses that kept the world convinced he was blind. As they slipped free, his true eyes were revealed—piercing steel-grey, clear and cutting through the dim light with a cold, unflinching brilliance. He blinked, adjusting to the rity, and leaned forward, letting his eyes trace the lines of Eliana’s sleeping form.


    She looked so impossibly small lying there, so fragile and vulnerable in his shirt. Yet there was something undeniably captivating about her—her parted lips, the faint rise and fall of her chest, the quiet strength beneath her softness. For a moment, his carefully guarded expression eased, a fleeting smile softening his harsh features.


    He reached out, brushing his fingers gently over a damp curl stuck to her forehead, pushing it away with a tenderness he rarely showed. His voice dropped to a whisper, low and almost broken as he spoke words meant only for her sleeping ears. "You will regreting back to me, Eliana," he murmured, his thumb grazing her cheek. "But I’m not sure I’ll ever let you go now."


    Outside, the storm continued its relentless rage, thunder rolling over the city like an angry god’s drum. But inside that quiet room, something shifted—something small and fragile but real. A thin, silken thread of connection began weaving itself between the ruthless billionaire who trusted no one and the woman who, whether she knew it or not, had just given him everything.