His Bride in Chains-Chapter 241: Apologetic Billionaire

A soft knock echoed at the door, pulling Eliana from her misery. She froze, wiping her eyes hastily with the back of her hand. Who could it be? She didn’t feel like answering, didn’t want to face anyone in this state. But her innate politeness, born from years of humble resilience, won out. What if it was James with a kind word, or Vicky the housekeeper checking on her? She couldn’t be rude.

With a steadying breath, Eliana eased her very pregnant body out of bed—slowly, carefully, and with the dignity of someone who refuses to let swollen ankles ruin her entire existence. Every step across the plush carpet sent a dull throb up her feet, a lingering reminder of the circus at the university earlier that day. Reporters had practically chased her like she was a rare endangered animal, not a tired woman just trying to get to class.

She smoothed her nightdress over her rounded belly, inhaling as she tried to gather what remained of her poise. Even puffy and exhausted, she still held that quiet elegance—though at the moment, it came with a side of "please don’t talk to me."

Reaching the door, she wrapped her fingers around the handle, turned it, and pulled it open—

And nearly lost her breath.

Rafael Vexley stood there.

Tall. Commanding. Looking like a freshly sculpted Greek statue that someone had left out in the hallway. His athletic frame cast a long silhouette in the light behind him, his wavy hair adorably mussed as though he’d been anxiously running his hands through it for hours. And his steel-grey eyes—no longer hidden behind that fake blindness—held something she never expected from him:

Nervousness.

Real, human, "I might vomit from stress" nervousness.

And in his hands, he carried a tray like it was a peace treaty between nations. Steam curled up from the bowl of soup, wrapping around him like an encouraging spirit.

"Eliana," he said softly, his voice deep and thick with regret. "Can I come in? Please? I... I brought you food. You shouldn’t be skipping meals. Not with the baby."

She blinked up at him, stunned. Her honey-brown eyes went wide. She’d been ready—prepared, even—to snap at him, but seeing the Rafael Vexley looking like a chastened schoolboy made her brain short-circuit for a second.

"Rafael... I’m not hungry," she replied, her voice polite but cool, crossing her arms carefully over her chest. She wasn’t about to let him think she’d melted that quickly.

He swallowed, stepping forward half a pace. "Please," he murmured, his gaze earnest—almost painfully so. "Just let me in. I need to talk to you. I hate knowing I’m the reason you’re upset."

Eliana let out a long exhale—one of those sighs that carried equal parts exhaustion and the faintest sliver of hope she didn’t want to acknowledge. After a moment, she stepped aside with a small, reluctant gesture.

"Fine. Come in. But don’t expect me to pretend everything’s fine. I’m too tired for performances."

Rafael slipped inside quietly, closing the door with a gentle click as if afraid to disturb the air between them. He set the tray down on her nightstand. The small vase of roses beside it caught the lamplight, scattering a soft, romantic glow across the room. For a moment, it felt like the universe itself was trying to help him apologize properly.

He turned to her, taking a slow step closer. His expression was no longer the cold, controlled mask of a billionaire CEO—it was simply a man filled with remorse.

"Eliana," he said, voice low and sincere, "I’m so, so sorry. I was a jerk at dinner. Honestly? Worse than that." He ran a hand through his hair again, frustrated with himself. "I let fear and jealousy get the best of me. I shouldn’t have tried to control you or your decisions. You deserve better than that."

She met his eyes, her own flashing with the pent-up anger she’d held back. "Fear and jealousy? Sorry? Rafael, do you even understand? You can’t just decide to uproot everything—my program, my life here in London—because you’re scared and... Jealous. I regret getting married if this is how it’s going to be. Constant control, possessiveness... it’s suffocating. Maybe I should have just gone to the police about Mirabel instead of tying myself to you for ’protection.’"

Her words hit him like a thunderbolt, panic surging through his veins. Rafael’s eyes widened, his emotional scars ripping open at the thought of losing her. Without thinking, he dropped to his knees before her, the powerful billionaire reduced to a supplicant, his hands clasping hers desperately. "No, Eliana—please, never say that again. I beg you. I was wrong, so wrong. I’ll change, I swear. I’ll do better. If you want to stay in London, we stay. I won’t force you to leave. I’m okay with anything—everything—as long as you’re with me. You’re my world. Don’t regret us. Please."

Eliana’s breath caught, shock rippling through her as she stared down at him kneeling on the carpet. This man, so cold and untrusting, humbling himself like this? Her heart ached with a mix of surprise and softening affection. "Rafael... get up. Please, you’re shocking me. I can’t bear to see you like this."

He shook his head stubbornly, his grip gentle but firm on her hands. "Not until you forgive me. I mean it—I’ll kneel here all night if I have to."

Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time from the raw emotion of the moment. Her kind-hearted nature couldn’t hold out against his sincerity. "Okay... I’m not angry anymore. I forgive you. Now, get up."

Relief flooded his features as he rose slowly, his tall frame towering over her once more, but with a newfound tenderness. He glanced at the tray, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "I... I prepared this myself. Just for you. Soup with ginger to settle your stomach, carrots for the baby, and some bread. I hope it suits your palate. James helped a bit, but it’s my apology in edible form."

Eliana blinked, speechless, her lips parting in astonishment. What had gotten into him? This ruthless CEO, cooking? Massaging his ego aside to kneel and beg? She sank onto the edge of the bed as he urged her to sit, then brought the tray over, placing it carefully on her lap. "You... cooked? For me?"

He nodded, his voice warm. "Yes. Now eat, before it gets cold. You need your strength."

Hesitantly, she picked up the spoon, dipping it into the soup. The first bite exploded with flavor—savory, soothing, perfectly balanced. Despite her pregnancy symptoms—nausea, hormonal swings that had made eating a chore—this was different. It warmed her from the inside, chasing away the knots in her stomach. "Oh... this is really good," she murmured, taking another spoonful, then another, eating faster as hunger she’d suppressed resurfaced.

Rafael watched her with love shining in his eyes, a soft smile playing on his chiseled features. He sat beside her on the bed, reaching for the glass of water when he noticed her swallowing a bit too quickly. "Here, drink this. Don’t rush—savor it."

She took the glass without looking up, too engrossed in the meal. "Thank you," she said between bites, her voice muffled. She hadn’t realized how ravenous she was, the food like a breath of fresh air after the emotional storm. The bread was crusty and warm, the salad crisp—each element thoughtfully prepared.

When the bowl was empty, Rafael took the tray and set it aside on the nightstand. He picked up the napkin, leaning in to gently wipe a stray crumb from the corner of her mouth. The intimate gesture startled her, sending a leap to her heart—a flutter of the old attraction that had drawn her to him.

"Rafael, what—"

But before she could finish, to her biggest shock, he shifted on the bed, lifting her swollen feet into his lap with utmost care. His strong hands, warm and steady, began massaging them gently—thumbs pressing into the arches, easing the ache from the day’s trials. The sensation was blissful, sending waves of relief up her legs.

Eliana couldn’t believe her eyes, her honey gaze locked on him in wide-eyed wonder. "Rafael... you’re massaging my feet? I... I don’t know what to say."

He looked up, his sarcastic edge gone, replaced by pure devotion. "You don’t have to say anything. Just let me take care of you. For once, let me show you how much you mean to me."

As his fingers worked their magic, the room filled with a tentative peace, the chains of their marriage feeling less like bonds and more like threads of fragile trust weaving them closer. At least for tonight.