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17kNovel > His Bride in Chains > Chapter 31: Groaning Walls

Chapter 31: Groaning Walls

    <h4>Chapter 31: Groaning Walls</h4>


    Morning light slipped through the heavy curtains, spreading warm streaks across the room. It glowed on the polished floors, skimmed past tall bookshelves, and touched the edges of furniture too perfect to be touched. The air carried the scent of cedar and leather, with something colder beneath it—like power held too tightly.


    Rafael Vexleyy across his bed, sheets twisted around him. His dark, wavy hair was a mess, but his eyes were wide open, locked on the ceiling above him like it owed him something. Last night’s anger hadn’t left. It just curled tighter inside him, hot and sharp, waiting for a reason to explode.


    Eliana hadn’te back.


    She was supposed to. He told her to. And yet, she didn’t. That disobedience, that simple refusal, burned more than it should have.


    With a quiet breath, he swung his legs off the bed and sat up, every movement slow and controlled—like he was daring someone to watch him. He took in the room around him: the crystal chandelier above, the fine Persian rug under his feet, the tablet he’d thrown across the room still lying face-down by the dresser.


    Even if he could see it all. Even if he could walk.


    He wore the whole paralysis thing like armor. No one was allowed to know—not his staff, not his friends, not even his family. Especially not his family. Letting them think he was weak gave him the upper hand. And Rafael never gave that up willingly.


    Not when people were circling like sharks.


    "ra!" he barked, his voice sharp enough to shake the walls. The door creaked open, and ra, shuffled in, her ck bun impable despite the early hour. Behind her trailed two maids, their starched uniforms rustling as they carried a tray of pressed suits and polished shoes.


    "Good morning, Mr. Vexley," ra said, her tone warm but professional, betraying none of the exhaustion of serving a man who demanded perfection. "Your navy Tom Ford suit today, or the charcoal Armani?"


    "Charcoal," Rafael muttered, his jaw tight. He stood, allowing the maids to fuss over him, their hands deftly buttoning his crisp white shirt, adjusting the silk tie, and slipping the tailored jacket over his broad shoulders. He despised the charade—every touch, every adjustment, a reminder of the lie he lived. But it was necessary. The world saw a blind, crippled billionaire, and that illusion kept him safe. For now.


    ra handed him his dark sses, her eyes flickering with something like pity before she masked it. "Will you be needing anything else before breakfast, sir?"


    "No," he said curtly, easing himself into the sleek, custom-built wheelchair that waited by the door. The maids stepped back, their heads bowed, as ra pushed him toward the hallway. The wheels glided silently over the marble floors, the mansion’s grandeur unfolding around them—crystal sconces, gilded frames, a staircase that spiraled like a promise of power. Rafael’s fingers drummed against the armrest, his mind still on Eliana. Where the hell is she? he thought, his lips twitching into a scowl. She’ll learn to obey. They all do.


    The dining room was a cavern of elegance, its long mahogany table gleaming under a chandelier that dripped with crystals. Rafael expected to see James waiting with the morning reports, a cup of ck coffee steaming beside him. Instead, he found his father, Mr. Vexley Sr., standing at the head of the table, his silver hair glinting like a de. The older man’s sharp features were twisted into a scowl, his tailored suit immacte but his posture rigid with barely contained fury.


    "Rafael," Vexley Sr. said, his voice low and dangerous, "why didn’t youe to mest night? Your mother told you I wanted to see you."


    Rafael’s lips curled into a cold, mockingugh, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. He leaned back in his wheelchair, his steel-grey eyes glinting with defiance he didn’t bother to hide. "First of all, Father, Mirabel isn’t my mother. She’s your trophy wife, nothing more. Second, I’m the one in this damn chair, remember? Blind and crippled." He gestured to himself with exaggerated flourish, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "If you want to talk, youe to me. Not the other way around."


    Vexley Sr.’s face reddened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The room seemed to shrink under the weight of his anger, the air crackling with tension. "You insolent—" he began, but then he stopped, exhaling sharply through his nose. He straightened, smoothing his jacket as if brushing off Rafael’s words. "Fine. Let’s get to the point. I came to discuss your grandfather’s estate."


    Rafael’s jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the armrests until his knuckles whitened. He knew where this was going. He always did. "Go on," he said, his voice t, daring his father to continue.


    "Caleb," Vexley Sr. said, his tone softening as if he were discussing the weather. "Your stepbrother. He’s struggling, Rafael. You have more than enough—morepanies, more properties than any one man needs. Your grandfather’s estate... that eastern parcel, the one with the vineyards. Sign it over to Caleb. It’s only fair."


    Rafael’sugh was sharp, bitter, slicing through the room like a whip. "Fair?" he spat, leaning forward, his eyes zing despite the lie of their supposed cloudiness. "Let’s talk about fair, Father. You wrote me out of your will because I was blind. Left everything to your precious children. But Grandfather? He saw through your bullshit. He left everything to me. And now you want me to hand over what’s mine to Caleb? Not a chance. Not in this lifetime."


    Vexley Sr.’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing. "You’re being selfish, Rafael. You—"


    "Selfish?" Rafael interrupted, his voice rising, each word a dagger. "I’m the one who lost everything—my sight, my mobility, my trust in this family. You think I’ll just give away what I fought to keep? Dream on, old man."


    The door swung open, cutting through the tension like a guillotine. James stepped inside, his wiry frame dwarfed by the grandeur of the room. His sses glinted under the chandelier’s light, and his face was pale, his usualposure frayed. "Mr. Vexley, I—oh, I’m so sorry," he stammered, bowing slightly to Vexley Sr. "I didn’t mean to interrupt."


    Rafael’s gaze snapped to James, his irritation tempered by curiosity. "What is it, James?" he asked, his tone sharp but not unkind. "Speak."


    James hesitated, ncing at Vexley Sr. before stepping closer to Rafael. He leaned down, his voice a hushed whisper against Rafael’s ear. "It’s Eliana, sir. She’s been in an ident. She’s in the hospital."


    Rafael’s heart lurched, a jolt of something he refused to name—fear, guilt, something softer—flooding his chest. His fingers tightened on the armrests, his mind racing. Eliana. Hurt. The image of her honey-brown eyes, defiant yet vulnerable, shed before him, and for a moment, the room seemed to tilt.


    "Father," Rafael said, his voice steady despite the storm inside him, "something urgent hase up. We’ll finish this another time." He didn’t wait for a response, his hands already gripping the controls of his chair, propelling himself toward the door with a speed that belied his supposed frailty.


    "Rafael!" Vexley Sr. called after him, his voice a mix of anger and confusion. "Where are you going? We’re not done here!"


    But Rafael didn’t answer. The dining room, with its glittering chandelier and suffocating expectations, faded behind him as he rolled through the mansion’s wide halls, ra hurrying to keep up. "James, get the car," he snapped, his voice low but urgent. "Now."


    James nodded, already pulling out his phone to alert the driver. They reached the front entrance, where Rafael’s custom-modified Bentley waited, its sleek ck frame gleaming in the morning light. The ramp lowered with a soft hum, allowing Rafael to maneuver his wheelchair inside. James slid into the driver’s seat, his hands steady despite the tension radiating from his employer.


    "Straight to the hospital," Rafael said, his voice clipped as he stared out the tinted window, his reflection a mask of cold determination. "And step on it."


    The car pulled away, gravel crunching under the tires, leaving Vexley Sr.’s shouts fading in the distance. Rafael’s mind was a whirlwind—Eliana, broken and alone in a hospital bed, her soft curls syed against a sterile pillow, her honey-brown eyes dimmed with pain. He clenched his jaw, his fingers digging into the leather armrests. She defied me, he thought, but the anger felt hollow now, overshadowed by something he couldn’t name. Something dangerous.


    As the city blurred past, Rafael’s thoughts spiraled. Eliana wasn’t like the others—he’d known it from the start, even if he’d fought to deny it. Her quiet strength, her stubborn hope, had left a scratch on the walls he’d built around himself. And now, with her life hanging in the bnce, he felt those walls groaning. He leaned back, closing his eyes, the hum of the engine a faint echo against the storm in his heart.
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