The storm outside raged on, lashing heavy sheets of rain against the tall glass windows of Rafael Vexley's suite. Thunder rolled like an angry god's drum, shaking the silent shadows of his bedroom.
Rafael sat silently in his wheelchair, the quiet hum of the night amplifying every breath he drew. His steel-grey eyes, now uncovered and sharp without those deceiving tinted lenses, locked onto Eliana like a predator studying its prey. A lazy, dangerous smirk curved his lips as he watched her sleep.
She looked so heartbreakingly fragile lying there, utterly unaware of the world—or of him. Her lips were parted just enough to make his chest tighten. Her long lashes fluttered ever so slightly, catching stray beams of moonlight sneaking past the blackout curtains. Each gentle rise and fall of her chest seemed to echo in his mind, whispering secrets only he was allowed to hear.
