Chapter 32: Worried Billionaire

Rafael Vexley’s Bentley moved like a shadow through the city, quiet but impossible to ignore. Its engine rumbled low, steady, matching the storm brewing beneath Rafael Vexley’s calm exterior. Inside, silence ruled. The kind that held weight. The kind that made you feel like something was about to snap. Rafael sat still, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest of his custom-built wheelchair. Leather creaked under his sharp suit. His eyes stared through the tinted window, catching flashes of neon signs and strangers moving through the early morning like ghosts. The city was wide awake, but completely unaware of the war going on inside him. Eliana. Her name echoed like a warning. A memory he didn’t want but couldn’t shake. Blood in her curls. Her body broken on the street. Eyes that used to shine with defiance, now dull with pain. He clenched his jaw. He couldn’t afford to feel this. Not for her. Not for anyone. Worry meant weakness. And Rafael Vexley didn’t do weak. He wasn’t built for feelings. Not anymore. He’d buried that part of himself many years ago, right alongside the people who taught him to survive by never letting anyone in. But then the hospital came into view, all cold glass and hard edges, towering like it knew things about him he hadn’t said out loud. And suddenly, his heart beat just a little too loud. Too fast. Too human. Damn it. The Bentley’s tires screeched as it pulled into the hospital’s circular drive, the sleek black beast drawing every eye in the vicinity. Rafael Vexley’s presence was a storm cloud breaking over the modest community hospital, a place of chipped linoleum floors and overworked staff, far removed from the gleaming private facilities he was known to frequent. The morning sun glinted off the car’s tinted windows, hiding the man inside—a man whose heart pounded with a worry he refused to name, even as it clawed at his chest. James leapt out, his wiry frame moving with practiced efficiency as he lowered the ramp for Rafael’s wheelchair. The hospital’s automatic doors hissed open, and Rafael rolled forward, his jaw set, his grey eyes—sharp and seeing—scanning the lobby. The air was heavy with antiseptic and hushed murmurs, and as Rafael entered, the room seemed to hold its breath. Nurses froze mid-step, charts clutched to their chests. Patients in faded gowns craned their necks from waiting room chairs, their whispers rippling like wind through grass. "Is that Rafael Vexley?" one elderly woman muttered, her eyes wide behind thick glasses. "The billionaire? Here?" A younger nurse, her scrubs patterned with cartoon kittens, leaned toward her colleague. "Why’s he at this hospital? He could buy the whole place and burn it down for fun." Her friend shushed her, but her gaze lingered on Rafael, equal parts awe and fear. Rafael felt their stares, their curiosity prickling his skin like static. He kept his expression cold, unreadable, letting them believe in the myth of the blind, crippled tycoon. But he saw everything—the way a doctor adjusted his tie nervously, the way a teenage patient snapped a sneaky photo with her phone. He saw, and he hated it. Hated the spectacle, hated the vulnerability of being here, hated the gnawing dread that had driven him to this place. Eliana. Her name was a pulse in his veins, a rhythm he couldn’t silence. James walked a step behind, his glasses glinting under the fluorescent lights, his face a mask of professional calm. But his eyes darted to Rafael, noting the tension in his employer’s shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the armrests of his chair. "Sir, Miss Bennett is in Room 214," James said softly, guiding them toward the elevator. Rafael gave a curt nod, his mind elsewhere. What would you say now? he thought, addressing the secret friend who haunted his thoughts—a figure known only to him, their cryptic messages a lifeline in his shadowed world. Would you laugh at me for rushing here? Tell me I’m a fool for caring? The friend’s latest text, received just last night, burned in his memory: "Is Eliana just like the others? Another gold-digger playing your game?" Rafael’s jaw tightened. A flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips—dry, bitter, and more armor than amusement. The elevator dinged, and they stepped into a hallway buzzing with activity. Nurses parted like the Red Sea as Rafael approached, their whispers trailing him like smoke. "He’s here for someone?" a male orderly muttered to a janitor. "Must be serious. Vexley doesn’t slum it." Rafael’s jaw tightened. Slum it. The words stung, not for himself, but for her. Eliana, lying in a bed in this underfunded hospital, because of him. At Room 214, James knocked softly before pushing the door open. The room was small, the walls a faded mint green, the air heavy with the scent of iodine. Eliana Bennett lay propped against pillows, her honey-brown eyes wide with shock as Rafael rolled in, James at his side. Her curly black hair was a tangled halo, her warm skin paler than usual, a bandage taped across her left forearm. Her hospital gown, too large, slipped off one shoulder, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone. She looked fragile, yet her gaze held a spark of defiance that made Rafael’s chest tighten. "Mr. Vexley?" Eliana’s voice was hoarse, disbelieving. She sat up straighter, wincing slightly, her full lips parting in surprise. "What are you doing here?" Rafael’s eyes narrowed, his tone sharp as a blade. "What am I doing here? What were you doing, Miss Bennett, wandering the streets like a stray at midnight? You didn’t see the car coming? Were you too busy daydreaming to watch where you were going?" His words were a whip, but beneath them, his heart thundered. You could have died , he thought, the image of her broken body flashing unbidden in his mind. Eliana’s eyes flashed, her shock giving way to indignation. She crossed her arms, ignoring the tug of the IV line and the pain on the right hand. "Excuse me? You’re the one who ordered me to pack my life and move to your house that night. I was rushing because of you. If I hadn’t left so late, I wouldn’t be here!" Her voice rose, not loud, but firm, each word a pebble flung at his armor. She wasn’t timid, wasn’t cowed by his wealth or his reputation. And that, Rafael realized with a jolt, was dangerous. James, standing by the door, blinked rapidly, his mouth slightly agape. He’d seen CEOs quiver under Rafael’s blind glare, yet here was this young woman, barely 24, trading barbs with him like an equal. Who is she really? James wondered, his curiosity deepening. And why isn’t he shutting her down? Rafael’s usual temper, a wildfire that consumed any defiance, was absent. Instead, his eyes held something James couldn’t name—something almost... human. "Ordered you?" Rafael scoffed, leaning forward, his voice low and mocking. "I don’t recall putting a gun to your head, Miss Bennett. You chose to work for me. You chose to follow my instructions. Don’t blame me for your carelessness." But his words felt hollow, his guilt a stone in his gut. He’d pushed her, demanded her presence, and now she lay here, bruised and battered. My fault, a voice whispered, one he silenced with a clench of his jaw. Eliana rolled her eyes, a gesture so brazen it startled a choked laugh from James, quickly smothered. "Carelessness?" she shot back. "I was crossing at a green light. The driver was probably drunk. But sure, let’s make this my fault." Her tone dripped with sarcasm, but her eyes held a flicker of hurt, quickly masked. She leaned back, her gaze steady. "And don’t think I’m scared of you, Mr. Vexley. I’m not." Rafael’s lips twitched, a spark of something—amusement, respect?—flashing in his eyes before he buried it. "Scared or not, you’re still in my employ. This little stunt won’t excuse you from your duties." He gestured to the bed, his voice cold but his heart racing. Get up. Be okay. Please. Before Eliana could retort, the door swung open, and a harried doctor entered, his white coat wrinkled, his eyes widening at the sight of Rafael. "Mr. Vexley, sir," he stammered, bowing slightly. "An honor. Miss Bennett is stable—minor contusions, a sprained wrist. She’s free to go." He glanced at Eliana, then back at Rafael, clearly unsure who held the reins. Rafael nodded curtly. "James, handle the bills. Anything the hospital needs, see to it." He turned to Eliana, his tone brisk. "Stop lounging like an invalid, Miss Bennett. We’re leaving." Eliana groaned, swinging her legs over the bed’s edge, her movements slow but deliberate. "I never said I wasn’t working," she muttered, her eyes narrowing. "But let’s be clear—I’m paying you back. Every penny you’re covering here, I’ll return." Her voice was fierce, her pride a flame that warmed the sterile room. Rafael raised an eyebrow, his mask of indifference cracking just enough for James to notice. "We’ll see about that," he said, his voice softer than he intended. He rolled toward the door, pausing to glance back at her. Stubborn girl, he thought, a strange warmth curling in his chest. What are you doing to me? As they left the room, the hospital’s whispers followed, a chorus of awe and speculation. Eliana, leaning on James for support, felt Rafael’s presence like a shadow—cold, commanding, yet inexplicably protective. And somewhere, in the recesses of Rafael’s mind, his secret friend’s voice echoed: "She’s got you, Rafi. And you don’t even see it."