<h4>Chapter 30: The Puppet Master</h4>


    The sharp, sterile sting of antiseptic filled Eliana Bet’s nose, dragging her back from the abyss like a hook through smoke. Consciousness returned slowly—clumsily—like it had to fight its way through thick fog. Her eyelids fluttered against the weight of exhaustion, her vision swimming in a dizzy coge of white walls, blinking monitors, and the steady beep of machines that sounded far too close to a countdown.


    Pain hit next—raw and unforgiving. A sharp throb pulsed in her ribs with every shallow breath, and her right hand felt like dead weight, tightly bound in stiff bandages. Shey still, her body aching in ces she hadn’t known could ache, while above her, a harsh fluorescent light bathed everything in a clinical glow.


    Her lungs caught on a breath, her chest rising shakily as the memories mmed into her like she was reliving the ident.


    Screeching tires.


    Blinding headlights.


    The sickening crunch of metal.


    The pavement lunging up like a fist.


    Suddenly, a voice broke through the chaos of her mind.


    "Hello there?" Calm. Crisp. Professional.


    She blinked toward the sound, her gaze slowly sharpening on a man in a white coat. His nametag read Dr. Gary, and his expression held that perfect bnce of authority andpassion—like someone who’d mastered the art of telling people how their world had just fallen apart.


    "You’re awake," he said, relief in his tone. "You gave us quite a scare. Can you tell me your name, miss?"


    Eliana’s throat felt like sandpaper soaked in fire. She tried to speak, but it came out as a dry rasp. Swallowing hurt more than it should have, sending a jolt of pain through her chest.


    "Eliana... Bet," she whispered, voice raw. "What... what happened?"


    Dr. Gary adjusted his sses and pulled a chair closer, his tone even but gentle. "You were struck by a car at an intersection. The impact fractured a few ribs and broke your right hand. But no internal bleeding, no concussion. You’re stable. Lucky, Miss Bet. Very lucky."


    Lucky.


    The word echoed in her mind, cold and sharp.


    She turned her head slowly, her cheek brushing the stiff pillow. An IV dripped steadily into her arm, the tubing snaking down like a leash. The walls felt closer now—tight and suffocating, like the whole room was closing in, inch by inch.


    "How long... do I have to stay here?" she asked, voice barely audible.


    "Just for the night," Dr. Gary replied, jotting something on his clipboard. "We’ll monitor you to make sure there are noplications. If all goes well, you can be discharged tomorrow morning." He paused, his pen stilling as he looked at her, his expression shifting to one of professional detachment. "There’s the matter of the hospital bill, however. You’ll need to settle it before you’re released. Do you have insurance, or... perhaps a guardian we can contact to help with the arrangements?"


    Eliana’s heart sank, a cold weight settling in her chest. She stared at the ceiling, the fluorescent light blurring as tears pricked her eyes. Insurance? Money? She had neither. Her father, her only family, was wasting away in another hospital across town, his own bills a noose around her neck. She could almost hear his frail voice, telling her to keep going, to be strong, but how could she tell this doctor that she had no one? No one but a sick father who couldn’t even get out of bed, let alone pay for her carelessness.


    "I... I don’t have anyone," she admitted, her voice trembling. "Just... my dad, but he’s... he’s not well. He’s in a hospital, too."


    Dr. Gray’s brow furrowed, his empathy flickering back to life. "I see. I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any belongings with you? A phone, perhaps, to contact someone who could help?"


    Eliana’s mind raced, her thoughts a tangled mess of pain and desperation. Her box—her box that held her entire life—her clothes, her dad’s old watch, the few dors she had left. And her phone. If they’d found those, maybe... maybe she could call him. The thought made her stomach churn, but what choice did she have? "My stuff," she said, her voice stronger now, fueled by a spark of resolve. "Did they... did they find my box? My phone? I was with a box and a phone when the ident happened."


    Dr. Gary nodded, turning to a nurse who hovered near the door, her scrubs a faded shade of blue. "Nurse Carter, could you check on Miss Bet’s belongings? See if they were brought in from the ident site."


    The nurse, a wiry woman with a no-nonsense ponytail, gave a curt nod. "I’ll be right back with them, Doctor." Her sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as she disappeared into the hallway.


    Dr. Gary offered Eliana a small, reassuring smile. "We’ll get that sorted for you. I need to check on a few other patients, but Nurse Carter will bring your things if she finds them. Try to rest, alright?" He didn’t wait for a response, his footsteps fading as he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.


    Eliana sank back against the pillow, her bandaged hand resting uselessly on herp. The silence was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. She closed her eyes, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. She was trapped—trapped by her injuries, her poverty, her promises to her father. And Rafael Vexley, that cold, calcting bastard, held all the strings.


    Minutes dragged by, each one heavier than thest, until the door swung open again. Nurse Carter wheeled in Eliana’s battered box, its corners crushed, the decorative paints peeling like old skin. In her other hand, she held a cracked phone, its screen a spiderweb of fractures. "This is everything they brought in," the nurse said, her voice brisk but not unkind. She set the box beside the bed and handed Eliana the phone. "You’re lucky this thing still works. Barely."


    Eliana’s fingers trembled as she took the phone, the screen flickering as she swiped it on. The disy was a mess, but she could just make out the icons. Her heart pounded as she scrolled to James’ number—Rafael’s secretary, the only lifeline she had to the man who’d turned her life into a chess game. She hesitated, dread pooling in her gut like poison. Calling James meant calling Rafael. It meant admitting she needed him. It meant sinking deeper into his debt, his control, his world.


    "Miss?" Nurse Carter’s voice snapped her back. "You okay? Need help with that?"


    Eliana bit her lip, her eyes burning. "Could you... could you call this number for me?" She held out the phone, James’ contact glowing faintly on the ruined screen. "Tell him... tell him I’m in the hospital. That I need help with the bills. Please."


    The nurse’s eyes softened, just for a moment, before she took the phone. "Alright, sweetheart. I’ll make the call. You just lie back and try to rx." She scribbled the number on a notepad and headed for the door, her ponytail swinging as she left.


    Eliana sank into the bed, the tears she’d fought so hard to hold back spilling down her cheeks. They burned, hot and silent, tracing paths across her skin. If Rafael paid her bills, she’d be his—more than she already was. Every favor, every dor, was another chain around her wrists. She pictured his smug smirk, those steel-grey eyes that saw too much, even when they didn’t. She had no other options. No money. No one else. Just him.


    She pressed her good hand to her face, muffling a sob. "Damn you, Rafael," she whispered. "Damn you for making me need you."


    <strong>*******</strong>


    Meanwhile, across the city, Rafael Vexleyy sprawled across his silk-sheeted bed, the vast bedroom cloaked in shadows. The fight with Mirabel still simmered in his veins, her venomous words echoing like a bad song. He’d waited for Eliana—two hours more after Mirabel had left, the empty driveway on his tablet mocking him. She’d defied him, and that defiance stung more than he cared to admit. He’d tossed the tablet aside, its screen dark, and stormed to bed, his anger a tight knot in his chest.


    His phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen casting a cold blue glow across the room. He grabbed it, expecting another of Mirabel’s pathetic attempts to rile him. Instead, it was a text from an unknown number, the words cutting through his haze of fury like a knife.


    <strong><i>"Is Eliana just like the others? Another gold-digger ying your game?"</i></strong>


    Rafael’s lips curled into a smirk, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He could almost hear the sender’s smug tone, his respected ally fishing for a reaction. He typed back, his words sharp and deliberate.


    <i>"Don’t get cocky yet. Eliana’s different—soft-hearted, naive, thinks she’s noble. But she’s still after the money, just like the rest. Watch me prove it. By tomorrow, she’ll be begging for my help, and I’ll have her right where I want her."</i>


    He hit send, the smirk fading as he tossed the phone onto the bed. The room felt too quiet, the weight of his own words pressing against him. Eliana was different—he’d seen it in her eyes, that flicker of defiance, that quiet strength. But he couldn’t afford to believe in her. Not yet. Not when everyone else had betrayed him.


    He switched off the phone, the screen going ck, and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he’d change his approach. Tomorrow, he’d tighten the strings on his little puppet. Tomorrow, Eliana Bet would learn just how deep his control ran.