Chapter 105: Broken Hearts
Eliana slumped against the cool leather of Henry’s SUV, her body caving inward like a fragile shell barely holding back the chaos ripping through her. Outside, the city blurred past in sharp streaks of motion—sunlight bouncing off glass buildings, midday traffic honking and weaving, shopfronts flashing with bold signs she couldn’t focus on. To her, it all looked smeared together, like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. But it wasn’t the world that wavered. It was her own tears, hot and unyielding, spilling until they warped everything in sight.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven bursts, every breath snagging on the weight inside her. The brightness of the afternoon pressed cruelly against her pain—the sun too bold, too alive for the hollow wreck she felt herself becoming.
Her skin burned, flushed with anguish, and her brown eyes were swollen, rimmed with red, raw from hours of holding back only to break now. She clutched her phone like it was the last tether keeping her from shattering completely, her slender fingers trembling so hard the screen rattled against her palm. A sob tore out of her, sharp and uninvited, leaving her gasping for breath in the tight silence of the car.
Henry’s grip on the wheel stayed firm, steady, but the faint tightening of his jaw betrayed the heaviness he carried for her. In the wash of afternoon sunlight streaming through the windshield, the hard edges of his chiseled features seemed gentler, softened by the concern etched across his face. His warm eyes flicked toward her crumpled figure, then back to the road, as if he couldn’t decide whether to drive her forward or pull over and gather her in his arms. The air between them was thick with her grief, his silence offering her space, but his presence anchoring her in the storm.
"Eliana, hey... talk to me," Henry said gently, his voice a low rumble of comfort as he navigated the traffic toward his penthouse. "What happened back there? You look like the world’s ending."
She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, but fresh tears spilled over immediately, tracing salty paths down her face. "He... he wouldn’t listen, Henry. Rafael just... he accused me of being on Mirabel’s side, like I was some spy sent to destroy him. I tried to explain, but he cut me off. Threatened me. Said if he saw me again, he’d... he’d kill me himself." Her voice broke on the last words, dissolving into another wave of sobs. "I respect him. I like him—hell, I love him—and yet he didn’t even give me a chance. It’s as if everything we went through together, every moment that meant the world to me, was just... nothing to him."
Henry’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw clenching. "That sounds brutal. But Eliana, people say things in anger they don’t mean. Maybe once he cools down—"
"No," she whispered, shaking her head, her long curly hair matted against her damp skin. "You didn’t see his eyes. They were so cold, like steel. He thinks I betrayed him. And now... now I don’t know how to fix it." She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving as the SUV pulled into the underground garage of Henry’s sleek penthouse building.
By the time they reached the elevator, Eliana’s sobs had dwindled into fragile whimpers, the sound barely more than the shudder of her breath. Her face—usually warm and full of quiet strength—was drawn tight, streaked with tears that carved harsh lines into her softness. Henry slipped an arm firmly yet gently around her shoulders, his steady presence guiding her forward when her legs felt too weak to carry her.
The elevator ride blurred into silence, and soon they stepped into the expanse of the penthouse. The living room stretched out before them, a masterpiece of glass and steel, its wide windows framing the afternoon city skyline in all its glittering arrogance. Towers reached for the sky, sunlight ricocheted off glass facades, the world outside alive and sprawling.
But none of it touched her. Not the luxury, not the view, not the world still spinning beyond her grief. Eliana sank into the couch the moment they crossed the threshold, her body folding in on itself, knees drawn close, arms wrapped tight as if she could hold her own broken pieces together. She curled there, small and trembling, like a wounded animal seeking shelter, her pain swallowing the room in a silence that no city skyline could ever outshine.
"Here, let me get you some water," Henry said, his tall frame moving with efficient grace to the kitchen. He returned with a glass, pressing it into her hands. "Drink this. And breathe. You’re going to make yourself sick."
She took a shaky sip, her lips trembling. "I can’t stop thinking about it. The way he rolled away in that wheelchair, like I was poison. I have to tell him the truth—about Mirabel, about everything. And... and the baby." Her hand instinctively drifted to her abdomen, a secret she hadn’t fully shared yet.
Henry sat beside her, his handsome face creased with empathy. "Then try calling him. Right now. If he’s not picking up, leave a message. Or text him. Explain it all. He can’t ignore you forever."
Eliana nodded slowly, hope flickering faintly in her expressive eyes. She pulled out her phone, fingers hovering over Rafael’s contact. "Okay... okay, I’ll try." She hit call, holding the device to her ear. It rang once, twice—then straight to voicemail. "He’s sending me there already?" She tried again, and again, each rejection like a fresh stab. After the fifth attempt, she lowered the phone, fresh tears welling. "He’s ignoring me. Completely."
Meanwhile, across the city in the opulent confines of his mansion, Rafael Vexley sat rigidly in his study, the room a fortress of dark wood paneling and leather-bound books that smelled of old money and isolation. His athletic build tensed beneath his crisp designer suit, chiseled jaw set in a line of unyielding fury. Those piercing steel eyes stared blankly at the wall, though his mind replayed the café scene in vivid, torturous detail.
James stood nearby, a silent sentinel with a furrowed brow. "Sir, perhaps you should take a moment. That confrontation—"
Rafael’s phone buzzed on the desk, Eliana’s name flashing on the screen. He glanced at it, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "How could I have been so blind? Not literally, but... foolish. I let her in, James. Past the walls, past the lies I built to protect myself. And for what? To be betrayed again? By her?" His voice was a low growl, laced with raw hurt that he rarely let surface. The phone buzzed again, and he swiped it to voicemail without a second thought. "She played me like a puppet. Me—Rafael Vexley, the man who sees through everyone. What a joke."
James shifted uncomfortably. "With all due respect, sir, you might be jumping to conclusions. Eliana doesn’t strike me as the type—"
"Enough," Rafael snapped, his sarcastic edge sharpening. "I don’t need your psychoanalysis. Just... handle the perimeter checks. Make sure no one’s lurking."
Back in the penthouse, Eliana’s frustration burned hotter with every unanswered ring. Her hands shook as she gripped the phone, her voice breaking in the silence. "He’s not picking up. Fine—texts it is."
Her thumbs flew across the screen, typing faster than her tears could fall, each drop splattering against the glass and smudging her vision. The words poured out in a rush, messy and unpolished, but truer than anything she’d ever written:
"Rafael, please read this. I swear, I didn’t know Mirabel until that night at your house. She’s my mother, yes, but she didn’t even recognize me—she has no idea who I am. I should’ve told you sooner, I know that. I was scared. But believe me when I say I’ve always been on your side. And I know I have never said this before, but, I love you, Rafael. I always have."
Her breath hitched, fingers hesitating before she forced herself to finish the message, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"And there’s something else. I’m pregnant. With your child. I wanted to tell you in person, to see your eyes when I said it—but you wouldn’t listen. Please, call me back. We need to talk."
She pressed send, her chest heaving as the little bubble shot across the screen, vanishing into the ether. The silence that followed felt louder than her sobs, as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting to see whether he would answer... or let her drown in the weight of her confession.