Chapter 25: The Dawn of Reckoning

Arabella woke with a start, her pulse thrumming wildly in her throat. The first thing she saw was the sky—an endless expanse of pale lavender and blush, the hesitant colors of early morning. A sharp contrast to the events of the night before. The cool breeze brushed over her skin, and for a moment, she was lost between dream and reality.

And then—

The weight of an arm draped heavily over her shoulder. Warm breath fanned against the delicate curve of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Her body tensed as she turned her head slightly, her breath hitching when she came face to face with Rafael. His dark lashes fluttered against his cheekbones, his lips parted in the languid grasp of sleep.

"Wake up," she whispered urgently, nudging his chest. "We have to leave before people see us."

He groaned, his voice thick with sleep. "Mmm... five more minutes."

"No," she insisted, her voice sharpening. "You promised only a few hours. Now it's morning, and I have to get home."

"Baby, it's too early for anyone to be out." His arms tightened around her, his head nuzzling closer against the soft rise of her chest.

Arabella clenched her jaw. The warmth of his body, the tenderness of his grip, it all felt too natural. Too easy. And that scared her. "If you don't take me home this instant," she threatened, "I'll run off to Paris the first chance I get and never come back."

His eyes snapped open, the sleepy haze replaced with something fierce, something alarmingly raw. He lifted his head, scanning her face as if memorizing it, as if trying to decipher the truth in her words. A muscle ticked in his jaw, his expression softening in an unfamiliar way.

"Baby," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't ever say that again. You make my heart skip a beat."

She arched a brow. "Then take me home."

"Promise me first. Promise you'll never leave me."

"No," she said flatly. "Your two nights are over. Return me to my normal life."

A shadow passed over his face, but he said nothing. Instead, he released her from his grasp and watched as she scrambled to her feet, putting distance between them as if he were something tainted. His lips pressed into a thin line as she strode toward the car, the silk of her sleeping gown catching the golden threads of morning light.

With a sigh, Rafael pushed himself upright, snatching his shirt from the ground and shrugging it on. He lingered for a moment, staring at her retreating form, a strange tightness coiling in his chest. He thought back to Nantasket, the last time she walked away from him without a second glance. That time, she had fulfilled her end of the bargain and vanished as if he were nothing. It had stung, but he never admitted it.

Now, watching her again, a realization settled in his bones. He had never cared about how the women before Arabella had felt when he left them. But now—

Now, it was different.

And it was driving him mad.

The drive was suffocating in its silence. Arabella stared fixedly out the window, her expression unreadable. Rafael kept stealing glances at her, clearing his throat in hopes she would acknowledge him, but she remained unmoved. He would have preferred if she yelled at him, cursed him—anything but this cold silence.

"Baby," he tried, his voice gentle. "You want to grab something to eat?"

She scoffed. "How? Your pants are torn, and I'm still in my nightgown. Just take me home. Mia is probably worried sick."

He winced. "Are you mad at me?"

"Does it matter? My feelings don't concern you." Her voice was cool, detached. "Just take me home."

His hands tightened around the steering wheel. "Okay," he said quietly. "I'm taking you home. But don't run off to Paris, okay?"

Silence.

His stomach twisted. Had he pushed her too far? He had been careful last night—gentle, always checking for her comfort, always making sure she was willing. But something had changed. Was she regretting it? Did she see him as a mistake?

Arabella remained quiet, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions within her. Last night, she had dreamt of Rafael marrying Blair, of herself abandoned and pregnant, left to wither in obscurity. The mere thought made her feel helpless. And she hated feeling helpless.

More than anything, she feared discovery. If their secret came to light, it would tarnish her reputation, devastate her parents. And yet, despite all logic, despite knowing Rafael was nothing more than a cunning rogue—she couldn't deny that the thought of him with another woman sent an unbearable ache through her chest.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the Blake residence. Arabella wasted no time unlocking the door, but before she could slip out, Rafael caught her hand. She turned sharply, eyes flashing.

"What is it now?" she demanded.

His grip tightened. His voice was quiet but intense. "Don't run from me."

She hesitated. "And if I do?"

His lips parted. "I'll die."

She exhaled sharply, yanking her hand free. "Dramatic." And with that, she climbed out, slamming the door behind her.

Rafael cursed under his breath, watching her go. But just as she reached for the gate—

"Arabella!" a voice thundered from inside. "Who is that? Is that a man?!"

Dad.

Arabella paled.

"Ahh! Mr. Blake! That's the guy who kidnapped Arabella!" Levi shrieked.

"Ethan, don't lose your head!" Rachel added, hurrying behind them.

Arabella turned to Rafael, her voice a hushed panic. "My parents are home!"

Rafael swallowed hard. "Oh, shit."

It happened in an instant. The sharp, commanding voice cut through the air like a blade.

"YOU—stop right there. Don't you dare move an inch away from that gate."

Ethan's voice, gruff and edged with authority, boomed across the front yard, his outstretched hand like a judge's gavel rendering its verdict. Arabella stiffened. Rafael, still clutching her delicate hand, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air.

A bead of sweat formed at Rafael's temple as he swallowed, stealing a glance at Arabella, whose eyes burned with urgency.

"Leave, idiot," she hissed through clenched teeth, her fingers gripping his like a vice. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder. Her father's steps were steady, purposeful, unrelenting.

"B-but your father said—"

"If you want to live, then stay," she snapped, cutting him off.

The gate shuddered as it completed its slow, mechanical retreat, unveiling the figure beyond. Ethan Blake stood tall, a man in his late fifties, yet solid as a fortress. He was a portrait of rugged masculinity—broad shoulders filling out a square-cut tank top that revealed corded muscles, his biceps flexing with the ease of a man who'd spent years perfecting his strength. His chest, hardened by time and discipline, rose and fell with each measured breath. And then there were his eyes—fierce, scrutinizing, the kind that peeled back layers to expose the raw, unvarnished truth beneath.

Rafael resisted the urge to bolt. He could feel the blood draining from his face. This was a man who did not merely demand answers—he ripped them from the souls of lesser men.

"Arabella," Ethan rumbled, his voice laced with a controlled fury. "Where were you all night? I thought something had happened to you! I called Levi over this morning to help me look for you. And who the hell is this?"

He turned his penetrating gaze onto Rafael, who suddenly felt like a field mouse before a prowling hawk.

Ethan flexed his fists, the cracking of his knuckles sounding like gunfire in the thick silence. His neck rolled from side to side, popping with lethal intent. The air around them grew charged, a powder keg awaiting a single spark.

"I-I-I..." Rafael stammered, sweat prickling the back of his neck.

"And why the hell are you holding my daughter's hand?" Ethan thundered, his voice reverberating through the front yard.

Rafael released Arabella's hand so fast it might have burned him. Both hands shot into the air in a universal gesture of surrender.

"I'm not touching her anymore!" he blurted, forcing a shaky grin.

"Both of you—speak up! What the hell is going on?" Ethan barked.

Arabella lowered her gaze, scuffing her slippered foot against the stone pavement. "He's my boss," she muttered.

Rafael nodded quickly. "Yes, yes! I'm her boss." He attempted what he hoped was a reassuring smile, though it felt more like the grimace of a man facing imminent execution.

Ethan's sharp gaze swept over Rafael, his expert eyes taking in every telltale sign—his wrinkled shirt, buttoned in uneven haste; the strands of grass clinging to his disheveled hair; the slight unsteadiness in his stance, as though the ground beneath him had been less than steady the night before. Then, his focus shifted to his daughter—her silk nightgown, stained at the hem with grass and dirt, a clear indication of where she'd spent the night.

A fresh wave of suspicion crept into Ethan's glare.

Behind him, Levi came skidding to a breathless halt. His eyes widened as he pointed an accusatory finger at Rafael.

"Uncle! That's the guy! That's the man who forced Arabella to sleep with him!" Levi's voice rose in a shriek of outrage.

A terrible silence followed. And then—

"WHAT?!" Ethan roared, spinning around so fast that Levi barely had time to react before two powerful hands lifted him clean off the ground by the collar.

Levi's feet dangled as he squawked, arms flailing like a marionette cut loose from its strings. Behind Ethan's back, Rafael and Arabella simultaneously pressed fingers to their lips, eyes pleading with Levi to shut up.

"Ugh!" Levi croaked, raising a trembling finger to his throat in surrender.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Arabella shoved Rafael backward, urging him toward his car. "Go! Now!" she whispered furiously.

Rafael, caught between self-preservation and the overwhelming desire to see how this disaster played out, fumbled toward his car. His hands trembled as he yanked open the door and threw himself inside. The engine roared to life. Tires spat gravel as he reversed, kicking up dust that swirled behind him like smoke from a battlefield.

By the time Ethan turned back, Rafael was gone, leaving only the ghost of his retreating taillights.

Ethan's fury pivoted toward Levi, who now lay sprawled on the ground, gasping for air.

"I want to hear everything. From the beginning. No lies." Ethan's voice was low, menacing.

Arabella's stomach twisted. "Daddy, please—"

Ethan held up a hand. "Baby, if you won't tell me, then I'll get it from your friend."

Arabella's blood ran cold. Levi was a terrible storyteller—worse, he had a flair for the dramatic. If her parents got the truth from him...

Too late. Ethan was already dragging Levi up the stairs. Rachel followed, tossing a glance back at Arabella. "Don't interfere, darling. We need to hear it from an objective source."

The bedroom door slammed shut.

Arabella pounded on it, but Ethan's voice rang out. "If you knock again, Levi gets hurt."

A strangled yelp from inside confirmed the threat.

"Ahh! Okay! I'll talk! I'LL TALK!" Levi's voice cracked.

Silence fell for a moment.

Then—

"His name is Rafael Montgomery, CEO of Velvet Vogue! Arabella said he's a pervert! A monster who made her sign a contract to sleep with him!"

A choking noise.

"My baby..." Ethan's voice was a whisper of horror.

A gasp. "Oh my god! My darling is on birth control!" Rachel cried, holding up the evidence—an unopened package she had found near the fishbowl.

They gasped.

Levi gasped.

Arabella's face turned red. Oh God, help me.

"Levi... did my baby... and him..." Ethan's voice wavered.

A solemn nod. "It's true. And the second time, he didn't use protection—"

Rachel shrieked.

Ethan let out a strangled cry before his body went rigid—and then he collapsed.

Rachel and Levi rushed to support him, dragging his unconscious form toward the master bedroom. Arabella stood frozen, watching the scene unfold in horror.

She had finally done it.

She had shattered her father's heart.

And it was all Rafael's fault.

***

Arabella lifted her head, her thoughts tangled in a web of uncertainty. Did she hate Rafael? There had been moments she'd sworn she would kill him if given the chance—moments she could have gladly gouged his eyes out. But then, her mind betrayed her, whispering echoes of what he had said at the front gate. Could it be? Could a man like him—smooth, charming, practiced—actually fall in love with her? No, impossible. Men like Rafael had those words tucked neatly in their vocabulary, used with the casual grace of a magician pulling tricks from his sleeve. He had surely said them to a hundred women before her. And besides, he was engaged. Engaged! She was no fool. She would not be anyone's second choice, nor would she share a man. Her voice, sharp as a blade, cut through the silence.

"I hate him! I need to tell dad to get rid of him."

Rachel gasped dramatically, her hand flying to her chest as if her daughter had just handed her a scandal on a silver platter. "Oh, my... I'll go tell him. And if you hear any screaming, just—ignore it."

Rachel didn't wait for a reply. She whirled around and stalked off toward the master bedroom, her nerves fraying like an unraveling thread. Upon entering, she stopped dead in her tracks, her heart leaping into her throat.

There, on the bed, was Ethan—her husband, the fool—pressing a pillow over his own face in a tragic, theatrical attempt at suffocation.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?!" she screeched.

Ethan flung the pillow across the room, sitting up with the guilty panic of a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Baby, I—I couldn't find my blindfold, so I improvised," he lied, running a hand through his already-mussed hair.

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Well, you better stop improvising, because our daughter needs your help."

Ethan exhaled, reaching under the bed. "Baby, my Beretta SS06 rifle just needs bullets. I can buy them."

Rachel crossed her arms. "She doesn't love him."

Ethan exhaled, relief flickering across his face. "That's good, baby. That's real good. And I'm sure the fishes in the ocean are going to love him more—once I dump his lifeless body into the sea."

Rachel's fingers twitched. "But Ethan... I think history might be repeating itself."

"What?" His voice was a dangerous whisper.

"Remember our one night a week?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, it's two nights a week with this young man."

Ethan's face turned an alarming shade of red before he let out a banshee-like wail, yanking the rifle from under the bed.

Rachel lunged. "Wait, Ethan!"

"Nobody messes with my princess and gets away with it!"

"Ethan, put the rifle down! It's late. No killing tonight. Do it in the morning."

Ethan exhaled heavily, shoving the rifle back under the bed. "You're right, baby." He crawled beneath the blankets, his mind made up. In the morning, he would go to Velvet Vogue and blow Rafael's brains out.