His Bride in Chains-Chapter 135: The Truth, Finally

Rafael and James pulled up to the towering glass fortress of the headquarters, the car gliding to a smooth halt as a valet in a crisp black uniform stepped forward to take the keys. The building rose above them like a monument of power—sleek, cold, and breathtaking. Inside, the lobby thrummed with energy. The rhythmic click of polished shoes against marble echoed around them. Employees straightened their backs, nodding respectfully as the two men passed through. Rafael barely acknowledged them; his mind was elsewhere, sharp and restless.

They entered Rafael’s corner office. The city stretched beneath like a living map, bustling and oblivious to the quiet intensity inside those walls. Dark leather chairs, brushed steel, and warm amber lights gave the room a quiet authority. This was Rafael’s throne room.

A soft knock preceded the arrival of a courier, clutching a slim black box. James had rearranged for the phone to be sent to the office instead of the house. No delays. No complications.

"Here we go," James murmured, watching as a lean tech specialist stepped forward with precision, swapping the SIM and cloning Rafael’s data in practiced silence. The new phone gleamed on the polished desk—untouched, flawless, waiting.

A minute later, the screen came alive with a smooth glow. James tilted it toward the light, inspecting it like a general checking his weapon. "All set. Contacts, messages, everything’s there," the tech confirmed.

"Good work. Dismissed," James said crisply, waving the courier and technician out. The heavy door clicked shut behind them.

Rafael picked up the phone, the weight of it cool against his palm. The soft vibration of incoming notifications was almost mocking. As he began scrolling through missed calls and messages, his jaw tightened. The more he read, the harder his expression grew—like storm clouds gathering over a silent city.

Meanwhile, James retreated to his adjacent office, finally finding a moment to check the email from security. He opened the video file, heart heavy with anticipation. The footage played: grainy at first, then sharpening to reveal Eliana Bennett entering the lobby, her slender frame clad in a simple dress, warm brown skin glowing under the lights. Beside her was Henry, tall and handsome, his sharp features etched with concern.

James watched, his stomach twisting as the scene unfolded. Eliana approached the reception desk, her expressive honey-brown eyes pleading. "Please, I need to see Mr. Vexley. It’s urgent."

The receptionist greeted her with a practiced warmth, the kind that felt welcoming enough to lower defenses. Eliana stepped inside, clutching her bag a little tighter, unaware that the walls around her were already closing in.

Barely ten minutes later, the atmosphere shifted. Heavy footsteps thundered down the corridor, two burly guards in dark uniforms were dragging Eliana out, their grip like iron shackles around her arms.

Panic exploding in her eyes as they dragged her back, her heels scraping against the polished floor. "No! Let me go!" she screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of fear. Hot tears streaked down her cheeks, catching the harsh overhead light. Her lips quivered, breath coming in short, uneven bursts as the reality of what was happening sank in.

Henry surged forward, his warm eyes flashing with anger. "Hey! Get your hands off her!" He ran after them as they dragged her toward the exit. "Eliana! Let her go, you idiots—she’s pregnant!"

James’s breath caught, his eyes widening in shock. Pregnant? He replayed the clip, the word echoing like a thunderclap. "Oh my God," he whispered, hand over his mouth. This changed everything. Without hesitation, he grabbed his tablet and bolted to Rafael’s office, bursting through the door without knocking, panting heavily.

Rafael looked up from his phone, brow furrowed. "James? What the hell—bursting in like that? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Rafael, you need to see this. Now." James thrust the tablet forward, the video paused at the critical moment. "The footage from last month. Eliana at the company. Watch."

Rafael took it, pressing play. His steel eyes narrowed as the scene replayed: Eliana’s plea, the guards’ rough handling, her cries. Then Henry’s yell: "She’s pregnant!"

The color drained from Rafael’s face, leaving him pale as porcelain. The word hit him like a seismic wave, shaking something deep and buried within. For a heartbeat, everything around him went silent—the hum of the air conditioner, the distant chatter outside his office, even the rhythm of his own breath.

Without a thought, without hesitation, he pushed himself up from his wheelchair. His legs held firm beneath him, strong and unshaken—the carefully constructed illusion he’d lived behind for years crumbling in an instant. Thankfully, it was just James with him.

"Pregnant?" he breathed, the word escaping him like a ghost, rough and fragile. His fingers quivered as he set the tablet down, the polished surface catching the light as if mocking the stillness that followed. His heart thundered in his chest, and for the first time in a long time, Rafael wasn’t the unshakable man everyone thought he was.

James nodded fervently. "That’s what he said. Clear as day."

Rafael’s mind reeled. He grabbed his new phone, scrolling back to the missed calls: three from Eliana last night. Then the text. He opened it, the words searing into his soul: "Rafael, I don’t know if you’ll believe me or not... but what I wanted to tell you all this while is that I’m pregnant. And the baby is definitely yours."

The room tilted around him, spinning in a slow, merciless spiral. It was as if someone had upended a bucket of ice water over his head, the chill slicing through skin and muscle, settling deep into his bones. He could barely breathe. The air felt sharp, thin—like glass in his lungs.

His piercing eyes, usually so unreadable, widened as the reality sank its claws into him. For the first time, the iron mask he wore so effortlessly cracked, letting raw vulnerability seep through. His fingers twitched at his sides, as though reaching for something solid to hold on to, something that might stop the world from spinning out of control.

"James..." His voice was a broken whisper, threaded with fear and disbelief. His throat tightened, the words clawing their way out. "What have I done?"