His fingers dug into the armrests of his wheelchair, tendons straining, knuckles turning pale beneath the pressure. Betrayal burned in his chest, but he forced his face to remain composed—a mask as cold and sharp as steel.
"Marc," Rafael said, his voice smooth but venom threaded through every syllable. He still wore the lie of his blindness like armor. "Tell me who's with James now. Describe them. Every detail."
Marc hesitated for half a second, his throat bobbing as he glanced toward the pastry shop window. He knew what his answer would unleash.
"It's… your former caregiver, Eliana, sir," he finally said. "She's… beautiful. Slender build. Warm brown skin. A soft face with full lips. Long, curly black hair, all the way down her back. She's dressed modestly, but… she carries herself like royalty."
Rafael's lips pressed into a thin line, the fire behind his eyes sharpening to something colder. She was here. With James.
