Eliana Bennett Vexley studied Rafael carefully. Not the ruthless strategist. Not the heir.
But the man who had been hurt.
"They deserve what's coming," she said quietly. "For what they did to you. To us." Her eyes hardened—not with cruelty, but with justice forged from her own lifetime of being overlooked and dismissed. "But I want to see them."
Rafael's brows drew together slightly.
"Mirabel. Charles. Then Sarai and Bianca," she clarified. "Before we go to London."
He went very still.
"Closure?" he asked.
"Maybe," she admitted. "Or maybe just… to look them in the eye and know we survived them."
His gaze searched her face, measuring risk. Measuring emotional fallout. Old instincts warred within him—protect, shield, eliminate threats. Avoid reopening scars.
"You're sure?" he asked quietly. "Seeing them could stir things."
She squeezed his hand gently.
"With you?" she said, a faint smile curving her lips. "I can face anything."
