<h4>Chapter 47: Square One Again</h4>


    The home theater was dim, the glow from the frozen movie scene catching on Rafael Vexley’s sharp features. Mia and Jack’s rain-soaked dance was stuck mid-spin on the massive screen, the moment hanging in the air like an unfinished sentence. The smell of popcorn still lingered, faint and buttery, from the bowl cooling on the table beside him.


    Rafael leaned back into the plush leather couch, letting himself sink in, ying the part of the man who couldn’t move or see. Ten minutes had passed since Eliana had left to grab more soda—way too long for a quick kitchen run. His thoughts started to turn. What if she’d tripped, her arm in that sling making her clumsy? What if she’d dropped a ss, and it shattered across the marble like sharp little usations? The idea nagged at him, unsettling in a way he didn’t like to admit.


    Rafael let out a sigh that sounded more annoyed than concerned, then pushed himself toward the wheelchair waiting at the edge of the room. His hands gripped the armrests, lifting himself into the seat with the smooth, practiced motion of someone who’d done it a thousand times—still keeping up the act of being weak.


    He was about to roll out, the chair gliding quietly toward the door, when quick footsteps rushed in from the hall. ra appeared—dark hair pulled into a neat bun, uniform still perfectly pressed even at thiste hour. She stopped in the doorway, chest rising fast, her kind eyes pulled tight with worry.


    "Mr. Vexley!" she eximed, her voice breathless, making sure to announce herself as she always did, respecting his blindness. "It’s ra, sir. Oh, heavens, you need to know—Miss Eliana and Miss Celina are fighting in the kitchen! It’s chaos down there!"


    Rafael’s steel-grey eyes, shed with fury. His jaw clenched, chiseled features hardening into a mask of controlled rage. "Fighting?" he repeated, his voice low and thunderous, like the rumble before a storm. Without another word, he propelled the wheelchair forward, wheels humming against the polished marble as he rolled swiftly toward the kitchen, his mind racing ahead to the scene of violence that awaited.


    The kitchen came into view, but instead of the calm hum it usually held, it pulsed with chaos—sharp grunts, high-pitched shrieks, and the metallic ng of utensils hitting tile. Rafael stormed through the doorway, his presence cutting through the noise like a sudden shadow blotting out the sun.


    The scene was a storm in motion. Spicesy scattered across the floor, fine powders drifting in the air like strange winter snow. In the middle of it, Celina was on top of Eliana, all tangled fury—her once-perfect blonde waves now a wild mane, eyes zing, nails shing like ws.


    Eliana, her warm brown skin gleaming with effort, fought back with every ounce of strength she could muster. Her good hand shoved, twisted, pushed—anything to create space—while the other arm, bound in a sling, dangled uselessly. But even hobbled, her determination was unshakable, burning hotter than the chaos around her.


    "What the hell is going on here?"


    Rafael’s voice cracked through the chaos—deep, steady, and sharp enough to slice the frenzy clean in half. The sound hit like a st of ice water, jolting the room into stillness.


    Celina jerked back as if pulled by invisible strings, scrambling off Eliana. Her sequined top was twisted, one strap slipping off her shoulder, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.


    Eliana pressed herself against the counter, catching her bnce. Her eyes—wide, fierce, and still burning—locked on Celina, though pain glimmered just beneath the surface. A fresh red welt zed across her cheek, the sting of Celina’s earlier p written in skin.


    Rafael didn’t turn his head toward Celina, maintaining his blind facade, but his tone dripped with ice. "Celina, why are you in my kitchen? How many times have I warned you—and everyone in your family—to stay out of my wing of the house? This is my space. Mine."


    Celina straightened, tossing her hair back with a dramatic ir, her blue eyes glistening with feigned tears. "Oh,e on, Rafael! You’re my brother—family! Is it a crime to visit? To check on you?" Her voice cracked artfully, sobs bubbling up as she pointed usingly at Eliana. "She attacked me! That little peasant came at me like a wild animal! I was just... just mixing some tea, and she lost it!"


    Eliana’s lips parted, the words trembling on the edge of fury. Her long curls were a wild halo around her face, strands sticking where sweat had kissed her skin during the scuffle. She pushed off the counter, her slender frame quivering—not from fear, but from the rush of indignation coursing through her.


    "That’s a lie, Rafael!" Her voice cracked through the air, raw and sharp. "She called me names—trash, a toy for you to use and toss aside! She pped me first! I was defending myself!" Her chest rose with each breath, the words tumbling out in a storm. "And besides... she wasn’t mixing tea, she was—"


    "Enough!" Rafael snapped, his sarcasm sharpening into a weapon. "Both of you, shut it. Celina, get out. Go back to your own wing of the mansion. Now."


    Celina’s face contorted in fury, her entitled pout twisting into a snarl. She stomped her designer heel against the floor, the echo sharp and petnt. "Fine! But you’ll regret this, siding with her over family!" With a final re at Eliana, she whirled and stormed out, her footsteps fading like a retreating tempest.


    Eliana turned to Rafael, her voice softening,ced with urgency. "Rafael, please, let me exin—"


    But he was already wheeling away, his wheelchair turning sharply as anger propelled him out of the kitchen. The hallway blurred past him, opulent walls lined with abstract art that he could see perfectly but pretended not to. Eliana’s lighter steps followed, hesitant yet persistent, her sneakers whispering against the floor.


    He rolled straight into his study, towards the massive oak desk dominating the center like a throne. The room smelled of aged paper and faint cigar smoke. Shelves lined with leather-bound books loomed around him, the dimmps spilling soft light over the intricate patterns of the Persian rug. Rafael eased into position behind the desk, his fingers curling around the armrests. He let his expression settle into calm control, masking the sharp focus behind his "unseeing" eyes.


    Eliana slipped in quietly behind him, closing the heavy door with a soft click. She stood there for a moment, her face shadowed by her emotions, before the words tumbled out in a rush of apology. "Rafael, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have engaged Miss Celina in a fight. It was wrong—I know that. Please, forgive me."


    Rafael’s head snapped up, his piercing eyes—still hidden in pretense—burning with frustration. He mmed a fist on the desk, the sound reverberating like a gunshot. "Sorry? Eliana, I have a certain way I run this household. Order. Control. And you bring your... your trashy lifestyle into it? Couldn’t you keep that outside these walls? Resorting to violence at every provocation? Fighting with Celina—that was the most stupid thing you could ever do in your life. I’m disappointed in you. Deeply."


    Eliana’s breath hitched, her brown eyes widening as if the words had pped her harder than any hand could. They pierced straight through the fragile hope she’d been nursing all day, splintering it into pieces. Before Rafael, she had been a quieter version of herself—calm, contained, swallowing insults like they were bitter medicine she’d grown used to. That silence had been her shield, but it was the kind that let knives slip through. And they had—over and over—each betrayal cutting deeper than thest.


    She’d promised herself she’d never be that girl again. With nothing left but her voice, she had vowed to fight back, even if her opponent towered over her, even if the odds were stacked to crush her. She would stand her ground.


    But Rafael’s outburstnded like a cruel echo from the past. <i>Trashy lifestyle. </i>The words clung to her like oil, thick and suffocating. She could feel the sting in her eyes, the burn in her throat. In moments like this, it was hard not to believe the ugly truth she’d tried to outrun—that no matter how hard she fought, the world was always ready to remind her she could never truly win.


    She thought he’d changed, that the man who’dughed with her over popcorn had softened his edges. Foolish, she chided herself inwardly. Just a fool. She bit her lip, refusing to dignify his rage with a retort. Instead, she straightened her modest blouse, her voice steady but quiet. "I’m sorry for fighting with your sister." With that, she turned and left the room, her steps measured, the door closing behind her with a finality that echoed in the silence.


    Rafael sat in silence, the storm inside him slowly ebbing, anger receding like a tide slipping back into the depths. In its ce came regret—a feeling that had crept into his life with rming frequency ever since Eliana had stepped into it. It twisted in his gut, sharp and insistent. He dragged a hand through his dark, wavy hair, releasing a sigh that felt heavier than it should.


    What Eliana didn’t know—what he couldn’t bring himself to say—was that her fire, her refusal to bow, had just painted a bright red target on her back. His stepmother, Mirabel, and her venomous brood thrived on stamping out threats. They would see Eliana as just another obstacle to crush, and they never missed their mark.


    That was the truth that haunted him: the fear of losing the only person who had managed to melt even the smallest corner of his frozen heart. And it wouldn’t be fate or distance that took her away—it would be the danger swirling unseen around them, a web of deceit he couldn’t yet reveal to her without destroying everything he hadid out.


    The study felt colder now, every detail around him sharper, as if the room itself was holding its breath. Somewhere in the stillness, Rafael searched for a way to bridge the gap between them—without tearing down the careful walls he’d built to keep her and himself safe.