The soft light coming from the bedside lamp painted the room in shadows. For all its luxury—the polished wood, the soft drapes, the sprawling bed—the Vexley estate bedroom felt less like comfort and more like a confessional. A place too heavy with truths that wanted out.
Eliana sat propped against the pillows, her eyes searching his face, torn between hope and fear. Rafael sat on the edge of the mattress, tall and rigid, his frame forming a long shadow across the rug. His steel eyes—usually unreadable—showed a crack tonight, something raw slipping through. The air between them felt tight, the sharp spice of his cologne mixing with the lavender from her sheets until she could barely breathe.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough, carrying a weight she hadn't heard before.
"Eliana… it all started when I was nine. I lost my sight in an accident that day. God, it feels like yesterday. The memories don't fade. They stalk me."
