His Bride in Chains-Chapter 338: He Loves You

Harlan didn’t know her name, but the honey eyes, the lips, the pregnant swell— it was her, the woman Rafael had poured his soul out about on that windswept cliff. "Easy now, miss," he said, his gravelly voice a soothing rumble, guiding her to the chair beside the bed. "Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. That’s it. Stress like this... it ain’t kind to you or that little one you’re carryin’. I’ve seen enough life to know—panic helps no one."

Eliana sank into the seat, her long curly black hair spilling forward as she clutched the armrests, her warm brown skin paling to match Rafael’s ghostly hue. Tears welled unbidden, hot trails carving paths down her cheeks. "I... I thought it was a lie. Another one. But he’s... how could he look like this?" Her voice broke, a sob escaping as she reached out tentatively, her fingers hovering over his hand—large, veined, usually so commanding, now limp and cool.

Clara, trailing behind, froze at the sight, her face crumpling like paper in rain. A choked gasp escaped her, and she pressed a fist to her lips, curly brown hair trembling as tears spilled freely. "Rafael... oh, my boy," she whispered, collapsing into James’s arms for support, her body shaking with silent heaves. "Look at him. So still. Like when madam Eleanor passed... but he can’t— he just can’t." Her voice rose in a wail, muffled against James’s shoulder, the head maid’s poise fracturing into raw, familial grief.

James wrapped an arm around her, his own eyes misting behind his glasses, but he held steady, whispering, "He’s fighting, Clara. Like always. The doctors said the surgery went well—antivenom’s doing its job. Just... give him time."

Eliana’s brown eyes, wide with shock, darted between them, then back to Rafael. The machines’ beeps mocked her, each one a heartbeat she prayed wasn’t faltering. "How... how did this happen? A snake? On a cliff? At night?" Her words tumbled out, laced with horror and self-recrimination, her free hand pressing harder against her belly as if to shield the child from her unraveling. "He drove out after our fight—upset. But why there? Why alone?" She leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper thick with denial. "No... tell me it’s not because of what I said. I told him I wanted a divorce, that his lies—the manipulations—were too much. He begged me, on his knees, said he’d rather die than lose me. I thought it was dramatic, just words. But if... if he took it seriously, if he came here to..." She trailed off, a fresh sob wrenching from her chest, her quiet strength buckling under the weight of guilt. "I could never forgive myself. Never. If this is my fault, if I pushed him to—to hurt like this... God, James, tell me it’s not."

James knelt beside her, his kind face inches from hers, dark hair falling into his eyes. "Eliana, listen—it’s not on you. He was heartbroken, yeah, but he’s a fighter. Always has been. The crash, the family trying to kill him—he survived that. This? Just bad luck. A snake in the wrong place."

But Eliana shook her head, tears splashing onto the bedsheet as she finally grasped Rafael’s hand, her slender fingers intertwining with his, warm against his chill. The contact sent a jolt through her, memories flooding: his touch in stolen moments, sarcastic quips melting into vulnerable confessions, the way he’d faked paralysis to expose greed but let her see the real man beneath. "Rafael... please," she begged, her voice a broken melody, leaning over him so her curls brushed his arm. "Wake up. Don’t you dare leave me. Not like this. I’m not angry anymore—I swear. The lies, the chains... I was scared, hurt. But I love you. Too much. Our baby needs you. I need you. Fight, damn it. Come back to me." Sobs wracked her now, deep and unrestrained, her emotional resilience shattering as she pressed her forehead to his knuckles, the room blurring through her tears.

Harlan, resuming his seat but leaning forward, watched with empathetic eyes, his calloused hand patting her shoulder awkwardly. "There now, mrs—Eliana, right? He mumbled your name more than once up on that cliff. Rafael... he’d be over the moon hearin’ you say that. Grinnin’ like a fool, probably crack a sarcastic joke about how beggin’ suits you." A faint, wry smile tugged at his lips, injecting a touch of levity into the heaviness, though his voice remained tender. "Kid’s got a heart bigger than his ego, even if he hides it. When I found him—passed out drunk, too close to the edge for comfort—he was a mess. Talked my ear off about you. Said you made him want to be better, drop the games. He was headin’ home, plannin’ to grovel proper—flowers, letters, whatever it took. No pride, just love. Pure as mountain spring. Then that damn snake... but up till then? He was set on fixin’ things. For you. For the little one. He wasn’t planning to hurt himself, I promise."

Eliana lifted her head, honey eyes red-rimmed and glistening, searching Harlan’s face as if anchoring to his words. "He... he said that? About coming back? Apologizing?" Fresh tears welled, guilt twisting like a knife in her gut. The image of Rafael—tall, commanding, his steel-grey eyes flashing with rare vulnerability—driving through the night, heart shattered by her words... it gutted her. "Oh God, Harlan... I pushed him away. Called him manipulative, ruthless. But he was changing—for me. And now..." Her voice fractured, sobs deepening as she squeezed his hand tighter, willing life into it. "I’m so sorry, Rafael. So sorry. Wake up. Please. We can fix this. No more lies. Just us."

Clara, composing herself enough to join them, wiped her cheeks and reached across, her curly hair disheveled, her gaze fixed on Rafael. "He’s always been stubborn, that one. Born a year after I came to the Vexleys—like fate knew we needed each other. Eleanor would say he was her miracle. Don’t give up on him now, Eliana. He’s hearing you. I know it."

James nodded, standing sentinel, his loyalty a quiet flame. "Harlan’s right. Rafael’s arc— from that bitter recluse, faking everything to survive... to this man fighting for you? It’s real. Hold on."

The room held its breath amid the machines’ symphony, sunlight fading to twilight hues that painted Rafael’s pale face in ethereal glow. Eliana’s cries softened to murmurs, her thumb tracing circles on his skin, a silent vow amid the storm. And then, as if summoned by her voice—the raw plea piercing the veil of sedation—Rafael Vexley’s eyelids fluttered. A faint groan escaped the oxygen mask, his fingers twitching weakly in hers. Slowly, those piercing steel-grey eyes cracked open, hazy but seeking, locking onto her tear-streaked face with a spark of recognition that chased shadows from the room.