<h4>Chapter 45: A Kind Soul</h4>


    The dining room of the Vexley mansion was the kind of ce that made you sit straighter without realizing it—ceilings so high you could almost lose sight of them, walls lined with old portraits of people who looked like they’d never smiled in their lives. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, catching on half-eaten croissants and cooling coffee cups. The maids hovered at the edges, quiet and watchful, their white uniforms a sharp contrast against all the gold and dark wood.


    Eliana pushed her eggs around her te, the yolk already cold and sticky. Her head was a mess of questions. Why was Rafael being... nice? It didn’t feel right. Like something fragile that could break if she breathed too hard.


    Rafael sat at the head of the table in his wheelchair, posture straight, every bit the king of the room. His grey eyes—cloudy in that way he liked people to think meant weakness—shifted toward one of the maids.


    "Vera," he said, his voice smooth but with that edge that made people move before they even thought about it.


    A young maid with freckles dotting her nose and auburn hair tucked neatly under her cap stepped forward, her hands sped nervously in front of her apron. "Yes, Mr. Vexley?" she replied, her tone deferential, though a flicker of curiosity danced in her green eyes.


    "Go to the garden," Rafael said, drumming his fingers on the chair’s armrest. "Cut a bouquet of the red roses—the ones by the fountain that look like they’re on fire ording to ra. Make sure they’re fresh. No dead petals. Then put together a fruit basket—apples, crisp ones, oranges full of juice, some grapes that look too perfect to eat. It’s for someone in the hospital."


    Vera blinked, her cheeks flushing slightly as she nodded. "Right away, sir." She curtsied quickly and hurried out, her footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor, leaving a trail of whispers among the other maids.


    Eliana’s fork froze midway to her mouth, her eyes widening in speechless wonder. Roses? Fruits? For her father? The gesture wrapped around her heart like a warm embrace, yet it squeezed with suspicion. Why was he doing this? Rafael Vexley, the cold billionaire who up to an hour ago treated her like an intruder in his world, now orchestrating gifts as if they were old friends. Her lips parted, but no words came at first, only a soft exhale of disbelief.


    "Mr Vexley," she finally managed, her voice tentative,ced with a mix of gratitude and protest. "You... you don’t have to do that. Really, it’s too much. My father—he wouldn’t expect anything like this."


    He turned his head toward her, that small, enigmatic smile ying on his lips again, the one that made his chiseled jawline soften just a fraction. "Nonsense, Eliana. I can’t go empty-handed. This visit is sudden, so we’ll make do with what’s at hand for now. But next time? Next time, I’ll send him something better—perhaps a collection of rare books or a custom piece of art. Something that speaks to a man’s soul. And Eliana? It’s Rafael, not Mr Vexley."


    Eliana opened her mouth a couple of times then closed it before she eventually shook her head, her long curly hair swaying gently, catching the light like ebony waves. "No, please. He doesn’t need gifts. You’ve already done so much—paying for his treatment, giving me a job. That’s more than enough."


    Rafael leaned back slightly, his voice dropping to a matter-of-fact tone that brooked no argument, yet carried an undercurrent of warmth that surprised even him. "As a matter of fact, I do have to. It’s not just courtesy; it’s respect. For him, for you." His words hung in the air, heavy with unspokenyers, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, the distance between them shrinking under the weight of his gaze—feigned blindness or not.


    Eliana searched his face, her expressive eyes flickering with emotion, but she didn’t argue further. Instead, she nodded slowly, a soft "Okay" escaping her lips, though inside, her heart fluttered like a caged bird. Who was this man sitting across from her? The Rafael she knew was a fortress of sarcasm and detachment, not this... benefactor weaving kindness like a spell.


    The breakfast dragged on in awkward silence after that, punctuated only by the clink of silverware and the asional rustle of the maids clearing tes. Eliana’s sling-bound arm ached faintly, a reminder of the car ident, but the real difort stemmed from the invisible tension coiling around them. Finally, Rafael set down his napkin with a decisive fold. "That’s enough. We’re done here." He reached for the small inte on the table, pressing a button. "Luke? Prepare the car. Eliana and I are heading to the hospital."


    The driver’s voice crackled back promptly. "Yes, sir. I’ll be out front in five minutes."


    Eliana nced up, surprised. "Not James? I thought he was your usual driver."


    Rafael’s expression softened imperceptibly, a rare flicker of genuine affection crossing his features. "James is my secretary not my driver. He only drives when he wants to. Today is James’s off day. And of all the people buzzing around me like flies, he’s the only one I actually like—and trust. I’d walk through fire to keep him happy, even if it means not bothering him on his time off. He’s more than a secretary; he’s... a friend." He paused, as if the word tasted foreign on his tongue, one he’d never voiced to James himself. "Besides, I don’t need to drag him into every little outing."


    She nodded, touched by the revtion, a glimpse into the lonely fortress that was Rafael Vexley. As they waited, Vera returned, breathless, presenting the bouquet—a explosion of crimson roses, their petals velvety and fragrant, tied with a satin ribbon—and a wicker basket overflowing with vibrant fruits, the apples gleaming ruby-red, oranges like captured suns, grapes plump and inviting.


    "The gifts are ready, sir," Vera announced, her tone crisp and assured.


    Rafael’s clouded gaze shifted to Eliana, a question in his expression. "Do you think they’re worthy of your father?"


    Eliana’s lips curved into a slow smile, awe shimmering in her voice. "Worthy? They’re beyond worthy."


    "Perfect," Rafael said, his voice approving. "Thank you, Vera."


    The maid beamed faintly before retreating, and soon, they were ushered to the waiting ck SUV, its tinted windows reflecting the mansion’s imposing facade like a dark mirror.


    Inside the car, as the engine purred to life and the vehicle glided down the winding driveway, Eliana’s stomach twisted into knots. The leather seats cradled her slender frame, butfort eluded her. Sitting beside Rafael like this—him in his crisp designer suit, exuding quiet power even in his vulnerability—felt intimate, awkward, charged with an electricity she couldn’t name. His sudden niceness wrapped around her like a gold chain, pulling her closer while whispering warnings in her ear. ’He’s nning something,’ a suspicious voice nagged in her mind. ’People like him don’t change overnight.’ But she scolded herself silently: ’People can change. Even Rafael Vexley. Give him a chance.’


    Rafael, sensing her tension perhaps through the subtle shift in her breathing, broke the silence first. "So, Eliana," he began, his voice casual yet probing, "tell me more about your father. What’s he like?"


    She turned to him, her brown eyes softening at the mention of Frank. "He’s... everything to me. Kind, wise, always putting others first. Even when Mom left us, he never spoke a bad word about her. He worked himself to the bone as a garbage man back then, just to keep food on the table. Now, with his illness..." Her voice trailed off, emotion thickening her throat.


    Rafael nodded, his unfocused gaze directed out the window, though he absorbed every nuance. "Sounds like a man worth knowing. Strong, like you. What does he enjoy? Books? Music?"


    Eliana smiled faintly, pushing the suspicion deeper into the recesses of her mind. "Books, definitely. Old ssics—Dickens, Twain. And he loves jazz. Used to hum it while gardening, saying it made the flowers bloom brighter." She chuckled softly, the sound light and genuine, easing the knot in her stomach just a bit.


    Heughed—a low, rumbling sound that surprised her with its warmth. "Jazz and flowers. Noted. Maybe next time, I’ll bring a vinyl record. Something vintage, to match his spirit."


    The conversation flowed then, mini threads weaving through the drive. "What’s your favorite memory with him?" Rafael asked next, his tone inviting, as if peeling backyers of her world.


    Eliana leaned back, her voice heartfelt. "Summers in our tiny backyard. He’d push me on a rickety swing he built himself, telling stories about far-off ces. Even when we had nothing, he made it feel like everything."


    "That’s beautiful," Rafael replied, a hint of envy creeping into his voice, though he masked it with sarcasm. "My childhood memories involve hospitals and backstabbing rtives. Not exactly swing-set material."


    Sheughed, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly. "Well, maybe you need a swing in that massive garden of yours. Could loosen up that CEO stiffness."


    He arched an eyebrow, amusement twinkling in his eyes despite the pretense. "Are you calling me stiff, Miss Bet? Careful—I might make you push me on it."


    Their banter continued, light and teasing, as the cityscape blurred past—skyscrapers giving way to quieter streets lined with blooming jacarandas. Eliana replied wholeheartedly, her words flowing freely, the suspicion fading like morning mist under the sun of his unexpected charm. By the time they arrived at the hospital, a sprawling modern building with ss facades reflecting the blue sky, she felt a tentative ease settling over her.


    Eliana guided Rafael through the bustling lobby, her good hand lightly on his wheelchair’s handle, navigating past nurses in scrubs and patients shuffling with IV poles. The sterile scent of antiseptic mingled with the faint floral aroma from the bouquet she carried. "This way," she murmured, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.


    At the door to the VIP room, Rafael paused. "Eliana," he said softly, "would it be alright if I go in and say hi to your father? I don’t want to intrude, but... I’d like to meet him."


    She stared at him, shock rippling through her like a wave. Rafael Vexley, wanting to meet her frail father? "I... uh, sure. Okay," she stammered, her heart pounding as she helped maneuver his chair through the door.


    The room was a haven of quiet luxury—soft beige walls, arge window overlooking a garden, machines beeping rhythmically like a gentle heartbeat. Frank Bety in the bed, looking far better than before: color had returned to his weathered face, his greying hair neatlybed, gentle dark eyes alert and energetic. Tubes snaked from his arms, but he sat propped up, a book open on hisp.


    When his eyesnded on Eliana, a radiant smile broke across his face, crinkling the corners like well-worn leather. "Eliana! My girl!" But as his gaze shifted to Rafael, curiosity furrowed his brow. "And who’s this?"


    Eliana rolled Rafael’s chair closer to the bed, her own smile the biggest she’d worn in days, beaming with pure joy. "Dad! Oh, it’s so good to see you looking stronger." She leaned in, careful of her sling, and hugged him gently, inhaling the familiar scent of soap and earth that always clung to him.


    Frank hugged her back, his voice warm but puzzled. "I’m doing alright, sweetheart. Feeling more like myself today. But what’s with the sling? What happened to your hand?"


    Before Eliana could respond, Rafael interjected smoothly, his voiceced with feigned remorse. "That would be my fault, Mr. Bet. Eliana was helping me with my wheelchair the day before yesterday, and she took a tumble. I’m truly sorry—I’ve been the cause of her pain."


    Eliana’s mouth hung open, a gasp caught in her throat. He was taking the me for her car ident? Twisting the truth like a pretzel?


    Rafael extended a hand toward Frank, his posture impable. "I’m Rafael Vexley, by the way. Eliana’s friend."


    Her eyes widened further, nearly bulging. Friend? When had that happened? "Actually, Dad," she cut in quickly, "he’s my employer. Mr. Vexley hired me as his caregiver."


    Frank’s face transformed into one of profound gratitude, his gentle eyes shining. "Mr. Vexley, I can’t thank you enough. For taking care of my needs here in the hospital, and for giving my daughter a job. You’re a godsend."


    Rafael shook his head humbly. "No thanks necessary, Mr. Bet. It’s my pleasure. Truly."


    Eliana busied herself then, cing the vibrant roses into a vase on the bedside table—their petals unfurling like secrets—and setting the fruit basket nearby, the fruits’ colors popping against the sterile white.


    As she returned, she caught the tail end of Frank’s words to Rafael. "...and I can see you’ve been dealt a tough hand by the world, son. Blindness—it’s not fair. But look at you, still out here being kind, helping folks like us. You’re a beautiful soul, Mr. Vexley. The earth will reward you for that heart of yours."


    Rafael’s response was humble, his voice soft and sincere—or so it seemed. "I’m just happy to help whenever I can, Mr. Bet. Hearing theughter of people around me... it makes my heart happy. Fills the darkness with light, in a way."


    Eliana’s mouth hung open again, disbelief crashing over her like ocean waves Rafael Vexley, pretending to be the kindest man alive? They both knew he was the opposite—cold, calcting, a puppet master pulling strings from the shadows. Yet here he was, his pure smile gleaming like polished bullshit, suspending her heart in mid-air. When she looked at him, that facade cracking just enough to reveal... what? Vulnerability? Deception? She didn’t know what to make of it, her emotions a tangled storm of hope, wariness, and something dangerously close to affection.