Chapter 120: A Sudden Call
Henry looked up from his laptop, the faint glow of the screen reflecting in his eyes—eyes steady, resolute. "Absolutely, Eliana," he said, his voice low but unshakable. "Look." He angled the laptop toward her. "Your university credits are already transferred to University of London. No setbacks, no lost time. You’ll start right where you left off. And your father—" He gestured toward the living room.
Her father, once frail and skeletal in a hospital bed, now rested on the couch, a soft blanket covering his recovering frame. His chest rose and fell in the deep, steady rhythm of someone finally safe.
"For him," Henry continued, "I’ve arranged follow-up appointments with a specialist at St Thomas’ Hospital. One of the best. They’ll take good care of him. Better than here. Lastly, we need to go shopping for more supplies."
The words wrapped around Eliana like a steady hand on her back. The fear she’d carried for months didn’t vanish, but for the first time, it loosened its grip. She met Henry’s gaze and saw not just logistics, but the quiet promise of a new beginning.
Eliana’s lips curved into a grateful smile, her kind-hearted nature shining through. "You’re incredible. I don’t know how to thank you. But... shopping? We really need to hit the stores today?"
He grinned, a touch of humor lightening his reserved demeanor. "Come on, it’s not all paperwork. You need essentials for the trip—warm coats for that London fog, sturdy luggage, maybe a new scarf to match those expressive eyes of yours. Your father got his meds packed, but let’s get him some comfortable travel clothes too. We’re leaving in two days; no loose ends."
She laughed softly, a sound like tinkling bells that masked her emotional resilience. "Alright, Mr. Organizer. But if I end up with a wardrobe fit for a queen, it’s on you."
They stepped out that evening into a city alive with movement, the streets bathed in the molten gold of a setting sun. The air was warm but held the faintest promise of night, carrying with it the mingled scents of roasted chestnuts, fresh pastries, and car exhaust. Crowds spilled along the sidewalks, laughter rising and folding into the rhythm of traffic, but for a brief, perfect moment, it felt like the world had slowed just for the two of them.
Henry Jackson walked a little ahead, one hand casually tucked into his coat pocket, the other holding open glass doors to sleek boutiques that seemed almost too polished to breathe in. He’d grown up around this kind of luxury—the velvet-lined displays, the hushed voices of attendants, the gleam of price tags that made people hesitate. But Eliana didn’t belong to that world, and somehow, that made the evening feel more real.
Inside, soft jazz drifted through hidden speakers. Racks of cashmere sweaters, wool coats, and leather boots lined the walls. "Try this on," Henry said in one store, lifting a deep blue coat from the rack. The color was rich, midnight and quiet elegance, and he held it out with a smile that didn’t need words.
Eliana Bennett hesitated at first, brushing her fingers over the fabric as if it might vanish beneath her touch. She had once been accustomed to a life of luxury, but after her grandfather’s death, that lifestyle seemed to seep out of her pores like sweat, fading with each passing day. But when she slipped the coat on and turned toward the mirror, something in her shifted. The woman staring back wasn’t just a survivor or a girl scraping by; she looked radiant, strong—like someone stepping into a new Chapter with her chin lifted to meet it.
Henry watched her spin softly, the hem of the coat flaring out as the shop lights caught the subtle glow of her honey-brown skin. Her laughter—small, surprised, and genuine—hit him like a rush of wind. Years of quiet, hidden love pressed against his ribs, aching to be set free. He memorized the curve of her smile, the light in her eyes, the way joy made her glow from the inside out.
In that moment, amid the polished floors and whispering city beyond the windows, it wasn’t about the price tags or his family’s wealth. It was about her—about giving her a glimpse of the world she deserved.
"Perfect," he murmured. "You look ready for a new Chapter."
Back at the apartment, Frank sat watching as they unpacked. His voice, strong but kind, carried from the couch. "Henry, son, you’ve done more than any man should. Eliana, my girl, are you sure about leaving everything behind?"
Eliana knelt beside him, her hand gentle on his. "Papa, it’s for the best. Henry’s made it all possible—schools, doctors, even a cozy flat near the Thames. We’ll start fresh, away from the pain."
Frank nodded, his eyes misty. "Then let’s make it count. Two days... feels like a dream."
Henry clapped Frank on the shoulder lightly. "It’s real, sir. Everything’s set. Passports, visas, flights—tied up with a bow."
Meanwhile, across the city in the towering glass edifice of Vexley Enterprises, James, Rafael’s loyal secretary, paced his modest office. The room was stark, filled with files and screens displaying stock tickers, but James’s mind was elsewhere. Ever since Rafael and Eliana’s brutal breakup, an unease had gnawed at him like a persistent itch. Rafael Vexley, the billionaire recluse with his tall, athletic build and chiseled jawline, had always been cold and calculating, his piercing steel eyes hiding a fortress of scars. But now? He was a shadow of that commanding presence.
"Mr. Vexley, you need to eat something," James had said earlier that day, entering Rafael’s opulent penthouse office unannounced. Rafael sat slumped in his leather chair, dark wavy hair disheveled, a half-empty bottle of scotch on the desk. His crisp designer suit was rumpled, a rare lapse in his impeccable appearance.
Rafael waved him off, his voice sarcastic and bitter. "Food? What’s the point, James? She betrayed me—Eliana, with her hopeful smiles and lies. I thought she was different, but she’s just like the rest."
James hesitated, watching as Rafael’s hand trembled slightly on the glass. "Sir, you’ve been like this for weeks. Drinking alone, staring at walls. I’ve seen you... crying, when you think no one’s around. This isn’t you. You’re broken, and it’s killing me to watch."
Rafael’s sharp tongue lashed out. "Broken? Ha! I’m fine. Just... realizing trust is a fool’s game. Get out, James. Handle the meetings."
But James couldn’t let it go. That night, as the city lights twinkled below, he dialed Eliana’s number, his heart pounding. "Eliana? It’s James. Please, don’t hang up. I need to meet you—it’s urgent. About Rafael."
Eliana, in Henry’s apartment, paused mid-fold of a sweater into her suitcase. Her heart leaped, a surge of emotion crashing through her—hope, fear, longing. Her honey-brown eyes widened, and she gripped the phone tighter. "James? Oh God, is he okay? What’s wrong?"
"He’s not himself, Eliana," James pleaded, his voice urgent. "Drinking, withdrawn, an emotional wreck. He won’t listen to reason, but maybe... maybe you can help. Meet me at that small pastry shop downtown, the one with the red awning. Tomorrow morning?"
She glanced at her half-packed boxes, the tickets for their flight in two days glaring from the table. But the pull was too strong, her loyal heart unable to ignore the man who’d cracked her walls. "Alright, James. I’ll be there. For Rafael... I’ll come."