Chapter 102: The Meeting
Eliana’s pulse thundered in her ears, wild and uneven, as if her very heartbeat were trying to escape her chest. The phone felt heavy in her trembling hand, its cold edges digging into her skin, grounding her in the moment she desperately wished to avoid. The screen’s glow painted her face in pale light, catching the reflection in her wide brown eyes—eyes that burned with the uneasy marriage of fear and stubborn resolve.
The apartment suddenly felt too small, its walls closing in with every breath she dragged into her lungs. Even the comforting trace of Henry’s morning coffee still clinging to the air now seemed suffocating, sharp, a reminder of the fragile normalcy that had slipped through her fingers.
When she finally powered on her phone, the avalanche hit—missed calls, all from Rafael. Dozens. Each one stacked atop the other like silent accusations, or worse, desperate cries that only deepened the storm in her chest. Her throat tightened, her mind spinning with what-ifs, but she knew there was no hiding forever.
Her thumb hovered, hesitated, then pressed down. The call button lit up. A sharp inhale escaped her as the ringing tone filled her ears. Her lips parted, soft and trembling, caught between dread and courage. Somewhere across the city, Rafael would answer—and when he did, nothing would ever be the same.
The ringtone echoed once, twice, before a deep, familiar voice answered, laced with a guarded edge that sent chills down her spine. "Eliana? Is that really you?"
"Rafael," she whispered, her voice cracking like fragile glass under pressure. She paced the living room, her long curly black hair swaying with each step, her modest sundress whispering against her slender frame. "Yes, it’s me. I... I need to see you. Please. Can we meet this afternoon? There’s a small coffee shop downtown—The Whispering Bean. It’s quiet, out of the way. I have something important to tell you. Something I should have said a long time ago."
On the other end, in the vast, echoing study of the Vexley estate, Rafael’s piercing steel eyes widened, no longer hidden behind the pretense of clouded lenses. His athletic build tensed in the leather armchair, his dark wavy hair tousled from sleepless nights. A surge of joy flooded his chest—pure, unadulterated relief that she was alive, reaching out—but he clamped down on it like a vise. He couldn’t let her hear it, not yet. Not until he knew the truth. His voice remained cool, almost detached, a mask honed from years of betrayal. "The Whispering Bean. Fine. What time?"
Eliana swallowed hard, her expressive eyes clouding with hurt. He sounded so angry, so distant, like a stranger wielding ice as a weapon. "Two o’clock? Please, Rafael... I know you’re upset. I can hear it in your voice. But I swear, I’ll explain everything."
"Two o’clock," he repeated, his chiseled jaw clenching as he fought the urge to demand answers right then. "I’ll be there." He ended the call before his resolve cracked, his heart pounding with a hope he dared not voice. She was coming back. Maybe this nightmare would end.
Eliana lowered the phone, her warm brown skin paling as tears pricked her eyes. "He hates me," she murmured to herself, sinking onto the couch. "He’s so cold. What if he doesn’t believe a word I say?"
From the kitchen doorway, Henry leaned against the frame, his tall, handsome figure silhouetted by the morning light filtering through the windows. His sharp features softened with concern, his warm eyes fixed on her. He crossed the room in a few strides, his aspiring doctor’s poise evident in his confident gait. "Hey, Eli, talk to me. How’d it go?"
She looked up, her heart-shaped face etched with vulnerability. "He agreed to meet, but... Henry, he sounded furious. Like I’ve already lost him. I’m terrified. I have to tell him everything—the pregnancy, Mirabel being my mother, all the secrets I’ve buried. What if he walks away?"
Henry knelt in front of her, his hands gently clasping hers, a platonic anchor in her storm. "Eliana, listen to me. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve survived so much—your mom’s abandonment, your grandfather’s death, your dad’s illness, that jerk Jason. This? This is you taking control. I’m so damn proud of you for doing this. You’ve got that quiet fire inside; it’s what drew me to you back then."
A small, watery smile tugged at her lips, her emotional resilience flickering to life. "You always know what to say. But what if—"
"No ’what ifs,’" he interrupted softly, his voice warm like a comforting embrace. "Go get dressed. I’ll drive you there. No arguments. I want to make sure you’re safe, okay? If things get rough, I’ll be right outside."
She nodded, squeezing his hands before standing. "Thank you, Henry. I don’t know what I’d do without you."
He grinned, a touch of humor lightening the moment as he stood too. "Probably starve on my terrible cooking. Now go—put on something that makes you feel unstoppable. You’ve got this."
As Eliana disappeared into the bedroom, her mind swirled with nerves, a whirlwind of emotions knotting her stomach. She rifled through the borrowed clothes in Henry’s guest room, settling on a simple floral blouse and jeans that hugged her slender frame modestly yet elegantly. Her long curls cascaded down her back as she pinned a few strands away from her face, staring at her reflection. "You have to do this," she whispered to herself. "For the baby. For us."
Back in the Vexley estate, Rafael shot to his feet the moment the call ended, his commanding presence filling the room like a storm about to break. His designer suit, slightly rumpled from days of neglect, still clung to his 6’3" frame with an air of unyielding authority. He pressed the intercom button with a urgency that betrayed his inner turmoil. "James! Get in here—now!"
The door opened almost instantly, and James entered, his ever-reliable shadow of a man, dressed in a crisp black suit, his expression neutral but attentive. "Sir? Everything alright?"
Rafael’s steel eyes gleamed with a mix of hope and suspicion, his voice steady despite the racing pulse. "Eliana called. She’s meeting me at The Whispering Bean at two. Prepare the car immediately—we’re leaving soon. And James... keep your eyes open. This could be it. She might clear everything up—about Mirabel, the escape, all of it. God, I hope I misunderstood. Pray she tells me it’s all a mistake."
James nodded, a rare flicker of empathy crossing his stoic face. "Understood, sir. I’ll be ready. Discreet surveillance?"
"Yes," Rafael replied, running a hand through his dark wavy hair, his calculating mind already spinning scenarios. "But stay back. I need to hear her out alone first. If she’s innocent... if this is just some twisted misunderstanding..." His voice trailed off, raw emotion slipping through his cold facade for a brief moment. Loneliness had clawed at him these past days, but now, hope bloomed like a fragile flower in the cracks of his armored heart.
James inclined his head. "We’ll get answers, sir. Let’s go."
By two o’clock, the autumn sun had mellowed into that golden stage of the afternoon, painting the downtown skyline in warm honeyed light. The streets buzzed with the restless rhythm of city life—horns blaring in the distance, snippets of laughter spilling from shopfronts, the occasional bark of a street vendor hawking roasted chestnuts. And tucked neatly between two towering glass giants was The Whispering Bean, a place that looked like it had been plucked from another era. Wooden tables mismatched but full of character, chalkboard menus with curling handwriting, the air saturated with the intoxicating mix of freshly ground coffee and pastries cooling behind glass. A haven for the weary—and, today, a battlefield for hearts.
Rafael’s black luxury sedan glided to a stop at the curb, sleek as a predator lying in wait. The door opened, and James, ever the shadow at his side, helped him out with practiced ease. The wheelchair was almost insulting against Rafael’s athletic frame; he wore it not like a burden, but like armor—another tool in his arsenal. Dressed in a charcoal suit tailored to perfection, every line sharp and deliberate, he cut a figure that was impossible to ignore. Broad shoulders, a sculpted jawline, that aura of quiet menace that made people glance twice and then look away quickly. Power clung to him the way autumn air clung to the skin—inevitable, undeniable.
He rolled into the café with predatory grace, the door chime ringing softly above him like a warning no one paid attention to. Inside, the atmosphere was deceptively calm. The soft hum of chatter, the rhythmic clink of porcelain cups against saucers, a barista laughing under their breath at some private joke. Normalcy at its most fragile.
Rafael chose a corner table by the wide front window, where sunlight spilled like liquid gold across polished wood. From here, he had the best vantage point: the door in clear sight, the reflection of the room captured faintly in the glass. James slipped to a separate table near the entrance, a newspaper held open like camouflage, though his hawk-like eyes missed nothing.
Sitting rigid, Rafael’s posture was that of a man carved from stone. But inside? Inside was chaos. The warmth that had sparked when Eliana’s voice called him earlier was still alive, tugging at him like an ember refusing to die. But tangled with it was a bitterness so sharp it left a metallic taste on his tongue. Love and betrayal—twin enemies locked in combat across the battlefield of his chest.
He pressed his lips into a thin, unreadable line. No one in the café would see the storm in his veins. No one would know. That was his gift. That was his curse.
"Come on, Eliana," he muttered low, the words meant for himself more than the world. His inner voice, cruel and mocking, curled around the syllables. Don’t make me wait forever. I’ve got empires to run... or hearts to mend.
But his gaze never left the door.
Minutes ticked by like eternity, each one amplifying his anticipation. Then, through the window, he spotted it—a sleek black SUV pulling up to the curb, the same one from the damning security footage that had haunted his nights. His blood turned to fire, a blind rage igniting in his chest as memories flooded back: Eliana, looking scared and desperate, diving into that vehicle, vanishing into the unknown.
The driver’s door opened, and out stepped a handsome tall man—Henry Jackson, though Rafael didn’t know who he was yet. Sharp features, warm eyes, an easy confidence that screamed privilege. He circled the SUV with athletic poise, opening the passenger door with a gentlemanly flourish.
Eliana emerged, her slender form graceful as she stepped down, her warm brown skin glowing in the sunlight, her expressive honey-brown eyes darting nervously toward the coffee shop. She smoothed her floral blouse, her full pink lips pressed into a thin line of anxiety.
Rafael’s world narrowed to a pinpoint of fury. Jealousy clawed at him like a beast unchained, his hands balling into fists beneath the table. How dare this stranger look at her like that—with familiarity, with care? Touch her arm lightly as he helped her down? Eliana was his—his light in the darkness, his unexpected salvation. The thought of another man encroaching on that territory made his vision blur with red-hot anger. He wanted to storm out, grab the man by the collar, and strangle the life out of him for even daring to breathe the same air as her.
"Who the hell is he?" Rafael growled to himself, his voice a low rumble that drew a curious glance from a nearby barista. His emotional scars throbbed, suspicion poisoning the hope he’d clung to. Was this the betrayal unfolding in real time? Or something else?
Henry leaned in close to Eliana, his voice a murmur Rafael couldn’t hear but imagined all too vividly. "You okay? Remember, I’m right here if you need me."
She nodded, her voice soft but resolute. "I have to do this alone, Henry. But thank you."
As she turned toward the door, Rafael’s jealousy peaked, a dramatic storm brewing in his soul. He watched, seething, as the man—his rival, in that moment—gave her an encouraging smile before sliding back into the SUV. Rafael’s mind screamed for violence, but he forced himself to stay seated, waiting for her to enter, to explain, to shatter or salvage his fractured heart.