His Bride in Chains-Chapter 220: The World Tilting News

Rafael’s lips tugged into a slow, calculated smirk—one that carried more bite than amusement. But his steel-grey eyes betrayed him for a single flicker, revealing the bruised echo of a boy who had grown up starved of affection, starved of safety.

"Everything you’ve done?" he repeated softly, dangerously. "You mean being a deadbeat father who stood by while your wife tried to murder your own son?"

The words were smooth, almost casual, but they sliced like glass.

"Spare me the lectures," Rafael went on, leaning back in his chair, his voice dropping to a colder register. "And let’s get one thing straight—my grandfather built the legacy. Not you. You just leached on his name and convinced yourself you carved it."

A beat. A breath. A silent dare.

"Goodbye, Father."

He didn’t give Charles the dignity of a final rebuttal. His thumb hit end call with surgical precision.

Still, just before the line went dead, Rafael caught the faint sputter of indignation—his father’s rage collapsing into static.

"—ungrateful child!" Charles bellowed, the words cutting off as he slammed the phone down, the echo of his fury lingering in Rafael’s ear like a ghost.

Rafael set the phone down gently, his broad shoulders slumping for the first time that evening. The room felt heavier, the flickering screens mocking his isolation. He got up and walked toward the window, staring out at the London night, his mind drifting to Eliana upstairs—her warm brown skin, expressive honey eyes now shadowed by hurt, her long curly black hair falling like a veil over her emotional wounds. How had he let it come to this? His ruthless protection of himself had cost him the one person who truly care about him. But before he could dwell further, the scene shifted miles away, to another corner of the city where different hearts ached.

In the northern outskirts of London, Isabella Voss’s upscale apartment overlooked a serene park, its modern lines and floor-to-ceiling windows a stark contrast to the emotional storm brewing inside. The guest bedroom was cozy yet luxurious, with plush bedding in soft neutrals and a faint scent of lavender from the diffuser Isabella had placed to soothe her unexpected houseguest. Henry Jackson had been off the grid for days, nursing a three-day fever that had hit him like a freight train right after Eliana’s devastating revelation about her marriage plans with Rafael. The news had gutted him—Eliana, the girl he’d loved silently through college, the one he’d watched slip away time and time again, now binding herself to Rafael Vexley? He hadn’t known the wedding had already happened; isolation had spared him that blow, but it couldn’t last.

Isabella hovered in the doorway, silent and unsure. Her elegant silhouette—wrapped in a simple silk blouse and tailored trousers—did little to hide the storm churning beneath her calm exterior. She watched him fold his few belongings with careful precision, each movement betraying how fragile he truly was.

Her heart clenched around the secret she carried, the one she’d stumbled upon earlier that evening: Eliana and Rafael’s marriage, loudly announced on every news channel and social media pages. A piece of news powerful enough to break him all over again.

How was she supposed to tell him?

Henry’s recovery hung by a thread. His determination to return home, to reclaim his future as an aspiring doctor, was the only thing keeping him upright. But his love for Eliana—raw, unresolved, and still bleeding—burned inside him like an open wound.

And Isabella knew one wrong word could shatter him.

"Henry," Isabella said softly, stepping into the room with a grace born of her own rebuilt strength. Her voice was warm, laced with concern, as she perched on the armchair across from him. The evening light filtered through the curtains, creating a golden glow on her features. "You look better today. The color’s back in your cheeks. But... are you sure you’re ready to head back? That fever knocked you flat."

Henry looked up, his warm eyes meeting hers with a grateful smile. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, his sharp features softening. "Yeah, I think so. Thanks to you, Isabella. You’ve been a lifesaver—literally. Soup, meds, even putting up with my delirious ramblings about Eliana and med school exams I haven’t taken yet." He chuckled lightly, a hint of humor breaking through his reserve, but it faded as he glanced at his packed bag. "I can’t hide out here forever. Eliana... she’s probably wondering where I vanished to. After she told me about marrying that guy—Rafael Vexley, the billionaire shut-in—I just... I needed space. But now, I have to face her. Talk her out of it, maybe. She’s too good for whatever game he’s playing. I mean, the guy’s shady."

Isabella’s heart clenched, her fingers twisting in her lap. She remembered her own betrayal, the raw pain of discovering Logan’s plot—the whispers in the bedroom about poison and inheritance, the wedding dress hanging like a shroud. Henry deserved the truth, but how to deliver it without shattering him? She took a deep breath, her voice steady but empathetic. "Henry, wait. Before you go charging back there, we need to talk. About something important. It’s about Eliana."

Henry paused, his small bag halfway zipped, his ambitious drive momentarily halted by the seriousness in her tone. His warm eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of worry crossing his handsome face. "What is it? Is she okay? Did something happen while I was out of it?" 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Isabella hesitated, then met his gaze head-on, her own eyes reflecting the empathy of someone who’d walked through fire. "She’s fine, physically. But... the marriage. It’s already happened, Henry. This morning, from what I saw online. Eliana and Rafael—they tied the knot. A court marriage, an entire fanfare. I didn’t know how to tell you earlier, with the fever and all. I’m so sorry."

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging like a storm cloud. Henry’s face drained of color, his sharp features slackening in shock. The aspiring doctor, so kind and reserved, felt his world tilt—the girl he’d loved now bound to another. "Already... married?" he whispered, his voice cracking with the raw emotion of unrequited love. "But how? Why didn’t she wait? This has to be a lie. I have to see her. Talk to her."

Isabella reached out, her hand gentle on his arm. "Henry, give yourself a moment. Rushing in now... it might not help. Let’s think this through."

But Henry wasn’t listening. He was done listening.