Chapter 103: Accusations
The autumn breeze whispered through the bustling downtown streets, carrying the faint scent of roasted chestnuts and fallen leaves as Eliana pushed open the door to The Whispering Bean. The chime above the entrance tinkled like a hesitant greeting, drawing a few idle glances from patrons nursing their afternoon lattes. Outside, Henry’s sleek black SUV idled at the curb, its engine a low hum beneath the city’s symphony of honks and chatter. Henry remained behind the wheel, his warm eyes fixed on the café’s window, a silent sentinel ready to intervene if things went south. He had insisted on driving her here, his love and protectiveness kicking in like an old habit, but Eliana had waved him off with a shaky smile. This was her mess to clean up—or shatter entirely.
The café greeted her like a warm secret. The air was thick with the scent of ground espresso and buttered pastries fresh from the oven, a fragrance that clung to her skin as though trying to soothe her nerves. The low hum of conversation mingled with the soft strum of indie folk from unseen speakers, and every creak of the mismatched chairs added to the lived-in charm of the place.
Eliana’s pulse thundered in her ears, each beat like a drum calling her out, exposing how rattled she really was. Her fingers worried the hem of her floral blouse, tugging at loose threads as her eyes darted across the crowded room.
And then—him.
Rafael.
He sat alone by the wide front window, sunlight pouring in like a spotlight made just for him. The golden light kissed the edges of his dark wavy hair, catching on the sharp planes of his jaw, illuminating the controlled power in every line of his body. His charcoal suit was tailored to perfection, sculpting his athletic frame into something effortlessly commanding. But the wheelchair beneath him was jarring—like an unwanted reminder, a stage prop forced into the grand performance of his life.
His grey eyes, clouded by the carefully constructed lie of blindness, were fixed on nothing in particular, yet they carried the weight of everything. They were vault doors—impenetrable, locked, hiding the man simmering beneath the façade. Because beneath the polished calm, Rafael was fire. A volcano disguised as marble. Fury licked at his insides, sharp and restless.
He’d seen it. The way that stranger—Henry—had leaned in, his hand brushing Eliana’s arm as he helped her from the car. That small nod of encouragement, that unearned familiarity. It had been enough to make jealousy twist in Rafael’s chest like a thorned vine wrapping tighter with every breath.
His fists curled beneath the table, knuckles pressing white against the grain of the wood. His jaw clenched once, so slight it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else—but not by her. Not by Eliana, who had always seen past the ice.
Because that’s what he was on the outside: a sculpture of restraint, the untouchable billionaire recluse who could command empires without breaking a sweat. But beneath the ice, beneath the calm, Rafael was all storm.
And right now, that storm had a name. Henry.
Eliana approached slowly, her worn-out sneakers scuffing softly against the tiled floor. Her warm brown skin flushed with nervousness, and her expressive honey eyes darted between Rafael and the door, as if plotting an escape. Long curly black hair falling over her shoulders, framing her soft heart-shaped face, but today it couldn’t hide the tremor in her full pink lips. She slid into the seat across from him, the chair scraping awkwardly, breaking the fragile silence.
"Rafael," she began, her voice a fragile whisper laced with desperation. "Thank you for coming. I—I didn’t know if you would."
He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze flicked toward the window, where the SUV still waited like a dark omen. His voice, when it came, was low and controlled, a velvet blade slicing through the air. "Before you say anything, Eliana, tell me—who’s the man in the car? The one who dropped you off like some knight in shining armor?"
Eliana blinked, caught off guard by the abruptness. Her hands fidgeted on the table, tracing invisible patterns on the polished wood. Shock widened her eyes, and she stammered, "H-Henry? His name is Henry Jackson. He’s... he’s just a friend from college. We reconnected recently. He’s been helping me through some things. Why—why does that matter right now?"
Rafael’s lips curved into a ghost of a smile, but there was no warmth in it—only the cold edge of sarcasm that he wielded like a weapon. He leaned forward slightly, his piercing eyes locking onto hers despite his feigned blindness. "A friend from college. How quaint. Is he the one you ran off with, then? The one who made you decide to betray my trust? To stab me in the back when I was at my most vulnerable?"
The words hit her like a slap, stealing her breath. Eliana’s face paled, her brown eyes filling with a mix of confusion and hurt. She shook her head vehemently, curls bouncing with the motion. "What? No, Rafael, you’re wrong! I would never do something like that. Henry is just a friend—nothing more. I’ve been trying to reach you because I need to explain everything. Please, you have to believe me. I could never betray you. You’re... you’re very important to me."
Rafael’s laugh cut through the café like a blade—low, bitter, and jagged enough to make the couple at the next table pause mid-sip, eyes flicking toward him before pretending not to stare. It wasn’t laughter born from humor; it was the kind that carried splinters of pain, brittle and dangerous, as though every note could draw blood if touched too closely.
He leaned back in his chair, the leather of his suit stretching smoothly across broad shoulders as he tilted his head ever so slightly. The light from the front window caught the sharp line of his jaw, sculpting his face into something almost inhumanly striking—devastatingly handsome, yet so cold and distant it was as though he existed behind glass no one could break through.
His voice followed, low and venom-laced, threading effortlessly through the quiet hum of the café.
"Never?" he echoed, the word lingering like smoke. "You’d never do something like that?"
He let the silence stretch, heavy enough to make the moment unbearable, his grey eyes fixed on her with the intensity of a man who could read lies like open pages. His lips twisted into the ghost of a smile—more cruel than kind, more wound than warmth.
"Something like what, Eliana?" His words cracked the air between them, a challenge and an accusation in one breath. "Something like burying the truth until it rots inside you? Something like standing here, looking me in the eye, while hiding that you’re my stepmother’s daughter?"
Her name fell from his tongue like a verdict, and he didn’t stop there. The bitterness in him had momentum now, a storm that refused to be contained.
"Mirabel’s own flesh and blood," he spat, though his voice stayed quiet enough not to draw more stares, each word laced with disbelief and betrayal. "Sent here to worm your way into my life. Into me."
The accusation hung between them, electric and suffocating. To anyone else, he was the picture of calm—the beautiful recluse, sharp-suited and unshaken. But Eliana knew better. She could see the fracture beneath his ice, the storm rattling the cage of his control.