Chapter 3 The Audacious Bianca

Denying everything would be the coward's move. Trying to talk her way out would be worse—Terrence was not the kind of man you could trick with a clever excuse. In front of him, every petty game would backfire.

Bianca made her choice in a single breath. She stepped forward and threw herself against him, her arms locking around the solid strength of his waist. Her cheek pressed into the cold fabric of his coat, the scent of rain and something sharper filling her lungs. Her voice broke on a sob.

"Yes! I admit it—I was blind before, fooled by Samuel. But I regret it. At the very last moment I knew, with absolute clarity, I couldn't go with him."

She lifted her head, her eyes blurred with tears, and caught the shadowed gaze behind his dark lenses. Without giving him a chance to pull away, she took his hand from where it hung at his side and pressed it firmly against her chest.

"Listen… feel it. No matter how foolish I've been, from this moment forward there's only you in my heart. Terrence, I choose you—only you."

Under his palm, her heartbeat thundered, wild and unrestrained, each pulse a desperate confession of remorse and resolve.

Terrence's body went rigid. He hadn't expected her to be this bold, this brazen. Through the layers of fabric he could feel the heat of her skin and the erratic rhythm of her heart.

The air inside the car shifted, charged with something unspoken. Her breathing was quick, uneven, as if she had run a long way.

After a few seconds, his hand pulled back—quickly, almost abruptly.

"I understand," he said, the words flat, his face turning toward the rain-streaked window. The sunglasses hid whatever passed through his eyes.

Bianca exhaled slowly, watching the perfect, cold line of his profile. The oppressive tension that had been pressing down on her seemed to ease, just a fraction.

Maybe… maybe he believed her.

The car rolled on in silence, climbing the winding road toward Crystal Gardens, the Anderson family's mountain estate. Even in the wet darkness, the place radiated scale and power, its gates guarded, its walls high.

When they stopped in front of the main house, the butler, Robert Green, was already waiting under the covered porch with two staff members.

Terrence stepped out first; Bianca followed quickly, keeping close.

"Mr. Anderson," Robert greeted, bowing with practiced precision. He was in his forties, dressed in a perfectly cut tailcoat, hair slicked back without a strand out of place, his expression disciplined.

His eyes flicked to Bianca, assessing with a sharpness that carried a faint trace of disdain.

"Ms. Rodriguez," he said, inclining his head just enough to be polite, his tone distant.

Terrence didn't slow. "Robert, arrange her accommodations," he ordered, his voice cool.

Without another word, he moved off with Barry Myers, his assistant, disappearing into the deeper halls of the house.

Robert's "Yes, sir" was smooth, but when he turned back to Bianca, the smile he offered was purely mechanical, his eyes devoid of warmth.

"Ms. Rodriguez, please follow me."

He led her through the grand main hall, but instead of heading toward the upstairs master wing, he turned down a quieter corridor. They stopped in front of an unremarkable door.

"This will be your room," Robert said, opening it.

The interior was neat but plain—standard guest-room furnishings, the kind reserved for senior staff or passing visitors. Compared to the opulence of the main house, it was almost austere. Bianca had slept in far better rooms at the Rodriguez Mansion.

Two maids were inside, tidying. They exchanged a glance, a flicker of knowing amusement tugging at their mouths.

Bianca understood instantly. This was a deliberate slight.

In her past life, she had been too shaken, too insecure to protest. This time, she would not swallow it.

She stayed in the hallway, her voice calm. "Mr. Green, I think you've made a mistake."

Robert's expression didn't change. "Ms. Rodriguez? This room has excellent light and ventilation."

"I am Mr. Anderson's fiancée, personally brought here by him. I am the future mistress of the Anderson family," Bianca cut in, her lips curving into a cold smile. "By putting me in a servant's room, are you trying to embarrass Mr. Anderson—or the entire Anderson family?"

She stepped closer, her tone tightening. "If Mr. Anderson hears you've treated his future wife with this kind of disrespect… tell me, will you still have a position here?"

The smile faltered. Robert hadn't expected her to strike back so directly, his eyes flickering as he weighed the risk.

Finally, he forced a stiff smile. "Ms. Rodriguez, you're right. I didn't think it through. Please, come with me—there are better rooms upstairs."

This time he led her to the master floor, stopping before a carved wooden door.

"This room has a beautiful view and is very quiet," he said, his tone deliberately vague.

Bianca's gaze swept the space beyond the doorway, and her mouth curved faintly. She knew this room—it wasn't a guest suite at all, but the lounge adjoining Terrence's private study. In her past life, she had spent time here, and she knew exactly how much he despised anyone lingering near his study without permission.

Robert was either underestimating her or setting her up to fail.

She gave him a long, measured look but didn't call him out. Robert had always seemed to carry an unspoken hostility toward her; she had never questioned it before. Now, she intended to find out why.

Feigning hesitation, she said, "Wouldn't this be inconvenient? I'm pretty sure that's Mr. Anderson's study next door."

"Not at all," Robert replied quickly, his voice coaxing. "It's quiet here. No one will disturb you. Please, go in and see for yourself. If you need anything, let me know."

He pushed the door open, bowing slightly, already preparing to leave.

Bianca's eyes narrowed. He wanted her to walk in on her own, so he could keep his hands clean.

"Very well," she said, stepping inside.

The room was elegantly arranged, but she barely noticed. She checked her watch, calculating. By now, Robert would be reporting to Terrence.

Sure enough, footsteps approached outside, steady and deliberate. Then Terrence's voice cut through the air, cold and edged with displeasure.

"What is she doing here?"

Robert's reply was pitched with feigned alarm and helplessness. "Mr. Anderson, I specifically told Ms. Rodriguez the study next door was off-limits. I don't know how she ended up here! I must not have explained clearly. Please, punish me."

Bianca's lips curled in a silent laugh. In a handful of sentences, Robert had shifted all blame to her, painting her as someone who ignored warnings and trespassed.

Several of the staff who had followed hung back, heads bowed but eyes bright with anticipation. Everyone knew the study was a forbidden zone. The last person who tried to enter without permission had paid dearly.

Terrence stood at the doorway, his expression unreadable behind the dark lenses. He didn't speak, but the weight of his presence filled the room, pressing down until it was hard to breathe.

They were all waiting—to see exactly how he would deal with the fiancée bold enough to cross his line.