<h4>Chapter 78: The Uncle</h4>


    Eliana’s eyes widened, a flush creeping up her neck. "Rafael! What if someone walks in? This is your office, not... not your bedroom." But her protest was half-hearted,ced with delight at the sheer joy radiating from him—the way his broad shoulders rxed, his athletic frame leaning back invitingly.


    "Come on," he coaxed, his voice dipping into that husky register that always unraveled her defenses. "Just for a minute. I promise to behave. Mostly."


    She arched a brow, fighting a smile, but the warmth in his eyes pulled her in. With a theatrical sigh and a yful roll of her eyes, she gave in, sliding onto hisp. His arms immediately wrapped around her, strong and steady, as though they had been waiting for this moment all morning.


    The world outside blurred into insignificance. Against his chest, she felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, grounding her as she let her head rest on his shoulder. His scent—crisp, woody, tinged with something spicy—wrapped around her, easing thest of her unease. For a fleeting second, the gnawing worry in her stomach loosened its grip.


    Seeing him like this—unguarded, grinning like a boy,ughter sparking in his eyes—made her chest tighten with a fierce, protective love. She wanted to bottle this version of him, keep it safe from the weight of betrayals, battles, and blood.


    "You’re impossible," she whispered, her voice a mix of fondness and surrender. Yet her hand betrayed her, tracing slow, absent patterns across his chest, fingers lingering as though they needed the reminder of his warmth.


    He tilted his head, lips brushing the crown of her hair, and whispered back, "Impossible for anyone else, maybe. But not for you."


    He pressed a kiss to her temple. "And you’re perfect. Now, let’s get you something to eat. You must be starving after that staring ordeal at the lobby." He buzzed the inte, his tone shifting to authoritative ease. "Remi, have snacks brought up—fruit, pastries, whatever’s light. And coffee for me."


    Minutester, the door opened, and Remi—Rafael’s second secretary, a sharp-eyed woman in her thirties with a no-nonsense bob—entered with a tray. She set it down without a word, her gaze flickering curiously over Eliana but professionally nk. "Anything else, sir?"


    "That’s all for now," Rafael replied dismissively, already waving her out. As the door clicked shut, Eliana eyed the spread: fresh berries glistening like jewels, ky croissants, a pitcher of juice. But the sight turned her stomach, a fresh wave of nausea rising like a tide. She picked at a strawberry, forcing a smile. "Looks delicious. Thank you."


    But she couldn’t eat. The vors blurred on her tongue, and exhaustion crashed over her like a fog. Her eyelids drooped, her body sagging against him. "Rafael," she yawned, "I’m so tired. Is there... somewhere I can rest?"


    His expression softened, concern etching lines around his eyes. He nodded toward the far corner of the office, a private alcove shielded by frosted ss and a plush daybed—his own hidden retreat for long nights. "Right there. It’s for me, but today, it’s yours. Sleep, Eliana. I’ll be right here."


    She protested weakly—"But your work..."—but he was already wheeling them over, helping her settle onto the soft linens. The blind drew partially, offering privacy while allowing slivers of light. "Shh," he whispered, stroking her hair. "Rest. I’ve got everything under control."


    As sleep tugged at her, the steady hum of the office filled the background—printers whirring, muted phone rings, the soft shuffle of papers. The rhythm almost felt like a luby.


    James was the first to appear, pushing the door open with the same precision he brought to everything. His wire-rimmed sses caught the light, tablet bnced in his hand, already scrolling through numbers and charts. He spoke in low, measured tones about quarterly reports, his voice carrying that blend of monotony and quiet authority only James could manage.


    Rafael was closer—too close for anyone else, but somehow, it felt right. His chair had been drawn near, and his fingertips asionally grazed the curls at her temple, like he couldn’t help himself. It was a small thing, fleeting and almost idental, yet deliberate in the way it lingered.


    Remi swept in and out like a storm contained in heels, her steps quick, her arms stacked with files. Still, her eyes betrayed her. Each time she nced at Eliana, curiosity shed sharp and unhidden, like a question she dared not voice: <i>Who is this woman who can hold the boss’s attention so easily?</i>


    But the room itself answered for her. No one asked. No one whispered. The air had shifted, dense with something unspoken, as if Eliana’s very presence had drawn a veil over the office—a quiet enchantment, fragile and undeniable.


    Hours slipped by in that drowsy haze. Rafael’s hand continued its gentle rhythm on her hair, a soothing anchor. Then, James’s voice cut through, urgent. "Sir, there’s trouble downstairs. Mirabel’s brother, Victor—he’s making a scene in the lobby. Demanding to see you. Security’s holding him, but he’s loud."


    Rafael’s hand stilled, his jaw clenching like iron. The warmth in his eyes iced over, a storm brewing. "Victor? What the hell does that snake want now?" His voice was a growl,ced with barely contained fury.


    Eliana’s eyes fluttered open at the shift in his tone, but she kept them closed, her breathing steady. Mirabel’s brother—her uncle? The word sent a jolt through her. Her mother had vanished when she was five, leaving only faded photos and unanswered questions. Rtives? None she’d known. But now, here he was, crashing into her world. She needed to see him, to gauge the man tied to the woman who’d abandoned her. Heart racing, she cracked her lids just enough, the blind’s gap offering a veiled view. She wouldn’t let Rafael know; he was already tense, his focus razor-sharp. Distracting him now would only make it worse.


    "Bring him up," Rafael ordered James, his voice steel. "My office. Now."


    James nodded and exited swiftly. Rafael lingered a moment, his fingers trailing onest time over her hair before he wheeled back to his desk, positioning himself like a king on his throne. The air thickened with anticipation, the cityscape outside a silent witness.


    Minutes stretched like taut wire. Then the door burst open, James ushering in a man who filled the space with arrogance. Victor was tall and lean, his frame wiry under an ill-fitting suit that screamed faded opulence. His face was sharp—hawkish nose, thin lips curled in disdain, eyes darting like a predator’s. He carried himself with the swagger of someone who believed the world owed him.


    "Well, well," Victor drawled, his voice dripping condescension as he approached Rafael’s desk. He leaned forward slightly, as if addressing a child rather than a titan. "If it isn’t the invalid himself. Still ying the part, nephew? Touching." Without invitation, he dropped into the chair opposite, crossing his legs with entitled ease. "I’ve got something important to discuss. Family business, you might say. And it can’t wait."


    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and


    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!