"Elara… five more minutes," Raphael mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.
Elara stood by his bedside, hands on her hips, her patience wearing thin. "Raphael, get up! We're going to be late!"
A groggy groan was his only response.
She sighed. This wasn't new. Every morning, waking Raphael up was a battle, but today wasn't just any morning.
"It's exam day."
The moment the words left her mouth, his eyes snapped open.
"EXAM?!"
With a startled shout, Raphael shot up from bed like he'd been electrocuted. Sheets tangled around his legs as he stumbled out, frantically grabbing his uniform. "Why didn't you say so sooner?!"
"I did! Five times!" Elara huffed, watching in amusement as he rushed to change.
Within minutes, he was fully dressed, running a hand through his tousled blond hair. He grabbed his keys from the desk, his movements sharp and precise.
"Let's go," he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
Elara rolled her eyes but followed him down to the garage, where his sleek motorcycle awaited. She barely had time to secure her helmet before he revved the engine and sped off.
The streets blurred past them as they weaved through traffic, the wind whipping against their faces. Raphael handled the bike with practiced ease, his focus razor-sharp despite his usual lazy demeanor.
By the time they skidded to a halt in front of the school gates, the bell was seconds from ringing.
"Run!" Raphael urged, grabbing Elara's wrist. They sprinted down the hall, barely slipping into the classroom as the teacher walked in.
Breathing hard, Elara shot him a glare. "Next time, I'm dumping water on you."
Raphael only grinned, adjusting his tie. "Noted."
The exam was over, and Elara stretched as they stepped outside. The day was warm, the sky clear, and the stress of the morning had finally begun to fade.
Raphael sighed dramatically. "That was hell."
"Yeah? And who saved your lazy ass from missing it?" Elara raised an eyebrow.
Raphael smirked. "I suppose that would be you."
"Exactly. So… I expect payment."
He chuckled. "Payment?"
"A treat. Food. Something expensive," she declared, crossing her arms. "I did save your life today."
Raphael leaned against his bike, pretending to think. "Hmm… I could just say 'thank you.'"
Elara smacked his arm. "Nope. A deal's a deal."
He laughed, shaking his head. "Fine, fine. Get on. I'll take you wherever you want."
With a victorious grin, Elara climbed onto the bike, wrapping her arms around him as he started the engine.
For now, things were simple.
She had no idea that one day, this same boy would shatter her heart.
The restaurant was elegant, dimly lit with golden chandeliers, and filled with the soft hum of conversation. The moment they stepped inside, Raphael saw Elara's eyes light up as she scanned the menu.
Her excitement was almost childlike.
"They have ravioli," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
Raphael leaned back in his chair, watching her with an amused smirk. "You really love that stuff, huh?"
Elara nodded enthusiastically. "My grandmother was from Italy. Every time I visited her, she would make ravioli from scratch. It's more than just food—it reminds me of home, of the times I spent with her."
There was a warmth in her voice, a softness that made Raphael's chest tighten.
He stayed quiet as she placed her order, and when the dish finally arrived, her entire face lit up. She took the first bite, closing her eyes in satisfaction.
"It's perfect," she sighed happily.
Raphael, however, barely touched his food. He wasn't hungry—not when he was already full just watching her.
She was always like this. Simple things made her happy, whether it was a good meal, a sunny day, or even just their rides to school. He had spent years by her side, listening to her laughter, watching her chase her dreams.
And yet, he never let himself think too deeply about what that meant.
Because deep down, he knew.
He liked her.
He always had.
But his ambitions, his ego—his belief that love was nothing but a distraction—kept him from ever acknowledging it.
So he pushed it down, ignored the way his heart beat faster when she smiled, and convinced himself that she was just a friend.
That was easier.
After dinner, Raphael drove her home, the city lights flashing past them. When they reached her house, he stopped the bike, and she hopped off, stretching.
"Thanks for dinner," she said, flashing him a grin. "I'll let you off the hook this time."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't make it a habit."
She rolled her eyes and turned to head inside, but he called out to her.
"Elara."
She glanced back. "Hmm?"
For a split second, words hovered at the tip of his tongue—words he would never say.
Instead, he simply smirked. "Get some sleep. You'll need it for tomorrow's exam."
She scoffed. "Says the guy who overslept today."
Then she disappeared inside, leaving Raphael staring at the closed door.
With a quiet sigh, he revved the engine and drove off, leaving behind the one thing he didn't realize he would one day regret losing.
Just as Raphael dropped Elara off at her house and was about to ride away, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Glancing at the screen, his breath hitched—Home. A call from the Vaughn estate was never without reason. The moment he answered, the butler's urgent voice came through.
"Master Raphael, it's your father. He's collapsed."
Raphael gripped the handlebars of his motorcycle tightly, his knuckles turning white as he sped through the city streets. His phone call with the family doctor replayed in his mind—his father had collapsed.
His father, Dominic Vaughn.
A man as powerful as the empire he built, a name that sent fear into rivals and commanded unwavering loyalty from allies.
By the time Raphael arrived at the grand Vaughn estate, the butler was already waiting outside, his face composed but his posture stiff.
"Master Raphael," the butler greeted, opening the massive oak doors. "Your father is expecting you."
Without a word, Raphael stepped inside, his footsteps echoing against the marble floors as he followed the butler down the long corridor.
The moment he entered the bedroom, the air grew heavier.
Dominic Vaughn lay in bed, his once formidable presence dimmed by exhaustion. Despite the weakness in his face, his sharp eyes remained as piercing as ever.
"Father," Raphael spoke, stepping closer.
Dominic's gaze met his. Even now, even bedridden, he exuded authority. "You took your time."
"I came as soon as I heard," Raphael said, his voice steady.
A scoff left Dominic's lips. "Did you think I'd die that easily?"
Before Raphael could respond, another voice entered the conversation.
His mother.
Isabelle Vaughn stood by the window, her arms crossed. Even in worry, she was poised and elegant, her presence just as commanding as his father's.
"Your father isn't dying, Raphael," she said, her tone sharp. "But this should serve as a warning. Our enemies won't wait for him to recover. The moment they sense weakness, they'll pounce."
Raphael's jaw clenched. He knew exactly who she meant.
His uncles' children. His so-called cousins.
They had always lurked in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to seize control of Vaughn Industries.
"You are the only heir," Isabelle continued, stepping closer to her son. "You cannot afford to be careless, not even for a second. Everything we built, everything your father fought for—will be taken from us if you don't act."
Raphael remained silent, his mind already calculating. He had always known that his path was set in stone, but hearing it again—seeing his father weakened—solidified the weight of the responsibility he carried.
Dominic exhaled heavily. "Raphael, listen to your mother. There are no second chances in this world."
Raphael's fingers curled into fists.
He had no choice.
He had to win.
No matter what.