<h4>Chapter 89: Morning Chaos</h4>


    The dim glow of the bedsidemp spilled across the room, painting everything in shades of gold and shadow. Rafael stood motionless in the bathroom doorway, breath caught in his chest, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was bare, stripped not just of clothing but of the armor he wore in the daylight—the ruthless mogul whomanded boardrooms and bent empires to his will.


    Now, under the softened light, he was only a man. His body—sculpted, powerful, still slick with the remnants of their passion—looked carved out of fire and tension, every muscle pulled taut as if bracing for impact. But it was his face that betrayed him. Those steel eyes, usually cold and unshakable, were blown wide with worry, unguarded in a way he never let the world see. His jaw flexed, clenched so hard it looked painful, as though he could grind his fear into silence.


    And across from him, the source of his undoing—Eliana. She was hunched over the toilet, her body trembling with each violent heave, fragile in a way that shattered him. Her dark hair clung damply to her cheeks, shoulders shivering with effort. The sound of her retching ripped through him louder than any gunshot.


    Rafael’s fingers twitched at his sides, torn between the instinct to rush forward and the fear that if he touched her now, he might break her further. For the first time in years, the man who controlled everything felt powerless.


    "Eliana?" Rafael’s voice cracked through the silence, low but trembling at the edges, rougher than he meant it to be. Panic threaded through every syble.


    He took a cautious step forward, the chill of the bathroom tiles biting into his bare feet, but he barely registered it. All he saw was her—small, trembling, folded over the porcin.


    "What’s happening?" His words cracked, betraying the fear he was trying so hard to hide. He swallowed hard, steel eyes locked on her as if looking away would make her vanish. "Talk to me, please. Just... tell me you’re okay."


    Eliana dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, smearing away thest trace of weakness as fresh tears streaked down her warm skin. With trembling fingers, she flushed the toilet, the sound too loud in the small space, then slumped back against the wall.


    Her chest rose unevenly, each breath a struggle she tried to disguise. Those soft brown eyes lifted to Rafael—misty, raw—but behind the haze, she summoned that stubborn thread of strength he both admired and hated, because it meant she’d rather suffer than let him see her break.


    "I’m... I’m fine, Rafael." Her voice was a fragile whisper, shaky but carried with a thread of resolve. She tried for a smile, but it faltered, her lips trembling with the effort. "It’s nothing serious. I probably just... rushed my dinner."


    She nced away, as if ashamed of her own weakness. "I was nervous—with Sarai and Bianca there. My stomach doesn’t handle stress well. Indigestion hits hard, that’s all. It’ll pass. Really, it’s not that bad."


    The words came out steady enough, but her pallor, the sheen of sweat on her forehead, betrayed her.


    Rafael knelt beside her, hisrge hands gently cupping her face, thumbs brushing away her tears. Even in his nudity, there was no awkwardness; only raw, protective emotion etched across his handsome features. "That doesn’t sound like nothing, Eliana. You were fine a minute ago, and now... this? We should go to the hospital. Right now. Let me get dressed—"


    "No, no hospital," she interrupted firmly, cing her hands over his. Her expressive eyes locked onto his, pleading. "Rafael, please. I don’t want to make a fuss. It’s just a stomach thing. I’ve had worse. Trust me, okay? I’ll be alright."


    He searched her face, his piercing gaze conflicted, a storm of worry brewing behind it. "I don’t like this. You’re pale, and... damn it, Eliana, I can’t just stand here and do nothing. If it gets worse—"


    "It won’t," she assured him, her voice softening as she leaned into his touch. She stood slowly, pulling him up with her, and wrapped her arms around his waist in a tight hug. Her head rested against his broad chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. "See? I’m okay now. Just hold me for a second."


    Rafael enveloped her in his arms, his chin resting on her curly hair. He sighed deeply, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders. "You scare the hell out of me, you know that? Fine, no hospital—for now. But if you so much as wince again, we’re going."


    Eliana pulled back with a small, genuineugh, her emotional resilience shining through. "Deal. Now, let’s get out of here before we both catch a chill." She nced around the luxurious bathroom, spotting the plush bathrobes hanging on the hooks. Grabbing one, she slipped it over her slender frame, the soft fabric enveloping her like a warm embrace. Then, she handed him the other with a yful wink. "Here, Mr. Vexley. Can’t have you strutting around like that all night."


    Rafael chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that broke the tension, as he tied the robe around his waist. "Strutting? I was about to im what’s mine, remember? But alright, bossy." He followed her to the sink, where she rummaged through the cab like it was her own space—pulling out a spare toothbrush and handing it to him with a grin.


    "Here, minty fresh for both of us," she said, squeezing toothpaste onto hers. They stood side by side at the double vanity, brushing their teeth in sync, foam bubbling at their lips. Eliana caught his eye in the mirror and made a funny face, crossing her eyes and puffing her cheeks. Rafael burst outughing, nearly spitting out his toothpaste.


    "You’re ridiculous," he said through a mouthful, shaking his head. "How do you go from throwing up to this in five minutes?"


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    "It’s a talent," she replied, rinsing her mouth and smiling brightly. "Now, shower time. You first, or me?"


    They took turns under the steaming water, the bathroom filling with the scent ofvender soap. Eliana emerged first, her long curls damp and framing her heart-shaped face, and Rafael followed, his dark wavy hair slicked back, looking every bit themanding CEO even in a robe.


    Finally, they climbed into the massive four-poster bed, the silk sheets whispering against their skin. Rafael pulled her close, her back against his chest, his arm draped possessively over her waist. "You know, our little moment got paused because of your traitorous stomach," he teased, his breath warm against her ear. "I was this close to making you scream my name. But I’ll let you rest tonight. Tomorrow, though? No distractions. I’m iming that sweet body of yours, Eliana. All of it."


    She giggled, the sound light and melodic, turning in his arms to face him. "Promises, promises, Mr. Vexley. But yeah, tomorrow sounds perfect." Theirughter faded into a sweet kiss, his lips gentle on hers, a stark contrast to the earlier fire. It was tender, lingering, filled with unspoken promises.


    As they drifted off, tangled in each other’s arms, the world outside the bedroom faded away. Rafael’s breathing evened out first, but Eliana’s mind lingered on the warmth of his embrace, her emotional wounds soothed for the moment.


    The next morning, sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, creating golden hues across the room. Rafael stirred first, his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He grabbed it quietly, not wanting to wake her, and read the message from James: <strong><i>"Sir, Jason’s been captured. Austin Miller’s men have him locked down at the warehouse—interrogation’s already underway. I’m inside the house now, waiting for you downstairs. Just give the word, and we move."</i></strong>


    Rafael’s jaw tightened, a flicker of his cold, calcting side resurfacing. He nced down at Eliana, her face peaceful in sleep,shes fanning her cheeks. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I’m sorry, my love," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I have to handle Jason myself. If I don’t, he’lle after you again. Put you in danger. I can’t let that happen."


    He slipped out of bed carefully, padding to the bathroom for a quick shower. The hot water falling over him, but his mind was elsewhere—plotting, protecting. He didn’t know Eliana had stirred at his kiss, her eyes fluttering open just enough to hear every word he said to her. Shey still, pretending to sleep, her heart racing as he dressed in a crisp suit and wheeled himself out in his chair, maintaining the facade.


    Once the door clicked shut, Eliana sat up abruptly, her breathing in hard gasps. "What is he nning to do to Jason?" she whispered to the empty room, her hands clutching the sheets. Panic wed at her chest. She swung her legs over the bed and hurried to the balcony, parting the curtains just in time to see Rafael’s sleek ck car pulling away from the mansion’s grand driveway, tires crunching on gravel.


    A fresh wave of nausea hit her hard. She mped a hand over her mouth and dashed back to the bathroom, dropping to her knees before the toilet. Her body convulsed as she threw up again, the acrid burn in her throat mirroring the whirlwind in her mind. "What’s wrong with me?" she gasped between heaves, tears blurring her vision. She couldn’t understand it—indigestion? Or something more? She’d get it checkedter, when she visited her father at the hospital. But right now, her thoughts swirled around Rafael. "Please, God," she prayed aloud, her voice trembling. "Don’t let him harm Jason. Don’t let him take this into his own hands. He’s better than that."


    As she rinsed her mouth and sshed water on her face, a sudden m echoed from the bedroom door. Voices—sharp, angry—pierced the air. Eliana froze, her hand on the doorknob. Instinct screamed at her to hide. She cracked the door just a sliver, peeking through the gap.


    There, in the opulent bedroom, stood Mirabel Vexley, her elegant frame radiating fury. Her smooth brown skin was flushed, her immactely styled hair slightly disheveled for the first time Eliana could remember. She was nked by Celina, the spoiled 18-year-old with her designer outfit and pouty lips, and a young man—older, maybe 20—with slicked-back hair and a smug expression. Caleb, Eliana guessed, the entitled step-sibling.


    Maids hovered nervously in the doorway, wringing their hands. "Where is Rafael?" Mirabel screeched, her voice like ice cracking under pressure. "I know he’s done something to my brother Victor! He couldn’t just vanish—Rafael’s behind this! If he doesn’t hand Victor over right now, I’ll make him pay!"


    One maid stammered, "Ma’am, Mr. Vexley left early this morning. We don’t know—"


    "Shut up!" Mirabel snapped, her pearls clinking as she whirled on them. "I know everything I need to know about that little gutter-rat caregiver of his. Eliana. Rafael loves her—thinks she’s his precious savior. If he won’t give me Victor, I’ll take my anger out on her. Search this house! Every room, every corner. Find her and bring her to me. Now!"


    Celina smirked, crossing her arms. "Yeah, let’s see how tough Rafael is when we mess with his toy."


    Caleb chuckled darkly. "This’ll be fun. About time we put that gold-digger in her ce."


    Eliana gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth. She retreated deeper into the bathroom, locking the door with trembling fingers. Her body shook uncontrobly, fear gripping her like chains—fear of her own mother, the woman who’d abandoned her for this world of wealth and cruelty. Huddled in the corner, knees drawn to her chest, she whispered to herself, "Please, stay away. Please don’t find me."