Rafael's fingers curled hard around the armrests, the leather groaning under the pressure, but his face never wavered. He wore composure like armor—cold, unyielding, almost inhuman. The office, once a cocoon of quiet refuge, now throbbed with tension. Even the air seemed hostile, clotted with the stench of Victor's cologne—cheap, pungent, and choking.
From behind the blinds, Eliana froze. Her chest rose shallowly, lungs refusing a full breath. Her heart hammered so violently she was certain the sound would give her away. That man—her uncle by blood but never had she known she even had one—sat just feet away, dripping arrogance like poison. He was a living reminder of everything she'd been forced to survive: neglect, abandonment, the scars no one ever asked her about.
