His Bride in Chains-Chapter 160: Rafael’s Arrival

The private jet tore through the clouds like a silver blade, sleek and purposeful against the endless stretch of blue. Inside, the cabin was a world apart—quiet, cocooned in opulence. Cream leather seats gleamed under the soft glow of ambient lighting, the faint scent of cedar and expensive cologne mingling in the air. A crystal decanter of scotch sat untouched on the polished table, trembling slightly with each subtle vibration of the engines.

Rafael Vexley sat by the window, motionless, his sharp features half-shadowed by the dim light. His grey eyes tracked the horizon—restless, calculating, but haunted. The reflection staring back at him wasn’t that of a powerful man, but one caught between guilt and determination. Soon, he would have to put the mask back on—resume the charade of blindness he’d built to survive, to manipulate, to atone.

James sat across from him, quiet as always, his presence steady like gravity. He knew better than to interrupt when Rafael slipped into these long silences. Outside, the world roared beneath them; inside, time seemed to hold its breath.

At twenty-nine, Rafael had everything most men only dreamed of—empires in tech, real estate, and pharmaceuticals that bent markets to his will. Yet none of it mattered. Not the power. Not the wealth. Not the fear his name inspired. Because all of it had failed him where it mattered most.

He leaned back in his seat, jaw tightening as the thought came again—the face he’d pushed away, the voice he’d silenced with cruelty and pride. Eliana.

The engines thrummed louder, as if echoing the storm behind his eyes.

For the first time in years, Rafael wasn’t flying toward a deal or a conquest. He was flying toward something far more dangerous—redemption.

James, ever the efficient shadow, typed furiously on his laptop across from him. His rumpled suit from the earlier rush hadn’t been straightened; there was no time for such trivialities. "Sir, everything’s in place," he said, breaking the silence with a voice laced with quiet excitement. "The house in Kensington—it’s discreet, far enough from Eliana’s suburb in Hampstead to avoid raising eyebrows. Victorian charm on the outside, fully wired for surveillance inside. No one will connect it to you."

Rafael nodded, his chiseled jaw tightening as he loosened his tie, the crisp fabric of his designer suit whispering against his skin. "Good. And the university? Confirm it again."

James’s fingers froze mid-typing, his gaze flickering toward the tablet in his hand. The soft light from the screen washed over his face as he cleared his throat quietly.

"University of London, sir," he began, his tone careful, measured. "She’s enrolled in their nursing program—a continuation of the studies she dropped back home. From what I gathered, the university provides... special assistance, to accommodate her condition."

Rafael’s jaw clenched. He didn’t speak, but the slight twitch in his hand resting on the armrest betrayed the storm rising within him.

James hesitated, eyes dropping back to the screen. "She looks... different," he continued quietly. "Radiant, even. There’s this... glow about her." He swallowed before adding, "Our intel confirmed seeing Henry with her—quite a lot, actually. Apart from living in the same house, they also attend the same school."

Rafael’s fists clenched on the armrests, his heart twisting like a knife in his chest. The image burned in his mind: Eliana, his Eliana, with her expressive eyes, her beautiful long curly hair falling down her back like a dark waterfall, now rounded with the life they’d created together. And Henry Jackson—tall, handsome, with those warm eyes and sharp features—playing the role of devoted partner, caring friend and her dream builder. "I should have seen it," Rafael muttered, his voice a low growl laced with self-loathing. "Back when she was with me, I was so damn wrapped up in my deceptions, my walls. I never pushed her to go back to school. Never even asked if she dreamed of it. And now? That bastard Henry’s giving her everything I failed to. Education, stability, a life without lies."

James leaned forward, his expression sympathetic but firm. "You were protecting yourself, sir. After the crash, the betrayal from your own family... it changes a man. But this move—it’s solid. We’ll get her back."

Rafael’s steel eyes flashed with determination, though a flicker of vulnerability crossed his handsome face. "I hope so," he murmured, voice low, rough around the edges. His gaze shifted toward the window again, watching the clouds streak past like ghosts. "But storming in like some jealous fool? No. That’s not how this goes."

He exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with restraint. "She’s happy now—or at least she looks it. And if I just show up on her doorstep, begging for forgiveness, she’ll shut the door before I can even speak. After everything I put her through, I wouldn’t blame her."

His jaw tightened, the muscle flexing as his next words came out quieter, more deliberate. "I need her to feel something first. Anything. Pity, maybe. Enough to make her hesitate. Enough to crack that door open—just a little."

James nodded, pulling up another file on his tablet. "Which brings us to the hospital angle. Before we even left New York, I dug deeper into Frank Bennett’s records. He’s enrolled at Green Hearts Hospital—top-tier facility, expensive as hell. Chronic illness managed with regular check-ups now. I’ve booked you in as a patient: blindness relapse due to stress and mental health complications. It ties back to your ’original’ surgery four years ago. The doctors are on payroll; they won’t bat an eye. Papers are forged, backstory airtight."

Rafael allowed a rare, sardonic smile to curve his lips. "Blindness relapse. How poetic. I’ll play the part—clouded eyes, the whole tragic act. And Eliana... how does she fit in this plan?"

"Chance encounter," James finished, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the scheme. "I’ll handle the bump-in. You wait in the VIP room, looking every bit the broken billionaire. She won’t be able to ignore you."

The jet descended into London’s Heathrow under the cover of a drizzly dawn, the city sprawling below like a patchwork of history and modernity. Rafael slipped on his dark sunglasses, his posture shifting subtly as he prepared to embody the lie once more. The wheelchair was waiting in the private hangar, a hated symbol of his fabricated frailty. James pushed him through customs with practiced ease, their documents impeccable. No paparazzi, no prying eyes—just two men on a "medical retreat."

To be continued...