Chapter 99: Gone
The opulent foyer of the Vexley estate felt like a tomb, its crystal chandeliers creating fractured light across the marble floors, illuminating the tension that hung thick in the air. Rafael Vexley sat rigidly in his wheelchair, his piercing steel eyes—hidden behind the pretense of clouded blindness—fixed on Clara with an intensity that could shatter glass. His dark hair was tousled from the earlier emotional storm, and his chiseled jaw clenched as her words echoed in his mind: "Eliana left the house earlier. No one knows where she went. She just... vanished."
Rafael’s mind raced, a whirlwind of betrayal and doubt swirling like a tempest. Was this Eliana’s grand escape, orchestrated with her mother, Mirabel? The woman he had begun to trust, to love, now seemed like another pawn in the Vexley family’s endless game of greed and deception. His heart, that fragile organ he had armored for years, cracked a little more. "Clara," he said, his voice low and controlled, but laced with an undercurrent of fury that made the housekeeper flinch. "You’re telling me she just... walked out? No note, no explanation? And no one saw a thing?"
Clara shifted uneasily, her hands twisting the hem of her crisp uniform apron. Her face, usually a mask of efficiency, betrayed a flicker of fear—eyes darting to the shadows as if expecting ghosts to emerge. "Yes, Mr. Vexley. I... I checked her room myself. She’s gone. The staff is as surprised as you are."
Rafael’s sarcasm bubbled up, sharp as a blade. "Surprised? Or complicit?" The words dripped with venom as his lips twisted into a dangerous half-smile. He spun his chair forward with a forceful jerk, the powerful lines of his body coiled and straining against the polished ruse of weakness he wore like armor. He didn’t need the chair but keeping it close let enemies underestimate him.
"James!" His voice cracked like a whip, commanding and absolute.
In a heartbeat, James appeared at his side, moving with military precision. His expression was carved from stone, calm yet lethal in its readiness. The faintest flicker of his gaze swept the room—walls, shadows, faces—assessing threats with the silent efficiency of a man who had stood too close to danger for too long.
"Sir?" James answered evenly, his voice steady as steel.
"Check the security feeds," Rafael ordered, his tone brooking no argument. "Every camera, every angle. I want to know how she slipped away this time."
James nodded and vanished toward the control room, leaving Rafael alone with Clara. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Rafael studied her, his mind piecing together the puzzle. Last time Eliana had run—fleeing from his cold accusations—she’d evaded the cameras too. Now, with the revelation of her blood tie to Mirabel burning in his chest, it all clicked. Someone inside had been feeding her tips, guiding her through the blind spots. And who better than Clara, the ever-present housekeeper with her own hidden connections?
By the time James returned, his face grim, Rafael’s suspicion had hardened into conviction. "Nothing, sir," James reported quietly, glancing at Clara before leaning in closer to Rafael. "Just like before. She vanishes right after the garden path camera. No trace."
Rafael’s hands gripped the arms of his wheelchair until his knuckles whitened. "Of course," he muttered, his voice rising like thunder building on the horizon. "Because she’s had help. Inside help." He wheeled around to face Clara fully, his steel eyes blazing with unrestrained anger. "You. All of you. Playing me like a fool while Mirabel pulls the strings from her ivory tower."
Clara’s eyes widened, her composure cracking. "Mr. Vexley, I swear—"
"Save it!" Rafael’s voice thundered, ricocheting off the vaulted ceilings and ripping apart the estate’s fragile illusion of calm. The fury in him was volcanic, spilling over, unstoppable. "You’ve been in on it from the start, haven’t you? Eliana and Mirabel—scheming, weaving your little charade. Pretending to hate each other to my face, while you all mock me behind my back."
Clara stumbled a step away, her complexion drained of color. Her hands trembled as she lifted them in protest, her words tumbling out desperate and uneven. "No, sir, please! I don’t know what you mean. Eliana... she isn’t like that. She’s—"
"Like what?" Rafael’s laugh sliced through her plea, jagged and bitter, stripped of warmth. It wasn’t laughter—it was a wound turned sound. "Innocent? Untouched by treachery?" His chest heaved, the memories clawing at him—Eliana’s soft smiles, her gaze that once held the illusion of sincerity, now twisted in his mind into poisoned daggers. Every heartbeat was a betrayal hammering inside his ribs.
"Don’t bother." His voice dropped low, deadly calm, all the more terrifying for its restraint. "I’ll find her myself. And when I do, you’ll all answer for this."
From the corridors, staff dared a glance, whispers curling like smoke in the air. But one look—one sharp, cutting glare from James—and they vanished back into the shadows, scattering like frightened birds before a storm.
"James!" Rafael roared again, the name striking the silence like a drumbeat of war, pulling his iron-clad secretary back into the eye of the storm.
James reappeared, unflinching. "Yes, sir?"
Rafael pulled him aside, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper, though his eyes still burned with intensity. "I need you to handle something. Tonight. Kidnap Clara. Quietly, without a trace. No one can know—not the staff, not Mirabel. Take her to the safe house. I’ll question her myself."
James didn’t blink, his loyalty unwavering. "Consider it done, sir." No complaints, no questions asked.
"Good man," Rafael said, clapping him on the shoulder, a rare gesture of trust in this sea of deceit. "And one more thing—pull every bit of footage we have. Security cams around the estate, dash cams from the cars, traffic feeds from the surrounding areas. I want to know where Eliana went, what cab picked her up, every damn detail. Scour the city if you have to."
"Understood," James replied, his voice firm. "I’ll get on it immediately." He turned on his heel and left, his footsteps fading into the night.
Rafael wheeled his chair toward Eliana’s room, the hallway stretching endlessly, each turn a reminder of her presence—the faint scent of her vanilla perfume lingering like a ghost. Pushing open the door, he scanned the space: the bed neatly made, but her closet emptied, her worn-out clothes gone, only the ones he asked James to get for her remained. The small box of personal mementos she’d cherished—photos of her father, a faded locket—vanished. It hit him like a punch to the gut. She hadn’t just left; she’d tried to erased herself from his life.
"Damn you, Eliana," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion he rarely allowed. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he blinked them away, replacing sorrow with fury. He turned and rolled to his study, the wheels whispering over the polished floors like accusations. Slamming the door behind him, he locked it, then stood up, pacing the room like an angry lion. The study was his sanctuary. But tonight, it felt like a prison.
His hand trembled as he pulled out his phone, dialing a number he reserved for emergencies. Normally, they texted—cryptic messages, coded warnings. But tonight, the pain was too raw. The line rang once, twice, then connected.
"Raf?" The mysterious friend’s voice was deep, laced with surprise. "A call? This must be bad. What’s the problem, dear friend?"
Rafael leaned against the desk, his free hand raking through his dark hair. "You assured me, remember? You said Eliana would be different. Pure, untouched by this world’s filth. But it turns out she’s Mirabel’s daughter. All along! My stepmother’s blood, right under my roof, playing the innocent caregiver while plotting God knows what."
There was a stunned silence on the other end, then a sharp intake of breath. "What? Are you sure about this? Absolutely certain?"
"Dead sure," Rafael snarled, his voice thick with betrayal. "I have proof—documents, connections. And now she’s vanished. Won’t pick up my calls. She’s run, just like they all do when the mask slips."
The friend sounded genuinely confused, his tone shifting to persuasion. "Whoa, slow down. Eliana... she’s a good girl, Rafael. I’ve vetted her background myself. Even if she’s Mirabel’s daughter—and that’s a hell of a twist—there’s no way she knew Mirabel was your stepmother until she stepped into that house. Hell, she might not even know Mirabel’s her mother at all. Abandoned as a kid, right? Raised by her father? This could be coincidence, not conspiracy. Don’t jump to—"
"I don’t need your optimism!" Rafael cut him off, his voice rising in frustration. "I’ve been burned too many times. Family tried to kill me, friends betrayed me for scraps. Eliana’s no different. I’ll find out the truth myself. My way." He hung up abruptly, the phone clattering onto the desk.
Breathing heavily, he dialed Eliana’s number again, his heart pounding with a mix of longing and rage. It rang once, then straight to voicemail: "This is Eliana. Leave a message." Her voice, soft and hopeful, was a dagger to his soul.
"Voicemail? Again?" he growled, his anger erupting like a volcano. With a savage swipe, he cleared half the desk—papers flying, a crystal decanter shattering on the floor in a spray of amber liquid and shards. The crash echoed his shattered trust, the scent of spilled whiskey filling the air like regret.
He sank into his chair, head in hands, the emotional weight crushing him. Minutes stretched into an eternity until a knock sounded. "Sir? It’s James."
"Come in," Rafael barked, composing himself.
James entered, his expression darker than before. "I’ve started on the footage pulls—they’ll take time. But there’s something else. Urgent."
Rafael looked up, steeling himself. "What?"
"Frank Bennett—Eliana’s father. He’s been transferred out of the private hospital you placed him in. No records, no authorization. Vanished, just like her. No one knows who took him."
Rafael’s world tilted, disbelief crashing over him like a wave. "What? That’s impossible. I secured that place myself. Guards, protocols—"
James held up a hand, his voice grave. "I couldn’t believe it either, sir. But there’s more news..."