Chapter 192

Chapter 192

After Marlowe's words landed, Bianca, kneeling on the floor, shook violently as if struck by lightning. Her lips opened and closed, opened and closed, but no sound came out.

Henry stood at the foot of the stairs, coat still on, car keys still in his hand.

His gaze moved from Marlowe's face to Bianca's, heavy and dark.

Then he turned his head toward Gloria.

Her face was unreadable. She calmly held out a stack of photos she'd already prepared and handed them to Henry.

Henry looked down, and his pupils shrank.

His expression shifted from confusion to disbelief, then from disbelief to something cold and dark.

He flipped through them one by one.

A hotel elevator. A private club booth. An underground parking lot late at night.

Bianca leaning against a man, close enough that there was nothing left to argue about.

He knew the man.

Joseph. A notorious creep in the real estate world. Five kids, eight months pregnant himself, his belt barely holding in all that wobbling flesh when he walked.

He had yellow teeth when he smiled and always liked to drape his arm over people's shoulders, leaving behind that sticky feeling that made your skin crawl.

And yet in these photos, Bianca clung to him like a vine, so naturally it looked like instinct.

Henry's hand stopped on the last photo.

It was taken in a private dining room at some restaurant. Joseph's arm was around her shoulder. Her face was pressed against his neck. The two of them looked like a couple deep in love.

The date was printed clearly in the bottom right corner.

Two years ago.

Bianca had already known him by then.

Henry's grip on the photos tightened suddenly, crushing the paper in his palm.

He snapped his head up, eyes locking onto Bianca on the floor. "Bianca. What is this?"

Bianca shook again, nearly collapsing flat on the floor, her forehead pressed against the cold tiles, her hair spilling everywhere and covering most of her face.

Her voice came out in broken pieces, forced through her throat.

"Henry, no, it's not what you think. That man, I was young and stupid back then, I didn't know what I was doing—"

"Didn't know what you were doing?"

Henry crouched down. His long fingers gripped her chin, the delicate bones beneath his fingertips making him feel physically sick.

He forced her to look up at him, staring hard into her eyes. Those eyes that had once made him go soft. Now they were full of panic and fear.

"You were wrapped around a man thirty years older than you, and you're telling me you didn't know what you were doing? Bianca, do you think I'm an idiot?"

His voice was low, but every word was ice-cold, each one forced out through clenched teeth.

"You told me the baby was mine. You told me you wanted to build a life together. I believed every word. And now what?"

He let go and stood up sharply, stepping back, like looking at Bianca one second longer would contaminate him somehow.

"Tell me. Whose baby is it?"

Bianca crumpled to the floor, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed, barely able to breathe.

She wanted to explain, but her mind was blank. Her lips trembled for a long time and she couldn't get a single word out.

All she could do was cry. Kneel there and cry until her whole body shook.

Marlowe stood to the side, watching. Her expression was complicated and cold.

"Enough. What's the point of crying? Will crying make any of this make sense?"

She walked to the sofa and sat down, one hand on her lower back, drawing a long slow breath like she was trying to hold back something rising in her chest.

"Get a paternity test. Do it now. I want to know once and for all whether this child is Henry's or not."

Bianca's head jerked up. Every drop of color had drained from her face. Her lips trembled violently, like she was about to say something, then swallowed it back down.

She couldn't do a paternity test.

If she did, she'd have nothing left.

"We can't—"

Henry's pupils shrank. He stared at her hard.

"Can't? Why not?"

Bianca went rigid, then quickly backtracked, her voice stumbling all over itself.

"No, I mean—she's so little, drawing blood would be too hard on her. She's still so small. Can we wait until she's a little older—"

"Wait until she's older?"

Marlowe let out a cold laugh and rose slowly from the sofa, walking over to stand in front of Bianca, looking down at her.

Her well-manicured hands hung at her sides, fingers slightly curled, like she was holding something back.

"Bianca. You're scared, aren't you?"

Bianca's tears fell like beads snapping off a broken string, one after another hitting the floor. Her lips shook, but she couldn't say a word.

Gloria had been standing nearby the whole time, not saying anything.

She ran her fingertips lightly along the trim of her sleeve, her gaze sweeping calmly over Bianca sobbing on the floor. Not a trace of pity.

---

Private hospital. VIP waiting area.

Bianca sat in one of the chairs, head down, hands folded in her lap, fingertips cold.

She wasn't crying anymore. The tears had run out. All that was left were two swollen red eyes and a face drained of color.

She didn't dare look up. Didn't dare look at anyone.

She could feel their eyes on her, like dull blades dragging back and forth across her skin.

Henry stood at the far end of the hallway, back to everyone, shoulders pulled tight. One hand in his pocket, the other gripping his phone so hard his knuckles had gone white.

Marlowe sat on the other side of the waiting area, as far from Bianca as possible, like getting any closer might infect her with something. Her hand rested on the slight curve of her belly. She didn't look well either, but what showed on her face was mostly anger and humiliation at being played for a fool.

A nurse came down the hallway with a folder in hand and stopped at the entrance to the waiting area. "Miss Collins, please come with me."

Bianca went rigid. Her head snapped up, her eyes full of fear and resentment and one last desperate flicker of hope.

She saw every pair of eyes in the room turn to her. No sympathy. No hesitation. Just cold, waiting stares.

She opened her mouth. In the end, nothing came out. She stood up, legs unsteady, and followed the nurse down the hallway.

The waiting area went quiet.

Gloria patted the baby's back gently. The small body rested against her shoulder, breathing steadily.

Henry finally turned around and walked back into the waiting area, sitting down next to Gloria.

He glanced at her, then let his eyes rest on the baby for a few seconds. The look on his face was hard to name.

Guilt. Pain. And something hollow that had no bottom.

Then he looked away, like he didn't have the courage to keep looking.

"Let me hold her."

He reached out, his voice rough.

Gloria looked at him and handed the baby over.

Henry took her, practiced but slightly stiff, carefully cradling the back of her head, settling her into his arms.

He looked down at that small face, his expression unreadable, whatever was underneath hidden from view.

"Gloria. I'm sorry."

Gloria didn't say anything. She just watched him.

Henry took a slow breath and looked up, meeting her eyes. The rims of his eyes had gone faintly red.

"I shouldn't have gone soft on her. Shouldn't have believed what she said. Shouldn't have put you through all of this."

His voice caught. His throat moved.

"You told me to stay away from her. I didn't listen. I thought she just wanted a baby. I thought she wouldn't lie to me—"

He couldn't finish. He dropped his head into his hand, shoulders trembling slightly.

Gloria watched him. She was quiet for a moment, then spoke, her voice still warm and measured, with just the right amount of distance.

"It's done now. Don't dwell on it. Let's just get through what's in front of us first."