Chapter 57: The Search

The Vexley estate, usually so perfectly controlled and intimidating, felt strangely empty that night. The kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful, but heavy—like the whole house was holding its breath. Outside, the moon hung low against the dark sky, its silver glow spilling across the neat lawns and tall hedges. Inside, the air carried a tension so sharp it clung to the skin. Rafael moved quickly through the dim corridors, panic etched into his face. His hands gripped the arms of his wheelchair so tightly that they turned white, but the truth was slipping through—his movements were too smooth, too fluid to match the image he showed the world. His sharp grey eyes darted everywhere, scanning the shadows as though the walls themselves might give him an answer. When he reached the security room, he shoved the door open so hard it crashed against the wall. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the stillness. Blue light from the rows of monitors lit up his face in a harsh glow. "Pull the footage. Now," Rafael snapped, his voice rough with urgency. The guard on duty—George, a big man with a thick neck and jittery hands—nearly leapt out of his chair, knocking his coffee over in the process. "Y-yes, sir. What... what do you want me to pull exactly?" he stammered, fumbling at the keyboard. "From tonight. Everything. The gardens, the gates, the servants’ exits—don’t make me repeat myself," Rafael growled, leaning forward. His dark hair slipped into his eyes as he scanned the screens himself, as if he didn’t trust anyone else to look hard enough. George’s fingers shook as he rewound the tapes. The images sped backward in a blur of shadows and movement. Minutes stretched unbearably long before slowing to real time again. The gardens looked calm, almost mocking in their stillness. The hedges swayed lazily in the night breeze. The gates stood closed, solid, silent. Not a flicker of movement, not a shadow slipping through. "I... I don’t see anything, sir, " George whispered, swallowing hard. Rafael’s breath caught. His chest rose and fell like he’d just been struck. He stared at the screen as though he could will the truth to appear there. "Nothing?" His voice cracked with a mix of disbelief and fury. His hand slammed against the arm of the wheelchair. "That’s not possible. She couldn’t have just vanished!" George zoomed in, switching angles. "Sir, I... I don’t see anyone. No motion detected. It’s like she was a ghost." Rafael’s heart pounded like a war drum in his chest. "A ghost? Don’t be absurd. Someone helped her. Play it again and look harder!" But the screens revealed the same void. Eliana, with her slender frame and flowing curly hair, had slipped through his ironclad security like smoke. Shock rippled through him, cold and unrelenting. How? Who? The questions burned in his mind, fueling a fear he hadn’t felt in years—not since the crash that had scarred him so deeply. He wheeled back, slamming his fist on the console. "Damn it!" Grabbing his phone, he dialed James with trembling fingers. James, his trusted confidant and secretary, answered on the second ring, his voice groggy from sleep. "Mr Vexley? It’s three in the morning. What’s going on?" "James, she’s gone!" Rafael’s words tumbled out in a desperate rush, his usual sarcasm shattered. "Eliana left the house. She escaped somehow—slipped right past everything. And now she’s not answering her phone. It’s switched off. I... I don’t know what to do." There was a pause, the sound of rustling sheets on the other end. "Whoa, slow down, boss. Escaped? How? You had the place locked down tighter than Fort Knox." "I don’t know! The cameras show nothing. Absolutely nothing. It’s like she was never here." Rafael’s voice cracked, a vulnerability creeping in that surprised even him. "She called me earlier, furious. Screaming about her father. She went to the hospital and found out he was transferred. She thinks I did it to control her." James let out a low whistle. "Transferred? But you did that for his safety. To protect him from Mirabel’s reach." "Yes, but she doesn’t know that! She hung up on me, James. Slammed the phone down like I was the enemy." Rafael paced now, abandoning the wheelchair entirely in his agitation, his tall frame forming long shadows on the walls. "She was so angry... I’ve never heard her like that. Broken. Betrayed." "Alright, calm down," James said firmly, his tone shifting to the steady reassurance of a man used to crises. "Think about it. The only place she’d go in a panic like that is the hospital to see her old man. She’s probably still there, cooling off." Rafael shook his head, though James couldn’t see it. "No. No, I feel it in my gut. Something’s wrong. She’s not safe out there. Mirabel’s people... they could be anywhere." James sighed, the sound heavy with understanding. "Okay, I get it. You’re worried. Tell you what—I’ll head over to St. Mary’s right now. Check the place out, talk to the staff, pull their CCTV if I have to. We’ll find her." "Please, James," Rafael begged, the word foreign on his lips. He, the billionaire recluse who commanded empires, reduced to pleading. "Hurry. I can’t... I can’t lose her." "I’m on it, boss. Sit tight." The line went dead, and Rafael stared at his phone, his chest heaving. Outside, James threw on a jacket over his pajamas, his mind racing. The cool night air slapped his face as he slid into his car, the engine roaring to life. The drive to St. Mary’s was a blur of empty streets and flashing streetlights, his thoughts fixed on Eliana—the kind-hearted girl who’d somehow thawed his boss’s frozen heart. Back at the estate, Rafael’s fingers flew across his phone again, this time texting his mysterious friend, his shadowy ally known only through encrypted channels. "Eliana ran out of the house tonight. She’s not answering calls—phone’s off. I think something’s happened." The response came almost immediately, the friend’s worry palpable even in text. "What? Rafael, this is exactly what I warned you about. You stopped her from leaving when she wanted to go, and now look. She’s exposed. Mirabel’s network is vast; they could have eyes everywhere." Rafael’s thumbs hovered, his reply frantic. "I know, damn it. I was trying to protect her. Just... help me find her. Please." "Calm down," the friend texted back. "I’ll activate my contacts. Pull strings in the underground channels. If anyone’s seen her, I’ll know. But Rafael, you need to stay composed. Panicking won’t help." Rafael nodded to himself, drawing a shaky breath. But composure was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He stormed into the staff quarters, flipping on lights and bellowing like a thunderclap. "Everyone up! Now!" The household staff stumbled out of their rooms, bleary-eyed and confused—maids in nightgowns, cooks with tousled hair, gardeners rubbing sleep from their eyes. Clara lingered at the back, her face a mask of feigned innocence, though her heart raced. "Who let her out?" Rafael demanded, his voice echoing off the walls like a judge’s gavel. He wheeled closer, his piercing eyes scanning each face not thinking about someone catching the fact that he wasn’t blind. "Eliana left in the dead of night. Someone helped her. Who was it?" A chorus of denials erupted. "Not me, sir!" one maid squeaked, her hands twisting in her apron. "I was asleep the whole time," the cook protested, his voice trembling. "I swear, Mr. Vexley, I saw nothing," another added, eyes wide with fear. Rafael’s sarcasm surfaced amid the chaos, bitter and biting. "Oh, really? She just sprouted wings and flew over the walls? Someone’s lying!" He pointed towards Clara’s direction, his gaze fighting to remain unfocused. "Clara. You were close to her. Did you see anything?" Clara met his eyes steadily, her kind face unflinching. "No, sir. Nothing at all. I wish I had—I’d have stopped her. It’s dangerous out there." He grilled them for what felt like hours, his questions sharp as daggers, but each swore ignorance. Frustration boiled over; he dismissed them with a wave, retreating to his study where the walls seemed to close in. The clock ticked mercilessly, each second a torment. His phone buzzed—James. Rafael answered instantly. "What did you find?" James’s voice was grim, urgent. "Boss, you were right. Something happened. I got to the hospital, flashed my credentials, and pulled their exterior CCTV. Eliana was here, alright. She stormed out after talking to the nurse, tried to hail a cab. But then... a black SUV pulled up. Two guys jumped out, grabbed her, shoved her inside. It was a clean snatch—professional." Rafael’s world spun. He gripped the desk, his knuckles turning white. "Kidnapped? No... no, this can’t be." His voice rose to a roar. "Find out who! Trace the plates, hack the traffic cams—whatever it takes! I’m going to make them pay, James. They’ll regret ever touching her. Teach them a lesson they’ll carry to their graves!" "I’m on it," James assured, though his tone held a note of concern for his friend’s unraveling state. "We’ll get her back. Hang in there." As the call ended, miles away in the back of that very SUV, Eliana thrashed against her restraints, her brown eyes blazing with fury and fear. The vehicle hurtled through the dark city streets, the hum of the engine a sinister lullaby. The two burly men sat stoically in the front, their faces illuminated by the dashboard glow—stone-cold, unyielding. "Let me go!" Eliana screamed, her voice hoarse from the struggle. She kicked at the seat in front of her, her long curly hair whipping around her face. "Who are you? What do you want from me?" The driver, a hulking figure with a scar across his cheek, glanced in the rearview mirror but said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I said, release me!" she yelled again, tears of rage streaming down her warm brown skin. Her slender hands tugged at the zip ties binding her wrists, the plastic biting into her flesh. "This is kidnapping! You’ll go to jail for this!" The passenger, slimmer but no less intimidating, pulled out his phone, ignoring her pleas. He dialed a number, his voice low and businesslike. "Yeah, we got her. Clean grab outside the hospital. She’s feisty, but contained." A pause, then, "Waiting for Mr. Jason’s next orders. Where do we take her?" Eliana froze, her breath catching in her throat. Jason? The name hit her like a thunderbolt, shattering her world anew. Her hazel-eyed childhood friend, the man she once loved with all her heart—the golden boy with the charming smile who’d betrayed her with Sarai. He was behind this? Shock morphed into a whirlwind of emotions: betrayal, confusion, a spark of dark humor at the absurdity. "Jason?" she whispered, then louder, her voice trembling. "Jason sent you? That spineless coward? What the hell does he want now?" The men exchanged a glance but remained silent, the SUV speeding deeper into the night, leaving Eliana to grapple with the fresh wound of yet another betrayal.