In that suspended moment, as the words hung heavy between them like storm clouds, Rafael's heart clenched with a desperate hope. He searched her face, praying for shock—for wide-eyed innocence, for her to gasp and demand, "What are you talking about?" The report from his investigators had painted a picture of abandonment: Mirabel leaving Eliana at five years old, vanishing into a life of luxury without a backward glance. If Eliana truly didn't know, if she was as much a victim as he was... maybe he could forgive. Maybe he could overlook the blood tie to his sworn enemy, the woman who had poisoned his family from within. His steel eyes, hidden behind the pretense of clouds, bored into her, willing her to prove him wrong. The café's hum faded to a distant buzz; all that existed was this fragile thread of possibility.
But Eliana's reaction shattered it. Her full lips parted in stunned surprise, and the words tumbled out before she could stop them: "You... you found out already?"
