Chapter 121: Eliana’s Plans
The city outside hummed like a living thing — restless, glowing, unaware of the quiet storm unraveling behind Henry’s high-rise windows. Through sheer curtains, the skyline blinked in and out like a constellation too close to earth. Soft, fractured light spilled across the polished floors, catching on the silver zippers of half-packed suitcases and the crumpled boarding passes resting on the coffee table.
Eliana Bennett lay awake in the guest bedroom, her body a tense silhouette against the sheets. The blanket barely warmed her; it only tangled around her legs as if mocking her stillness. Her skin, a warm shade of caramel kissed by insomnia’s pale blue glow, reflected the light from her phone screen. 2:17 AM. Then 3:03. Then 3:45. Time refused to move the way she wanted—it dragged, stretched, and sneered at her as each minute passed without peace.
She could still hear James’s voice from earlier, sharp with worry and laced with something darker—pity.
"He’s not himself, Eliana. He’s drinking again. Won’t talk to anyone. He’s just... gone."
The words had been looping in her head ever since, like a cruel song she couldn’t stop replaying.
Her throat tightened as she turned her face toward the ceiling. ’What if he’s finally ready to see me?’ The thought came quietly, almost afraid to exist. Her full lips pressed together, trembling with the weight of it. ’What if this is the sign I’ve been praying for—not to go, not yet?’
The ticket to London felt heavier now, like an anchor instead of a promise. She was supposed to be gone by tomorrow—her father’s support, Henry’s quiet reminders, all meant to protect her, to give her distance. But the idea of leaving Rafael behind—broken, unreachable—made her stomach twist in rebellion.
Images of him flooded her thoughts in flashes too vivid to ignore. The way his grey eyes had once softened when he looked at her—just her. The way his voice dropped an octave when he said her name, like it meant something only he understood. Even his coldness, the armor he wore so religiously, had cracks she’d seen. Cracks she’d once touched.
Now, she wasn’t sure if those eyes would ever soften again—or if they’d turned on her completely.
Eliana turned onto her side, burying her face in the pillow, as if the cotton could muffle the ache clawing up her chest. Her curls, wild and damp with sweat, stuck to her temples. The thin fabric of her nightgown clung to her back. Every heartbeat thudded like a drum in a silent room.
Sleep wouldn’t come. It never did when her thoughts found their way to him.
’Is he hurting the way I am?’ she wondered, tracing the faint outline of her phone screen with her fingertip. ’Does he miss me, even a little? Or has he learned to forget me already?’
She wanted to text him. Just one message. ’Are you okay?’ Simple, harmless. But the fear of silence—the kind that doesn’t just end a conversation but kills whatever’s left of it—kept her frozen.
Outside, the city began to pale with the first hint of dawn. A siren wailed in the distance, lonely and hollow. She sat up, resting her elbows on her knees, the blanket falling away. The horizon beyond the glass was softening into a washed-out grey, like Rafael’s eyes.
Eliana exhaled shakily. She forced herself to rise, her quiet strength propelling her through the exhaustion. She slipped into the kitchen quietly, not wanting to wake her father, or Henry. The apartment was still, save for the distant hum of city traffic below. She busied herself with making breakfast—a simple spread of scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh fruit she’d picked up the day before. It was her way of repaying Henry’s kindness, even as guilt gnawed at her for keeping James’s call a secret. ’I can’t tell them,’ she thought, whisking the eggs with a vigor that betrayed her inner turmoil. ’Not yet. Henry would worry himself sick, and Papa... he needs peace.’
By 8 AM, the aroma of breakfast filled the air, drawing Henry from his room. He emerged in a casual button-up shirt and jeans, his boyish smile lighting up as he saw her efforts. "Eliana? What’s all this?" he asked, his voice warm and surprised, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
She turned from the stove, forcing a hopeful smile that hid the storm inside. "Just thought I’d switch things up for once. You’ve been doing everything for us—cooking, shopping, planning. It’s my turn to spoil you a bit." Her voice was soft, laced with genuine gratitude, but her eyes darted away, avoiding the depth of his gaze. Henry had always been there, a steadfast friend, his undying crush evident in every thoughtful gesture.
He chuckled, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "Well, I’m not complaining. This smells amazing." As he dug in, his fork scraping the plate, he glanced up at her. "You okay? You look like you didn’t sleep a wink."
"I’m fine," she lied smoothly, joining him at the table with her own plate. "Just excited about the trip. Nervous energy, you know?" She poked at her eggs, her appetite nonexistent.
Henry nodded, swallowing a bite. "Yeah, I get it. London’s going to be a fresh start for all of us. Schools for you, better doctors for your father... it’ll be good." He reached across the table, squeezing her hand briefly—a touch that lingered just a second too long, revealing the years of hidden affection. "You’ve been through hell, Eli. You deserve this."
Eliana’s heart ached at his words, the emotional wounds from her mother’s abandonment, hatred and recent betrayals surfacing like fresh bruises. But she pulled back gently, changing the subject. "Speaking of the trip... are you going out this morning? You mentioned wrapping things up."
Henry wiped his mouth with a napkin, leaning back. "Yeah, actually. Got a few last errands—pick up the final paperwork from the travel agent, confirm the flat rental. Should be back by early afternoon. Why? Something wrong?"
She shook her head, her sweet smile disarming any suspicion. "No, no problem at all. Just curious. You know me—always planning ahead." Her laughter was light, but inside, relief flooded her. ’Perfect. I’ll slip out after he leaves.’
Henry grinned, finishing his meal with enthusiasm. "Curious Eliana strikes again. Alright, then. Thanks for breakfast—this was the best surprise." He stood, leaning down to plant a quick, friendly kiss on her cheek. The contact made her flush slightly, a mix of appreciation and unease. As he grabbed his keys and headed for the door, he called back, "Tell Frank I said hi. See you soon!"
The door clicked shut, leaving Eliana alone with her thoughts. She cleared the table mechanically, her mind already on the pastry shop. James’s text from last night buzzed in her pocket: 10 AM sharp. Address: 142 Elm Street, the one with the red awning. Don’t be late—it’s for Rafael.
The living room, the faint murmur of the television filled the space — some cheerful anchor reciting the headlines of a world that still felt half-asleep.
Frank had walked out of his bedroom and already claimed his usual spot on the couch, dressed in his old checkered robe and worn slippers. His thinning gray hair caught the light, and the lines on his face seemed softer in the morning calm. When he saw Eliana coming from the kitchen, a hint of surprise flickered before his whole face broke into a smile — that familiar, gentle one that always made her chest warm.
"Morning, Papa," she said, her voice carrying that soft affection that only belonged to family. She balanced a plate in her hands, the smell of scrambled eggs and toasted bread filling the air between them. "I made breakfast."
Frank’s eyes twinkled, the kind of joy that came not from the food, but from the gesture itself. He sat up a little straighter, his hands ready to take the plate. "You didn’t have to, sweetheart," he said, though his grin betrayed how much it meant to him.
He accepted it with a grateful nod, his voice raspy from years of illness. "You’re always good to me, my girl, thank you." As he ate, he eyed her curiously. "You’re up early. Everything alright?"
Eliana knelt beside him, her hand gentle on his arm, the loyalty in her shining through. "Yes, Papa. Just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable before I head out." She hesitated, then continued, "I need to run to the store for a few more supplies—things we might need for the trip. Toiletries, snacks, that sort of thing."
Frank’s misty eyes searched hers, a father’s intuition flickering. "Supplies, huh? Alright, but be careful out there, Eliana. The world’s not always kind, especially with... well, you and the baby." His hand patted her belly softly, a reminder of the life growing inside her amid all the chaos.
She kissed his forehead, her lips brushing his wrinkled skin. "I promise, Papa. Nothing reckless. I’ll be back before you know it." Standing, she grabbed her purse—one of Henry’s gifts—and a light jacket, her natural elegance shining even in simple clothes. As she stepped out the door, the cool morning air hit her face, carrying a whisper of freedom—and unknown to her, the shadow of danger.