Chapter 118: The Broken Boy
The words stung, reopening old wounds. This friend had been his lifeline: saving him from the accident, funding secret surgeries to restore his sight and mobility, even encouraging him to pursue Eliana romantically. Yet, in his torment, Rafael couldn’t bear the reminder. "Enough," he growled. "I can’t talk to you right now." With a swipe, he blocked the number, the action feeling like a temporary severance of a vital artery. ’I’ll unblock him later,’ he told himself, ’when the storm passes.’ But for now, solitude was his armor.
Amid this emotional maelstrom, about a week into the two-week ordeal, Austin Miller’s call pierced the tension. Austin spoke with his usual gravelly precision from the other end of the line.
"Raf, have you forgotten about Jason Asher," Austin began, his voice echoing slightly over the secure connection. "My boys have been drilling him for over two weeks now—beatings, interrogations, the works. Kid’s a mess, but he swears up and down he didn’t order Eliana’s kidnapping. Says it’s all a setup. You want us to keep him? Or... escalate?"
Rafael leaned back in his leather chair, rubbing his temples. The initial fury that had led him to order Jason’s abduction—based on Bianca and Eliana’s accusations—now felt tainted by doubt. ’If I can’t trust her words anymore, what if Jason’s innocent? Another victim in her web with Sarai and Bianca?’ The thought twisted his gut. "Release him," he said finally, his tone flat. "I don’t trust anything from Eliana’s mouth now. For all I know, he’s been framed by her and her twisted allies."
"You sure, Raf? He’s seen our faces—could talk."
"Handle it. Warn him properly. No loose ends."
Austin chuckled darkly. "Consider it done."
Jason Asher was freed that night after two and a half grueling weeks in an unknown warehouse on the city’s outskirts. His once-golden-boy charm was shattered; bruises marred his gym-toned body, his blonde hair matted with blood and sweat. Dumped unceremoniously outside his penthouse, he stumbled inside, locking every door with trembling hands. For days, he curled up on the couch, shivering under a blanket despite the warmth. The penthouse, usually a symbol of his entitled luxury, became a prison of fear. Empty beer bottles and half-eaten takeout boxes piled up, the air thick with the stench of decay and alcohol. "I didn’t kidnap Eliana," he muttered to himself over and over, his hazel eyes wide and haunted. "I swear, I didn’t... Please, believe me."
Meanwhile, Sarai Monroe had been a whirlwind of desperation. For those two and a half weeks Jason was missing, she scoured the city—calling friends, harassing his family, even filing a police report alongside her sister Bianca and Jason’s parents. "Where is he?" Sarai had wailed to Bianca over the phone one night, her sharp green eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. "He’s vanished! What if something terrible happened?"
Bianca, ever the cool-headed elder, replied soothingly, "We’ll find him, sis. You’re inseparable from me, remember? Two peas in a pod—we handle this together. Stay strong."
But strength waned. A week after Jason’s release, Sarai, looking haggard with her glossy jet-black hair unkempt and her designer outfits rumpled, decided on a last-ditch effort. Clutching a spare key card she’d secretly duplicated months ago—Jason none the wiser—she headed to his penthouse. "I miss you so much," she whispered to herself in the elevator, tears streaking her fierce beauty. "If you’re not here, I don’t know what I’ll do."
The door clicked open, and the reek hit her like a wave: alcohol, rotten food, unwashed despair. Trash overflowed, surfaces sticky with spills. There, coiled on the couch like a wounded animal, was Jason—pale, unshaven, eyes sunken.
"Jason!" Sarai gasped, rushing forward, her heart pounding.
He jolted awake at her touch, screaming in terror. "No! Get away! I didn’t do it—I didn’t kidnap Eliana! Please, believe me!" He curled into a fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably, his body shaking as if expecting blows.
Sarai froze, shock etching her features. "Jason, it’s me—Sarai! Oh God, what happened to you?"
She shook him gently, then harder, until recognition dawned in his wild eyes. "S-Sarai?" he whimpered, lunging into her arms. They clung together, his tears soaking her blouse as he cried like a child.
"Where were you?" she demanded, stroking his back, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and fury. "What did they do to you? Tell me!"
But Jason clammed up, his mind flashing to Austin’s final warning: Breathe a word about this, mention any names, and you’re dead. Your family too. "I... I can’t," he mumbled, pulling away. "Just... I didn’t kidnap her. I swear."
Sarai’s mind raced, but she bit back questions. Noticing his fragility, she let him rest, rolling up her sleeves—something this spoiled socialite had never done. "Okay, love. Sleep. I’ll handle this." As she cleaned, scrubbing counters and hauling trash, a delivery knock sent Jason into a panic. "No! Don’t open it—they’ll take me again!" he cried, hiding behind the couch.
"Shh, it’s just food," Sarai soothed, handling it alone. Her hands, usually manicured for fashion shoots, blistered from the work, but love—or obsession—drove her.
The next day—the present—dawned with Sarai pressing again over breakfast in the now-spotless kitchen. "Jason, please. Tell me what happened. Who did this?"
He stared at his plate, fork trembling. "I didn’t kidnap Eliana... That’s all I can say."
Something clicked in Sarai’s cunning mind, a puzzle piece snapping into place. Rafael Vexley. That bitch Eliana must have told him Jason orchestrated her kidnapping. She opened her big mouth! Rage boiled over, her elegant facade cracking. "That whore," she hissed under her breath.
Grabbing her phone, she dialed Eliana repeatedly—fifteen times, no answer. Texts flew like daggers: "You bitch, you told on Jason to Rafael! You’ll regret opening your big mouth!" And more, venomous and unfiltered.
Still seething, she called Bianca, collapsing onto the couch beside a dozing Jason. "Bianca, it’s me," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I want Eliana dead. Now. I don’t care how—just make it happen!"
Bianca’s voice was calm, almost amused. "Whoa, sis. Slow down. What’s got you this worked up?"
"Jason—he was kidnapped! Tortured! And it’s all because of her. She ratted him out to Rafael. I can’t take it anymore. If you don’t help, I’ll... I’ll kill myself instead!" Sarai wailed, tears streaming, her possessive heart fracturing.
Bianca sighed, the bond of sisters unbreakable. "Alright, alright. We’re two peas in a pod, remember? I’ll handle it. But stay calm—we’ll make her pay."