<h4>Chapter 80: A Death Wish</h4>


    Victor’s face drained of color, his arrogance shattering like ss. He shot to his feet, knocking over his ss in the process, water spilling across the Persian rug in a dark stain. "What are you doing? You can’t—Rafael, stop this madness! People saw mee in here! The receptionist, the guards— they’ll know! You think you can just erase me?"


    Rafael’sughter was soft, almost melodic, but it carried a chilling edge that made Eliana’s skin prickle. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers, his smirk deepening. "Oh, Victor, you underestimate me. Always have. Don’t worry—I’ve got it handled. Cameras? Looped. Witnesses? Distracted or paid off. This isn’t my first dance with shadows like you."


    Victor lunged forward, his voice rising to a frantic scream. "You bastard! You can’t do this! Mirabel will—"


    But the words were cut short as the two hefty men moved with surprising speed, grabbing Victor by the arms. He thrashed wildly, kicking at the desk and sending papers fluttering like startled birds. "Let go! Help! Someone—"


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    One of the men yanked off Victor’s sock with a grunt, stuffing it into his mouth to muffle the screams into guttural, desperate grunts. Victor’s eyes bulged, wild with terror, as they dragged him toward the door, his heels scraping futilely against the floor.


    Eliana sat frozen in her hidden nook, a whirlwind of shock, fear, and confusion crashing over her. Her hands trembled; she couldn’t process it—the violence, the cold efficiency. Was this the man who sweetly confessed his love for herst night? The one who’d pulled her father from death’s grip when she thought his life was over? Or was this the darkness he’d hidden, the scars from a family that had tried to destroy him?


    Rafael turned to James, his voice calm as if discussing the weather. "Make sure no one sees them. Use the service elevator—route it through the back. And James? Discretion above all."


    James nodded curtly, his face betraying no emotion. "Understood, sir." With that, he followed the men out, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving an eerie silence in their wake.


    Rafael exhaled slowly, running a hand through his dark wavy hair. He rose from his desk, his tall frame moving with predatory grace toward the corner where Elianay. She quickly closed her eyes, feigning sleep, her heart still racing like a trapped animal.


    He knelt beside the daybed, his presence warm and close. Gently, he brushed a curl from her forehead, his touch feather-light. Leaning in, he pressed a sweet kiss to her skin, lingering for a moment. "I’m sorry for the noise, my love," he murmured, his voice shifting seamlessly to the tender tone reserved only for her. "It was just some... business. Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you in an hour and a half—we have that dinner with Sarai and Bianca. Rest now."


    Eliana could only nod slowly, her eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his. Words failed her; shock clung to her like a second skin. Who was this man, truly? And what was he truly capable of doing?


    The silence that followed Victor’s removal was deafening, a void that swallowed the office whole. Elianay there on the daybed, her body still as a statue, but her mind a tempest of swirling thoughts. The floral throw nket felt heavy against her warm brown skin, and the faint scent of Rafael’s cologne lingered in the air like a ghost. She kept her breathing even, pretending to drift back into slumber, but every nerve ending screamed with the echoes of what she’d witnessed. How could the man who kissed her so sweetly orchestrate such cold ruthlessness? Her brown eyes remained slits, watching as Rafael returned to his desk, his athletic build moving with the confidence of someone who’d just swatted away a fly.


    Rafael settled back into his chair, but the facade of calm didn’t quite reach his eyes. He rubbed his temples, a rare sign of vulnerability cracking through. "Damn him," he muttered to himself, voice only but a whisper. But then, as if sensing her unrest, he nced toward her hiding spot. "Eliana? Are you truly asleep, or did that ruckus wake you more than you’re letting on?"


    Her heart skipped a beat—too sharp, too sudden to ignore. She couldn’t keep pretending forever. Slowly, she stirred, forcing her body into the motion of waking. A soft, deliberate yawn slipped past her lips, her long, ck curls tumbling over her shoulders in waves, falling like a protective curtain she wasn’t quite ready to push aside. The dress she worefortable yet elegant, stitched from fabric that seemed made to tter her—shifted with a quiet rustle as she sat up straighter.


    "Rafael?" Her voice cracked with sleep, but the unease in it was real. "What... what happened? I heard voices. Loud ones. It sounded like an argument."


    He paused mid-stride, then moved toward her again, each step deliberate, the sound of his designer suit whispering against itself with every motion. His presence filled the room before he even reached her. Finally, he dropped to one knee beside her, his height folding down so he could meet her where she sat.


    When his hand found hers, warm and steady, her breath hitched. His gray eyes—clear now, sharp, no longer hiding behind that practiced cloudiness—locked onto her face, reading her like an open book.


    "It was nothing you need to worry about, my dear," he said, his voice low, buttery but edged with something unspoken. "Just an unwee visitor from the past. ’Family business,’ as they call it." He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him. "But it’s handled now."


    Eliana’s lips parted, her expressive eyes betraying the turmoil within. She squeezed his hand, her voice soft butced with emotion. "Family? Rafael, that didn’t sound like family. It sounded like... hatred. Who was that man? And the screams—I heard screams. What did you do?"


    He sighed, a deep, resonant sound that carried the weight of years of buried pain. His thumb traced circles on her palm, a soothing gesture that contrasted the storm in his soul. "His name is Victor. Mirabel’s brother—my step-uncle, if you can believe such ties. He’s always been a leech, sucking at the edges of my empire, demanding what he thinks he’s owed. Today, he pushed too far. Reminded me of old wounds, the kind that never fully heal."


    She leaned closer, her heart-shaped face just inches from his, her voice trembling as fear tangled with empathy. "Old wounds? What did he do to you? You’ve told me about the ident... about Mirabel. But there’s more, isn’t there? The way you spoke to him—it was like you were unraveling a lifetime of betrayal."


    Rafael’s jaw tightened, the muscles ticking as though the memories themselves were lodged in his throat. Yet he didn’t retreat. Instead, he reached up and cupped her cheek, his hand warm and steady against her skin.


    "Yes. More." His voice dropped, low and rough, as if it scraped through broken ss to escape. "So much more. Mirabel, Victor, Lydia—they circled me like sharks, always waiting to carve up what wasn’t theirs. Victor mocked me, bullied me when I was helpless, called me weak, useless. And Mirabel..." His lips curled, his eyes darkening. "She pretended in front of everyone to be the doting stepmother, all honey andfort, but behind closed doors I paid the price of her smiles. Everything she did was for power, for money. And Victor? Even if he neverid a hand on me, the fact that he’s her brother is enough. Enough reason for me to hate him and everything he represents."


    Eliana’s breath caught. Tears shimmered at the edges of her eyes, blurring the sharp lines of his face. The hatred in his tone was suffocating, pressing into her chest until she struggled to breathe.<i> If he could hate Victor this much simply for sharing blood with Mirabel... what would he do to her when he discovered the truth? That she was Mirabel’s daughter, born of the very womb he despised?</i>


    Her hand trembled as sheid it over his, her voice cracking with emotion. "I’m so sorry you endured all that. You didn’t deserve any of it. But today—what happened to him?" Her throat tightened, the image of Victor’s gagged figure shing before her. "Those men... you said, ’make him disappear.’ Did you... hurt him?"


    Rafael’s arms wrapped around her before the panic could consume her. He pulled her against his chest, his strong frame folding over her slender body like armor. His chin rested against her hair, his aftershave mingling with her floral perfume, wrapping them in a cocoon that smelled of warmth and danger all at once.


    "Not hurt, no. Not in the way you fear," he murmured, his voice a velvet promise edged with iron. "Disappear means exile. Far away, where he can’t poison our lives. A private jet to a forgotten corner of the world, with strings tied so tightly he won’t untangle them for years—if ever. I won’t let him touch us, Eliana. You’ve brought light back into my life. I won’t let shadows like him dim it."


    Her heart twisted at his words, dread and devotion colliding in her chest until she felt hollow. She eased back slightly, needing space, her eyes scanning his face as though the truth might be carved there. The smile she forced—a flimsy shield—trembled, faltering under the weight of her fear.


    "But the violence—the gagging, the dragging..." Her voice cracked, the words slipping out raw before she could rein them in. Her throat burned with the honesty she’d tried to swallow. "It scared me, Rafael. I’m not na?ve; I know your world isn’t gentle. Ruthless, yes—I’ve epted that. But watching it unfold with my own eyes..." She shook her head, her fingers curling against his sleeve as though clinging to him could anchor her. "It makes me wonder if I truly know you."


    Her chest rose and fell too quickly, the plea breaking free now, soft and trembling. "I just don’t want you carrying blood on your hands. Not for anything. Tell me the truth, Rafael—are you sure he’s not going to be killed?"


    For the first time, the sharp edge in his gaze softened. The calcting billionaire melted away, leaving behind the lonely man beneath the armor. He pressed his lips gently to her forehead, then lingered against her mouth in a kiss full of unspoken promises.


    "I trust you more than anyone, my love," he whispered against her lips. "And as long as you don’t betray me, you will always be safe with me. Whether you love me as much as I love you or not—you’ll be safe. You’ll be happy. That I swear. Now rest. Dinner awaits, and Sarai and Bianca will start wondering if we’ve vanished." His thumb brushed her cheek, tender where his words were not. "Let me handle the shadows. You—you bring the light."


    As she sank back slowly, her head resting against the pillows, the storm within her refused to quiet. Shock gnawed at the edges of her mind like relentless waves, but beneath the turmoil, something else began to take shape—a quiet, stubborn resolve that refused to die.


    Wrapped in Rafael Vexley’s embrace, she felt both sheltered and trapped. His arms were strong, protective, a fortress she could so easily get lost in. Yet against that warmth pressed the cold bite of chains—chains forged from the secret she carried, one she could never let slip.


    Every breath beside him felt like walking a tightrope between love and destruction. Because being near Rafael Vexley while hiding a truth like hers... wasn’t just reckless. It was a death wish.


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