<h4>Chapter 29: Everything Hurts</h4>


    A storm had not yete, but Rafael could feel it in his bones.


    The night hung still and heavy around the Vexley mansion, pressing into the walls like a breath held too long. In his office—the coldest and most secluded wing of the estate—Rafael sat behind his massive desk in perfect silence, leaned back in his wheelchair, posture deceptively casual, eyes fixed on the faint glow of the surveince tablet resting on hisp. The quiet hum of the device was the only sound in the room. He swipedzily through the camera feeds, one after the other, each screen showing the same empty driveway, the same quiet gate.


    Still no sign of Eliana.


    He didn’t sigh or frown—just stared, stone-faced. Waiting.


    Then came the sound. That unmistakable creak of the office door swinging open, slow and theatrical—like someone wanted to be heard. No knock. No courtesy.


    In one fluid movement, Rafael slid the tablet beneath a stack of neatly arranged papers on his desk, fingers practiced, movements smooth. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t have to. His eyes remained fixed on the reflection in the window’s ss—always watching, always aware, even in the dark.


    He tilted his head slightly, lips curling into the ghost of a smirk. Then, in that low, dry voice of his—calm but sharp enough to cut ss—he spoke.


    "Who’s there?"


    The answer came like a hiss, slick and poisonous.


    Augh. Cool. Mocking. And far too familiar.


    "Oh my," came a voice like silkced with venom. "Still ying the poor, helpless cripple? My, my, how pitiful you look, slumped in that chair, staring at nothing. It’s almost tragic."


    Mirabel Vexley stepped into the room like it belonged to her. Her heels tapped against the polished floor with deliberate slowness—each step a performance, each click a threat wrapped in elegance. She was, as always, dressed to kill. Literally, if necessary.


    Tall and effortlessly poised, she moved like a panther in a ballgown—graceful, dangerous,pletely in control. Her tan skin gleamed under the low light, her dark hair twisted into a wless chignon that screamed perfection. A string of pearls clung to her neck like a noose made fashionable, and her silk dress rustled softly as she walked, a whisper of a sound that belied the sharp edge in her smile.


    Rafael didn’t flinch.


    He didn’t blink.


    But his jaw did tighten, ever so slightly.


    "Mirabel," he said tly, his voice a blend of exhaustion and ice. "What a lovely surprise. Still slithering around the house like a snake in luxury, I see."


    Her smile widened, but it didn’t touch her eyes. "You wound me."


    "No, but I’d like to."


    Herughter sharpened, slicing through the room. She sauntered closer, her heels a stato rhythm, and leaned against the edge of his desk, her manicured nails tapping lightly on the wood. "You’re such a burden, Rafael. Dragging yourself around this house, pretending you’re still relevant. Honestly, you’d be doing us all a favor if you just... didn’t exist anymore." Her lips curled into a cruel smile, her eyes glinting with malice. "A blind, broken boy ying at being a man. It’s pathetic."


    Rafael’s fingers twitched against the armrest, but his voice, when it came, was smooth as silk, each word polished to a lethal edge. "Mirabel, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll die the moment you do—just so I can have the pleasure of watching you burn in hell first." His lips curved into a smile, cold and sharp, the kind that promised retribution without raising his voice. "I’d hate to miss the show."


    Mirabel’s eyes narrowed, herposure flickering like a candle in a storm. She straightened, folding her arms, the pearls at her wrist catching the light. "You ungrateful little wretch," she snapped. "What are you even doing here, creeping around in the dark like some damn ghost? If it were up to me, you’d be out of my house and on the curb faster than you could blink."


    "Your house?" Rafael’sugh was low, almost a growl, cutting her off. He leaned forward slightly, his voice steady butced with a threat that seemed to hum in the air. "Let’s get one thing straight, Mirabel. This mansion belonged to my grandfather. And when he died, he left it to me. Not your husband. Not you. Not your greedy, sniveling children. You’re all guests here—strangers, really. So I suggest you stop slithering into my wing like you own it. Or I’ll have you and your brood thrown out faster than you can reapply your lipstick."


    Mirabel’s fists clenched at her sides, her knuckles paling against her skin. Her face twisted, a sh of fury breaking through her polished facade. "You little bastard," she hissed, the word venomous, spitting from her lips like poison. "I came here because your father wants to see you. Not that you deserve his attention."


    Rafael tilted his head, his smile unwavering, chilling in its calm. "If my father wants me, he can drag himself here. Or better yet, pick up a phone. I’d rather not see his face—or yours, for that matter." He paused, letting the words sink in, then added, "You’re still here, Mirabel. Why? Hoping to steal something from the blind man?"


    "You’re a disgrace," she spat, her voice trembling with rage. "Disrespectful, useless, sitting there in your deserved misery. You think you’re clever, don’t you? Hiding behind your little tough act. You’re nothing but a crippled fool."


    Rafael’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes—hidden behind the lie of blindness—burned with a quiet fire. "Get out, Mirabel," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, but heavy with authority. "Or I’ll have someone drag you out. And trust me, I’ll enjoy watching that far more than you’d like."


    Mirabel’s lips parted, a sharp retort on her tongue, but the steel in Rafael’s voice stopped her cold. She straightened, her heels clicking as she stepped back, her face a mask of barely contained fury. "You’ll regret this," she snarled, her voice dripping with disdain. "You’re nothing, Rafael. A broken boy in a broken chair. Stay in your corner and rot." With a final, venomous re, she turned and swept out of the room, the door mming behind her with a force that echoed through the silence.


    Rafael exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing as the tension drained from the air. His hand reached for the tablet, pulling it from its hiding ce. The screen flickered to life, showing the same empty driveway. His fingers hovered over it, his heart a tangled knot of anticipation and anger. "Eliana," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. "Where the hell are you?"


    <strong>******</strong>


    Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Eliana Bet pushed through the cold night like a storm in sneakers. Each step hit the cracked pavement with tired defiance, her breath curling in the air like smoke from a dying fire. The streetlights flickered overhead, creating shadows that danced around her like ghosts. Her thin jacket clung to her frame, useless against the biting wind, and her curls bounced wildly with every stride—untamed, like her thoughts.


    She was running on empty. No money, no ride, just raw determination and a pair of battered sneakers. The bus stop was still a mile away. Rafael’s mansion? Even farther. But turning back wasn’t an option. Not tonight.


    Her chest tightened under the weight of it all—Rafael’s venomous words, the secrets she was choking on, her father’s fragile trust, and that infuriating call from Jason. It all pressed in, sharp and heavy, threatening to crack her from the inside out. But the image of Rafael—cold eyes, cruel smirk, every word like a de—lit a fire in her bones. She wasn’t going to let him win. Not tonight.


    So she kept moving. Through the cold. Through the doubt. Through the storm that lived inside her.


    She reached a busy intersection, the roar of traffic filling her ears. The crosswalk light blinked green, and she stepped forward dragging her box behind, her mind drifting to Rafael’s cold, piercing gaze—those eyes she swore could see her, even if he imed they couldn’t. A sudden screech of tires snapped her back to reality. Headlights blinded her, and before she could react, a car barreled through the intersection, its horn ring.


    The impact was a thunderp of pain.


    Eliana’s body mmed into the pavement, the impact ripping the air from her lungs as chaos exploded around her. Shouts rang out, sharp and panicked, slicing through the night like sirens. Hands were on her—too many, too fast—trying to help, trying to hold her together.


    "Somebody call an ambnce!"


    "She’s not moving!"


    "Is she breathing?!"


    The voices blurred into a single frantic hum. Eliana tried to speak, to move, but her body betrayed her—limbs like lead, thoughts slipping away like smoke in the wind. The world spun on a crooked axis, the streetlights melting into a hazy blur.


    Somewhere in the distance, an ambnce screamed through the night—but it felt miles away from where Elianay, the cold pavement hugging her like a final embrace. Her body throbbed with pain, her breath shallow and uneven.


    And still... herst thought was of Rafael. That smug bastard, probably pacing, waiting to tear her apart for beingte. He wanted her broken, desperate—just another puppet on his string.


    But now, sprawled on the unforgiving asphalt, a darker thought crept in, quiet and cruel: <i>If she didn’t make it... would her dad’s hospital bill still be paid?</i>


    Everything hurt, but that hit the hardest.