<h4>Chapter 84: The Look of Betrayal</h4>


    Eliana didn’t move at first. Her slender frame stood frozen, every muscle taut as Sarai’s confession poured over her like acid rain, reopening wounds she thought had scarred long ago. Each word dragged her back—to the nights she’d curled up alone, convinced she wasn’t enough; to the trust she had handed over like fragile ss, now lying in shards at her feet.


    She looked down at Sarai, the once-beloved friend kneeling in designer silk, mascara streaking down her face, the very picture of remorse. For a moment, the sight threatened to crack her. But something deeper stirred—something forged in the fire of her past. The strength that had carried her through her father’s illness, the resilience that had steadied her after her mother walked away—it rose like steel in her chest.


    Eliana drew in a slow breath, her fingers slipping from Sarai’s desperate grip. Her voice, when it came, was steady, controlled, butced with an ache so deep it could cut bone. "Sarai... get up. Please."


    The plea was quiet, but final.


    Sarai blinked through her tears, then rose with deliberate slowness, tissue in hand. She dabbed at her cheeks, smearing ck streaks into faint bruises of false regret. Her green eyes locked onto Eliana’s, wide and pleading, every inch the wronged sinner begging for absolution. "Eliana," she whispered, her voice cracking just right, "say something. Yell at me, scream—anything. Just... don’t shut me out."


    "I’ve listened to everything," Eliana said softly, her honey eyes glistening with unshed tears. "And I believe you regret it now, or at least part of you does. But I can’t just erase it. The pain you caused... it changed me. I forgive you, Sarai. Truly. You saving me from Jason’s kidnapping attempt—that made us even. Without you, who knows what would have happened? But forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting. I can’t forget how you turned on me, how you chose him over our friendship. I don’t want to be friends anymore. I don’t want anything to do with you or Jason. It’s over."


    Sarai’s face crumpled—or so it appeared—but inside, rage boiled like venom. ’Humiliated. On my knees, and she rejects me? I could kill her right now, wipe that self-righteous look off her face.’ She forced a nod, her voice quivering. "I... I understand. It hurts, but I deserve it. Just know I’ll always care about you, Eliana."


    Eliana turned away, her long curls swaying as she pushed open the heavy door, the muffled sounds of the dining room rushing in. She walked out without another word, leaving Sarai alone in thevish space, her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms.


    Thirty minutester, dinner drifted toward its end, the hum of polite conversation filling the gaps between clinking sses and the soft scrape of cutlery. The restaurant’s golden light painted elegant shadows across the table, disguising the fractures beneath the surface. Bianca and Sarai satposed with forced smiles, like porcin ready to crack.


    Rafael, tall and broad even as he sat in the wheelchair that concealed his strength, carried himself with effortlessmand. His dark, wavy hair caught the dim glow, his sharp features softened only by the tailored lines of his midnight suit. With a subtle flick of his hand, he turned to James. His voice, calm yet unmistakably authoritative, cut through the murmur.


    "James. The gifts."


    James moved with the quiet precision of a man trained to anticipate. From a discreet bag, he drew out two boxes—glistening ck, wrapped with silk ribbon. Inside, diamond-encrusted watches gleamed like trophies, luxury carved into time itself. He ced one in front of Bianca first.


    Her manicured fingers brushed the ribbon as if savoring the moment, her painted smile deepening. "How thoughtful, Mr. Vexley," she said, her voice carrying just enough warmth to feel rehearsed. "Thank you."


    "And for you, Miss Sarai," James said, passing the other.


    Sarai took it, her sharp green eyes shing with barely concealed fury as she watched Rafael reach for Eliana’s hand. His fingers intertwined with hers, warm and possessive, as he rolled toward the exit, Eliana walking beside him with her natural elegance, her worn-out past hidden behind that hopeful smile.


    As they disappeared through the doors, Sarai’s grip tightened on the box. "That bitch," she hissed under her breath. "Acting all high and mighty."


    Bianca ced a calming hand on her sister’s arm, her elegant features serene. "Shh, Sarai. Don’t worry. The seeds I sowed tonight—with Rafael, nting those doubts about Eliana—they’ll bear fruit soon enough."


    Sarai leaned forward slightly, her fingers still resting on the untouched ribbon of her box. Her voice, low but edged with a spark of curiosity, slipped through the polite haze of the table.


    "What did you tell him?" she asked, her green eyes glinting as they locked on Bianca, searching her expression for cracks.


    Bianca smiled, "Patience, little sister. We’re inseparable, remember? Two peas in a pod. We’ll have our way."


    The limousine glided like a shadow through the glowing city, its hum barely breaking the night’s quiet. Inside, the leather seats seemed to swallow them infort, but Rafael’sfort was an illusion. He sat rigid, his storm-gray eyes fixed on the shifting blur of lights outside the tinted ss. Bianca’s words kept circling his head, poisonous, sharp—Eliana’s supposed lies, her heart still chained to Jason. He said nothing, jaw tight, hands motionless, but beneath the polished calm his anger smoldered like coal.


    Eliana turned her head toward him, her face caught in the rhythm of streemps shing across her delicate features. She studied him—the silence, the tension, the way he wasn’t really there with her at all. "Rafael," she said softly, her voice carrying both worry and a plea. "You’ve barely spoken since dinner. Is something wrong?"


    He squeezed her hand, but the pressure was almost absent, as if the gesture was more habit thanfort. "Just business," he replied smoothly, tone t, imprable.


    But Eliana had learned to hear what he didn’t say. The stillness in his eyes, the clipped edge to his words—it was never just business. Something was breaking beneath the surface, and her heart twisted with the ache of not knowing what.


    By the time they reached the mansion, its vast facade zing under floodlights like a fortress, Rafael’s silence had grown unbearable. He stopped at the doorway, turned his head slightly, and said, "Eliana, before you change,e with me. There’s something I need to discuss."


    Her brows knit, anxiety tugging at her. "Of course. Are you sure you’re okay?"


    He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to—his silence was already louder than words.


    She followed him through the hushed hallways, her footsteps hesitant on marble floors that gleamed like still water. The elevator carried them up, and the weight in the air only thickened.


    In his room—rich with silk and leather, the faint trace of cologne still clinging to the air—Rafael waited until the door clicked shut. Then, with a practiced ease that always left Eliana breathless, he rose from the wheelchair. The mask fell away. No pretense. Just his full,manding height, the sharp cut of his shoulders, his steel-gray eyes suddenly alive with a terrible rity.


    "Eliana," he said atst, voice low, grave. "Did you know Jason was the one who nned your kidnapping?"


    Her breath hitched. The blood drained from her face. "What—how do you... how do you know that?"


    The answer she gave wasn’t important. The way she faltered, the panic in her eyes—that was enough. Rafael felt the confirmation slice through him. His chest tightened, his anger finally breaking free.


    "So you did know." His words cut like ss. "And you chose not to tell me."


    "Rafael, wait, I—"


    "How could you keep something like this from me?" His voice rose, sharp and burning with betrayal. "This isn’t some trivial mistake, Eliana. This is your life. My life. Our lives."


    Her eyes welled, her lips trembling as she tried to exin. "I didn’t know how. Everything was chaos—I was scared, confused—"


    He stepped closer, his tone turning razor-edged,ced with a bitterness he had recently stopped directing at her. "Or was it because you’re still in love with him? With Jason?"


    Her denial came in a broken cry. "No! God, no. Not after what he did. Never."


    "Then why?" he pressed, fury and disbelief threaded through his voice. "Why protect him?"


    Eliana broke then, shoulders sagging, tears streaking her cheeks. "Because Sarai begged me not to tell you. She swore it would only make things worse. She said we could... manage it, just us."


    The words were a final blow. Rafael stared at her, his expression carved from ice, each line of his face lit with disbelief. "Sarai," he repeated tly. "The same woman who betrayed you. That’s who you trusted with your safety. That’s who you put above me?"


    She couldn’t answer. Her silence was answer enough.


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    Without another word, Rafael pulled out his phone. His movements were sharp, decisive, his face unreadable now. He dialed.


    "James," he said, his voice calm in a way that terrified Eliana more than his anger. "I need you to handle something for me."


    Her stomach dropped, dread pouring through her veins like lead. Whatever came next, she knew the night had shifted into something they could never undo.


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