<h4>Chapter 73: Vulnerability</h4>


    The soft lighting from the bedsidemp painted the room in shadows. For all its luxury—the polished wood, the soft drapes, the sprawling bed—the Vexley estate bedroom felt less likefort and more like a confessional. A ce too heavy with truths that wanted out.


    Eliana sat propped against the pillows, her eyes searching his face, torn between hope and fear. Rafael sat on the edge of the mattress, tall and rigid, his frame forming a long shadow across the rug. His steel eyes—usually unreadable—showed a crack tonight, something raw slipping through. The air between them felt tight, the sharp spice of his cologne mixing with thevender from her sheets until she could barely breathe.


    When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough, carrying a weight she hadn’t heard before.


    "Eliana... it all started when I was nine. I lost my sight in an ident that day. God, it feels like yesterday. The memories don’t fade. They stalk me."


    She leaned forward slightly, her slender fingers twisting the edge of the quilt. "An ident? Rafael, what happened? Please tell me everything."


    He nodded slowly, dark waves of hair falling over his forehead as his gaze slipped away. He fixed on the Persian rug instead, its patterns easier to face than her eyes.


    "My mother came to pick me up from school. It was just another afternoon. At least, that’s what I thought. But she was... different. Scared. I’ll never forget how she looked behind the wheel. Her hands mped the steering wheel so tightly her hands went bone-white. And her eyes—she kept flicking them to the rearview mirror like she was expecting something to crawl out of it."


    Eliana leaned forward again, her lips parting, the ache in her chest pulling her closer to him. "Oh, Rafael... did you ask her what was wrong?"


    "Of course I did." His mouth twisted into a bitter smile, the kind that only made his pain more visible. "I was just a kid. My backpack stuffed with drawings I couldn’t wait to show her. I remember bouncing in the back seat, asking, ’Mama, are you okay?’ with all the innocence of a nine-year-old. And she... she smiled. Or tried to. But it wasn’t real—it was tight, shaky, like she was holding her fear together with threads. ’Just a long day, sweetie,’ she told me."


    He paused, the words catching as if they still cut. "But I knew better. Even then, I knew. Something was wrong. She looked so terrified, Eliana."


    His jaw clenched, his hands curling against his knees. "On the drive home, we hit the winding roads on our way to the estate. That’s when it happened. A car came out of nowhere—fast, violent. It didn’t just hit us, Eliana. It targeted us. mmed into the side like it meant to kill us. It forced us off the road, sent us plunging down a cliff."


    Eliana gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes glistening with unshed tears. The image painted in her mind was vivid: the screech of tires, the jolt of impact, a child’s scream echoing in the chaos. "That’s horrific. Your poor mother... and you..."


    Rafael’s voice cracked slightly, but he pushed on, his athletic build shifting as he leaned closer, his piercing eyes locking onto hers. "She died on the spot. Crushed in the wreckage. I woke up in the hospital dayster, bandages over my eyes, machines beeping around me like some cruel symphony. The doctors told me I’d lost my sight—traumatic optic nerve damage, they called it. Permanent, or so they thought back then. I was blind, Eliana. A scared little boy in a world that went dark overnight."


    "I’m so sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, reaching out tentatively to touch his arm. Her warm brown skin contrasted with his, and she felt the tension in his muscles, like coiled steel. Sorrow twisted in her chest, a deep, aching pity for the child he’d been, alone in that ckness.


    He ced his hand over hers, a rare gesture of seekingfort, his thumb tracing slow circles on her skin. "It gets worse. Barely a few weeks after the funeral—while I was still fumbling around learning Braille and bumping into furniture—my father brought home this woman. Mirabel. Sleek, ambitious, with that icy elegance that could freeze a room. Before I could even process it, they were married. A whirlwind ceremony, all champagne and shbulbs, while I sat in the corner like a forgotten relic."


    Eliana’s pulse quickened at the name, a cold wave crashing over her again. Her mother. The woman who’d abandoned her own family for this glittering cage. But she kept her faceposed, urging him on. "That must have felt like a betrayal. How could your father move on so fast?"


    Rafael’sugh was hollow, sarcastic, cutting through the air like a de. "Betrayal? That’s putting it mildly. As a child, Mirabel tried to kill me, Eliana. Several times. The closest I came to dying at her hands was when I was thirteen—poisonous tea she brewed herself, smiling sweetly as she handed it to me. ’Drink up, dear, it’ll help you sleep,’ she cooed. If my grandfather hadn’t walked in and saw me screaming in pain and immisately taking me to the hospital, I’d be six feet under."


    Eliana’s eyes widened in horror, her expressive face paling. "She... she tried to poison you? A child? Rafael, that’s monstrous."


    "Oh, it didn’t stop there," he continued, his tone darkening, shadows ying across his handsome features. "When direct attempts failed, she turned to isting me. Anyone who got close—friends from school, tutors, even distant rtives—she’d threaten them, spread vicious rumors, make their lives hell until they ran screaming. She befriended some just to turn them against me, whispering lies in their ears. But her favorite game? Corrupting every caregiver I ever had. Bribing them, ckmailing them, whatever it took to make them try to finish me off. Pills in my food, ’idental’ falls down stairs—you name it."


    "Why?" Eliana breathed, her voice trembling, dread coiling in her stomach like a serpent. Sadness and agony warred on her soft, heart-shaped face, her long hair falling like a curtain as she bowed her head. How could her own mother be this much of a viin in his story?


    Rafael’s eyes shed with old rage, his fist clenching on the bedsheet. "Money. Power. My father didn’t give a damn about me after Mama died. He rewrote his will, making Mirabel’s children—my half-siblings—the sole heirs to his fortune. Left me outpletely, like I was a mistake. But Grandfather saw through it all. Furious at his own son, he made me his sole heir instead. Everything—the tech empire, real estate, pharmaceuticals—would go to me. Mirabel was livid. She saw me as the obstacle between her kids and billions. I survived every attempt, but I never had proof. Until three years ago."