Chapter 9 Drugged with Desire

The study was steeped in a heavy, frozen tension, the kind that made every breath feel weighted. Three people had been summoned, their footsteps echoing against the polished floor as they stood before Terrence.

Mira's voice trembled with a practiced note of grievance, yet her eyes flicked toward Bianca with a glint of challenge. "Mr. Anderson, I really was just doing my duty. I don't understand why Ms. Rodriguez insists on targeting me."

She tilted her head slightly, her tone laced with a coy sweetness, as if she believed she held some special place in Terrence's regard.

Bianca's lips curved in a smile that never reached her eyes. The amusement was cold, private, and entirely her own.

Without acknowledging Mira or Robert, Bianca crossed the space with unhurried confidence, stopping at Terrence's side. Her hand lifted naturally, fingers pressing with measured strength into his shoulders. The gesture was intimate, proprietary, as though she were reminding everyone in the room exactly where she stood.

Mira's composure cracked. Watching Bianca's casual closeness to Terrence made her pulse spike with fury, the kind that burned hot behind her ribs.

"You said you were checking the servants' rooms," Bianca's voice was silk over steel. "Am I a servant too?"

"Mr. Anderson," Bianca added with a faint shrug, "there's one thing she said that's correct--I am petty."

Her gaze slid toward Mira and Robert, catching the way their faces tightened with restrained anger. "Then I suggest," she said, her voice cool as winter glass, "that Mira leave."

Mira's composure faltered. "Ms. Rodriguez, being engaged to Mr. Anderson doesn't make you his wife. So tell me—what makes you think you get to give orders in his name?"

Bianca's hand stilled on Terrence's shoulder, withdrawing as though wounded. The warmth of her touch began to fade, but Terrence's head turned slightly. The air seemed to sharpen around them, his presence radiating a sudden, dangerous chill.

"Bianca is my fiancée," he said, each word edged with finality. "No one else gets to judge her."

The statement hit Mira like a physical blow. Terrence hadn't ordered her out outright, but his open defense of Bianca left her humiliated. Why? Why her, when Mira was the one who had saved him?

"Mr. Anderson..." she started, but Robert's subtle shake of the head silenced her. She swallowed her anger, shooting Bianca a glare thick with venom.

"Robert," Terrence said without looking away, "the Rodriguez family is not a shelter. If someone can't tell where they stand, they can leave."

Robert's apologies came quickly, followed by a curt reprimand to Mira. He docked her pay before hustling her from the room.

When the door shut, Bianca's arm slid around Terrence's, her voice turning playful. "Darling, I knew you'd take my side."

Her smile was bright enough to soften the edge of his earlier irritation. He didn't notice the way his voice gentled. "You've made your point. Now go."

"I won't disturb your work," she said lightly. "Call me if your head aches again." With a satisfied sway, she left.

By evening, a servant called Bianca down for dinner. She entered the dining room just as Terrence strode toward the front door, Barry close behind, his expression grim.

"Company business," the servant explained when Bianca paused. "It happens often in the Anderson family. You'll get used to it."

She took her seat, but before she could lift her fork, Mira approached with a steaming bowl. "Ms. Rodriguez, I realize I was wrong earlier. You're generous enough not to hold it against me. This soup took me two hours to make. Please, try it?"

Mira's sudden kindness rang false. Bianca's instincts sharpened.

She accepted the bowl but set it before her untouched. Mira's eyes flickered. "Don't you like chicken soup?"

Bianca's smile was faint, her tone measured. "As long as you remember your place and behave, I can pretend nothing happened. But I prefer to start with something else. Soup raises my blood sugar."

A servant appeared with a cup of Earl Grey. "Your tea, Ms. Rodriguez."

"Thank you." Bianca lifted the cup, sipping slowly.

She didn't see the shadow of a smile curve Mira's lips--a smile that vanished almost before it appeared.

"Enjoy," Mira said, turning away.

After dinner, Bianca returned to her room, intent on a long bath. Steam filled the bathroom as she stepped into the water, but minutes later, a wave of dizziness struck. Her knees weakened, and she gripped the cold tile for support.

She forced herself through a quick rinse, wrapped in a robe, and stepped back into the bedroom.

Her breath caught. A man she didn't recognize sat on the edge of her bed, robe loose over a bare chest.

Fear slammed into her, icy and immediate. "Who are you? Why are you in my room?" Her voice was sharp, but the drug in her veins softened its edges.

Zephyr rose slowly, each step toward her deliberate, his eyes clouded yet gleaming with something vile. "Ms. Rodriguez... you're beautiful."

His hand lifted toward her face, but she jerked away. "Get out! Don't touch me!"

Memories from another life surged, raw and suffocating. The thought of those filthy hands on her skin was worse than death. "Out!" she shouted.

Her fingers found her phone. She dialed Terrence, hands trembling. The call rang and rang, ending in a cold, mechanical tone.

She tried again. Twice. Silence answered her each time.

"It's useless, beautiful girl," Zephyr murmured, advancing until her back met the wall.

Bianca hurled the phone at him, but he dodged easily, his grin widening. "Fiery. I wonder how that plays out in bed."

"Don't touch me! If you lay a hand on me, Terrence will kill you!" Her voice cracked, arms crossing over her chest, body rigid with fear and the drug's weight.

Zephyr ignored the warning, seizing her wrist and forcing her down onto the bed. She fought to rise, but he was already over her, his body pinning her legs. His breath was hot and foul against her neck.

The drug's pull was relentless. She felt weak, helpless, like prey cornered by a predator.

Tears slid down her cheeks, mingling with cold sweat at her temples. Somewhere deep inside, a fragile thread of hope remained.

In the car, Terrence pressed his fingers to his temple, a sudden, sharp throb making his pulse race. A sense of dread gripped him.

"Mr. Anderson," Barry said carefully from the front seat, "while you were in the meeting, your phone vibrated several times. It was Ms. Rodriguez."

Terrence's gaze darkened. He called her back, but the line rang unanswered.

The unease in his chest deepened. "Faster," he ordered.

In the bedroom, Bianca's blurred vision caught the glow of Terrence's name on her phone screen. It was like seeing a lifeline in the dark. She tried to reach for it, but her limbs felt like lead. Her throat could only form a broken whisper.

"Don't waste your strength, my Ms. Rodriguez," Zephyr said, his hand sliding toward her thigh. Nausea churned in her stomach. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, clinging to the pain to keep herself conscious.

"Get... out," she rasped.

Zephyr's grin sharpened. Bianca's mind screamed in defiance. Even if she had to live this life twice, she would never allow herself to be degraded again.

A voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Who gave you the right to touch what's mine?"