Rafael's wheelchair moved smoothly across the polished marble, the faint hum of the wheels echoing in the heavy silence. He stopped squarely between Eliana and Mirabel Vexley, his presence a wall of defiance despite the chair that carried him. His grey eyes burned with anger, sharp and unyielding, locking on the woman who dared to strike Eliana.
The room itself seemed to hold its breath. The roses in the crystal vases, once proud and fragrant, now sagged as if bowing to the tension pressing down on everything.
Eliana stood motionless, shock rooting her to the spot. Her cheek still stung where Mirabel's hand had landed, the heat of it spreading like a cruel reminder. Her wide brown eyes shimmered with disbelief and hurt, as if she couldn't quite process that the ghost she thought she'd left buried in her past had just reached out and struck her in the present.
