His Bride in Chains-Chapter 169: Dear Mother

Mirabel slipped into her private office, the heavy oak door shutting behind her with a resonant click—final, deliberate, like the closing of a vault. The air inside was cool and still, perfumed faintly with sandalwood and ambition. Velvet curtains framed the glittering cityscape beyond, its neon veins pulsing against the night. A marble desk dominated the room, strewn with classified files and half-burned candles, their wax pooling like quiet confessions.

She sank into her leather chair, the silence pressing in. For a long moment, she simply sat there, her fingers tracing the rim of a crystal tumbler before pouring herself a generous glass of aged scotch. The liquid caught the dim light, glinting like molten gold.

Her reflection shimmered in its surface—composed, elegant, but with eyes that betrayed the storm beneath. She took a slow sip, the burn grounding her.

"Oh, Eliana..." The name slipped from her lips, soft as silk, dangerous as smoke. "My long-lost daughter. If only you knew how deeply I’ve regretted leaving you behind."

The words tasted almost sweet, laced with the lie she’d rehearsed so well. The truth was far colder. Whatever affection she claimed was a carefully measured illusion. What she felt for Eliana wasn’t love—it was ownership. The girl was a thread of her bloodline, a living piece of unfinished business, and Mirabel intended to weave her back into the fabric of her empire and mold her into a weapon.

Whether Eliana wanted it or not.

Leaning back, Mirabel closed her eyes, replaying the strategy in her mind. First, find Eliana. Play the card of sorrowful abandonment: "I was young, desperate, trapped in poverty with your father. I left to build a better life, but I’ve never stopped thinking of you." Tears would flow—practiced, convincing. Eliana, with her kind-hearted naivety, would surely crumble. "Forgive me, darling," Mirabel imagined saying, pulling her into an embrace. "Let me make it right. Join our family."

And once trust was earned? Use her. Eliana, close to Rafael as his caregiver and lover, could be the perfect insider. "He’s not what he seems, my dear," Mirabel would whisper. "Dangerous, manipulative. For your safety—and the baby’s— we must act." Poison in his tea, a staged accident—Eliana’s hands, guided by maternal "love." Then, with Rafael gone, his vast fortune would flow through the child, and Mirabel would control it all as the doting grandmother. Vexley Enterprises absorbed into Vexley Holdings, bankruptcy averted, power restored.

But Plan B loomed like a dark cloud on the horizon—silent, inevitable. If Eliana refused to play her part, if she dared to see through the illusion Mirabel had so carefully constructed, then sentiment would have to bow to necessity. Blood, after all, meant little when legacy was at stake.

"I’d rather not," Mirabel whispered to the empty room, her voice trembling just enough to sound almost human. A fleeting pang stirred in her chest—something faintly maternal, something that might have once been love before ambition devoured it. "But if she forces my hand... before that child is born."

The thought hung heavy in the air. Cold. Final.

A quiet elimination—nothing dramatic, nothing messy. An "accident" abroad, perhaps. She had the right people for that—discreet, loyal, invisible. Men who asked no questions and erased problems like they’d never existed.

Rafael had been easy. She hadn’t needed to rush with him. Blind, crippled, shut away from the world—he was already a fallen king, the shell of the man she envied and despised in equal measure. Weak prey, she mused, her mouth curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "I could afford to wait with him. Watch. Choose my moment."

But Eliana changed everything. The girl’s pregnancy tilted the scales. A child meant lineage, legacy—a living continuation of Rafael’s bloodline. And that, Mirabel couldn’t allow. Not when the empire she was about building from his ruin still had cracks she hadn’t yet sealed.

Time, she realized, was no longer her ally. It was the noose tightening around her own ambitions.

Her reverie was interrupted by a soft knock. "Enter," she called, straightening her posture.

The door opened, revealing Lydia, her personal assistant—a sharp-featured woman in her forties, dressed in a crisp pantsuit, her loyalty bought with secrets and shared crimes. Lydia had been Mirabel’s confidant for years, complicit in the plots against Rafael: the kidnapping attempts that failed, the hired assassins turned away by his security. She closed the door behind her, her expression a mix of excitement and caution.

"Mrs. Vexley," Lydia said, her voice low and conspiratorial as she approached the desk. "I have news. Good news, I think."

Mirabel set down her glass, her heart quickening. "Well? Don’t keep me waiting, Lydia. Have the investigators found anything on Eliana?"

Lydia nodded, pulling out a slim folder from her bag and placing it on the desk. "They have. She’s been located in London. Living quietly in a three story building in Hampstead."

Mirabel’s eyes widened, a predatory gleam flashing across her face. "London? How did she end up there? And alone?"

"Not alone," Lydia replied, opening the folder to reveal photos and reports. "She’s with a man named Henry Jackson. Seems like his from a prominent family background—an aspiring doctor, from what we can tell. They’ve been there for months, keeping a low profile. No signs of Rafael’s influence, but... the pregnancy is confirmed. She’s about five months along."

Mirabel leaned forward, scanning the documents with hungry eyes. "Henry Jackson? Who is he to her? A lover? A friend?"

"Unclear," Lydia admitted, her tone efficient. "But he’s vigilant. Our team had to be careful not to spook them. Photos show them together—shopping, walks in the park. She looks... happy. Unaware of the storm coming." 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

A slow smile spread across Mirabel’s lips, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "Perfect. This Henry could be a complication, but nothing we can’t handle. Prepare the jet, Lydia. I’ll go to London myself. Play the tearful reunion. And if she resists... well, you know what to do."

Lydia hesitated, her loyalty unwavering but her voice tinged with concern. "Ma’am, are you sure? Mr Vexley is already suspicious. And Rafael—he’s searching too."

Mirabel waved it off, rising with renewed determination. "Let them search. I’ll get to her first. My daughter, my blood. She’ll see reason—or she won’t see anything at all."

The two women shared a knowing glance, the air thick with unspoken threats. Outside, the city pulsed on, oblivious to the web of betrayal tightening across oceans.