Henry couldn't believe his ears. The words that had just slipped from Eliana's lips—steady, deliberate, almost ceremonial—hung in the hospital room like the smoke after a gunshot. Marry Rafael? The billionaire recluse who'd spent months pulling her strings, tightening them until she could barely breathe?
His mind lurched, staggered, scrambled for footing. A sharp pulse hammered through his chest, as if his heart was trying to break free from his ribcage and demand an explanation itself. He stared at her, stunned, his blue eyes wide and searching her face desperately for something—hesitation, doubt, a hint that she was joking, anything. But there was nothing. Not even a tremor.
