Chapter 42: Confrontation

Eliana’s pulse thundered in her ears, a frantic rhythm that made it hard to breathe. There he was—Jason Asher—standing in Rafael Vexley’s lavish study like he belonged there, though his once-effortless smile now twitched under the weight of her shock. How? How could he be here, in this house? Her chest tightened, heat pooling beneath her skin, and her thoughts locked onto the only possible betrayal—Sarai. That snake of a best friend—no, former best friend—who could turn lies into silk and make poison sound like poetry. Of course Sarai would feed Jason her location, dressing the truth in just enough deception to make it sting. Her good hand curled into a fist at her side, the other still trapped in the sling. Even without speaking, she knew Rafael was studying her; his grey eyes had that way of cutting through people until there was nowhere left to hide. "Mr. Vexley," she said, keeping her voice steady, "can you give us a moment?" She didn’t wait for his reply. In two steps she was in front of Jason, her fingers locking around his wrist in a grip that burned with anger and urgency. "Come with me," she snapped, the words sharp and low, like a blade meant to wound quietly. She yanked him toward the door, her sling knocking against her side with every step—a dull throb she ignored. Jason stumbled once, caught off guard, but didn’t resist as she dragged him out of the study, their footsteps ringing against the marble hall. They didn’t stop until a side door gave way to the open air, spilling them into a vast, manicured garden. The garden was a lush escape from the mansion’s cold grandeur, alive with the scent of blooming roses and the soft rustle of leaves in the late morning breeze. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of ancient oaks and onto the winding stone paths. Birds chirped obliviously overhead, their melodies a stark contrast to the storm brewing between Eliana and Jason. She released his wrist as if it burned her, spinning to face him with her arms crossed protectively over her chest, the sling making the gesture lopsided and vulnerable. "Why are you here, Jason?" Eliana demanded, her voice stern, laced with the raw edge of betrayal. Her honey-brown eyes blazed with a wildfire that refused to be tamed. The breeze tugged at her long curls, sending them whipping across her shoulders like a flag declaring war. "How did you even find me? Was it Sarai?" Her words snapped like breaking glass. "Did she send you here to gloat?" Jason’s hazel eyes narrowed, a storm brewing behind them. His shoulders stiffened, the easy charm he used to wear now looking like a cheap suit that didn’t quite fit. Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of those too-perfect, tailored slacks, he looked every bit the polished man she once thought she knew. But now, that golden-boy sheen felt hollow—like gold paint over rust. "Why am I here?" he shot back, his voice climbing. "Eliana, what the hell are you doing living in Rafael Vexley’s house?" His words ricocheted off the tall trees, heavy and accusing. "Do you even realize what people are saying about you?" He took a step closer, his tone breaking into something raw, almost pleading. "That you’re... leeching off him? I came because I care, damn it!" Eliana’s laugh broke free before she could stop it—low, sharp, and edged with bitterness. It sliced through the morning air, too brittle to be anything but disbelief. She tilted her head back, the sound carrying a thread of hysteria, like she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or scream. "Care?" she repeated, her voice trembling with scorn. "You care now? Don’t insult me, Jason. This is my life, and it’s none of your damn business. You lost the right to ask me anything the moment you trampled on my heart and left me to pick up the pieces." Jason’s expression turned to stone, his jaw locking tight enough to crack. He closed the distance between them with a few deliberate steps, crowding into her space the way he used to—like he owned it, like she still belonged there. In his eyes, she was still that girl from their past: the one who would twist herself into knots for a scrap of his time, the one who thought his smile was worth any wound. "I have every right," he said, his voice dropping into that practiced, honeyed tone that had once made her forget her own name. Now it just felt like a blade wrapped in silk. "You’re my fiancée, Eliana. Or did you forget? We were engaged. That doesn’t just vanish because of a few mistakes." The absurdity of his words hit her like a slap, and Eliana’s laughter faded into a disbelieving scoff. Her expressive eyes widened, tears of frustration pricking at the corners, but she blinked them away, refusing to let him see her break. "Fiancée? Jason, are you delusional? When I needed you most—when my father was dying, when I was drowning in debt—you abandoned me at your parents’ house like some unwanted stray. Your mother humiliated me every single day, treating me like dirt under her designer heels. And when I finally had enough, when I walked out, she snatched that cheap engagement ring off my finger and told me never to come back. You weren’t there to stop her. You didn’t chase after me." Jason shifted uncomfortably, his blonde hair catching the sunlight as he averted his gaze to the vibrant rose bushes nearby, their petals a mocking reminder of the romance he’d shattered. But Eliana wasn’t done; the words poured out like a dam breaking, each one laced with the pain she’d buried for too long. "And you? You never cared where I went, if I was okay, if I was even alive. Not one call, Jason. Not a single message. And the worst part—the absolute worst—was walking in on you and Sarai, tangled in silk sheets, laughing about me behind my back. Making fun of the ’poor little Eliana’ who thought she could hold onto you. You betrayed me in every way possible." Jason’s shoulders sagged slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing his handsome features, but it was fleeting, overshadowed by his narcissistic need to justify himself. He reached for her, slow and uncertain, his fingers hovering just shy of her arm. But the second his hand came close, Eliana recoiled like his touch might burn. "Eliana, I’m sorry. Okay? I am," he began, the words tumbling out in a rush, like he could patch the cracks between them with enough syllables. "Sarai... she—" He swallowed hard, eyes darting away for a beat. "She seduced me. Came onto me when I was... vulnerable." He stepped closer, his voice dipping into a coaxing tone she’d heard a hundred times before. "I’m a man, Eli. We’re... prone to that kind of thing. Cheating happens." He winced, as if the bluntness might sting less if he softened it with the next words. "But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. You’re the one I want to come home to." His gaze searched hers, pleading. "Forgive me. We can start over." Eliana’s face twisted in disgust, her full pink lips curling into a sneer as she stared at him, seeing him truly for the first time—not as her childhood crush, but as the spoiled, entitled boy he’d always been. "You’re such an entitled asshole, Jason. Do you even hear yourself? ’Prone to cheating’? That’s your excuse? Love isn’t something you dip in and out of like it’s a game. You don’t get to hurt me like that and then demand forgiveness because you’re ’a man.’" Jason recoiled as if she’d struck him, his eyes widening in genuine shock. This wasn’t the Eliana he knew—the quiet, resilient girl who’d suffer in silence. Her words hung in the air, sharp and unyielding, and for a moment, the garden seemed to hold its breath. "You... you can’t talk to me like that," he stammered, his voice cracking with disbelief. "Eliana, do you not love me anymore? After everything we’ve been through?" She met his gaze head-on, her heart aching but resolute, the emotional wounds she’d carried finally scarring over into strength. "No, Jason. I don’t love you anymore. I regret every second I wasted on you—every tear, every compromise. All you care about is yourself, your precious reputation. Look at me! I’m standing here with my arm in a sling, and you didn’t even ask if I’m okay. Not once. You just stormed in here demanding answers like you own me." Jason’s face paled, the accusation hitting home, but his pride wouldn’t let him back down. "I was about to ask about your hand! God, Eliana, you’re just hurt right now—that’s why you’re yelling. You don’t mean any of this. We can fix it." He paused, his voice softening manipulatively. "I don’t want to leave. Not like this." "Leave, Jason," Eliana said firmly, her voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. "I don’t want to see you again. Ever. Go back to Sarai, or whoever else strokes your ego. Just go." But Jason refused, his entitlement flaring into desperation. He stepped forward, grabbing her good hand before she could pull away. "Eliana, wait—" Before she could process, before she could react or shove him off, he yanked her into his arms, his lips crashing down on hers in a forceful kiss. It was possessive, demanding, tasting of regret and manipulation. Eliana’s body went rigid, shock freezing her in place as the world narrowed to the unwanted pressure of his mouth, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses. Her mind screamed to push him away, but the sling hampered her, and for a split second, old habits of submission warred with her newfound fire. Inside the mansion, in the dim confines of his study, Rafael Vexley sat rigidly in his wheelchair, his piercing grey eyes burning with an emotion he refused to name. He couldn’t believe it: Eliana, his caregiver, the woman who’d wormed her way under his skin despite his best efforts, had clasped Jason’s hand like a lover reclaiming her partner and hauled him out of the room as if they were merely squabbling sweethearts. The image replayed in his mind, igniting a fury that twisted his chiseled features into a mask of cold rage. "She’s nothing to you," Rafael muttered to himself, his deep voice echoing in the empty room as he gripped the armrests, knuckles whitening. "Just a money-hungry girl playing her part. No reason to be angry." But the words felt hollow, a lie even to his own ears. His calculating mind, sharpened by years of betrayal and isolation, rebelled against the intrusion of feeling. Unbidden, the memory of that morning flooded back: waking to Eliana’s warm, naked form curled against him, her soft brown skin glowing in the dawn light, her expressive eyes wide with vulnerability. The way her body had fit against his, the unexpected tenderness that had cracked his armored heart. It replayed in vivid detail—the scent of her hair, the curve of her lips, the way she’d fled in shame. Anger surged anew, hotter this time, but he shoved it down. "Not jealousy," he growled, rising abruptly. "Never that." Minutes ticked by in agonizing silence, the study’s antique clock mocking him with its steady rhythm. Unable to sit still, Rafael snatched the CCTV tablet from his desk, his long fingers flying across the screen to pull up the feeds. He scanned the hallways first—empty. Then the garden cameras flickered to life, and there they were: Eliana and Jason, locked in a kiss amid the roses. Her back to the camera, but the intimacy was unmistakable—Jason’s arms around her, their bodies pressed close. A roar built in Rafael’s chest, primal and unchecked. "Damn it!" he snarled, hurling the tablet across the room with all his athletic strength. It smashed against the wall in a shower of glass and sparks, the screen shattering like his composure. For the first time in years, the billionaire recluse felt the walls of his carefully constructed world crumbling, jealousy—no, something deeper—clawing its way free.