Chapter 196

Chapter 196

Marlowe froze.

Her hand shot up, then stopped mid-air. Her fingertips were only an inch from Bianca's face, but something held her back, and she couldn't bring herself to follow through.

It wasn't about keeping up appearances. It was the look in Bianca's eyes.

Marlowe knew that if she slapped her, Bianca was capable of anything.

Bianca knew it too. She didn't flinch, didn't even blink — just stared straight at Marlowe.

She caught Marlowe's hesitation, and that wild grin on her face spread even wider, until the light flickering in her eyes turned into something that looked almost like joy.

She let go of Marlowe's arm, slowly stepped back, and settled herself between the two men holding her. Her whole manner shifted — suddenly calm, almost relaxed.

"Why'd you stop? Scared?" she said. "I thought you were supposed to be so impressive. Turns out you're not that much better than me."

Marlowe's face darkened. Her voice came out sharp.

"Shut her up."

The two men moved toward Bianca, but she twisted away and lurched toward the sofa.

"Feeling guilty?"

Tears were still wet on her face, but the corners of her mouth curled up. The expression was deeply unsettling.

"Guess what happens if people find out who the real father of your baby is..."

Marlowe went still. She knew Bianca was threatening her openly, and the rage made her grind her teeth.

Bianca dropped her voice to a cold laugh. "If you don't help me, what do you think happens to you?"

"You piece of trash. I should've broken your legs and thrown you out a long time ago." Marlowe glared at her like she wanted to tear her apart.

Bianca only seemed more pleased, watching Marlowe's reaction with a raised eyebrow.

Marlowe swallowed her anger, took a slow breath, and turned to Henry.

"Henry, she's been with you for years. Whatever she's done, that still counts for something."

"How about this — give her an apartment, give her some money, and let her leave. Far away. She never shows her face in Sovereign City again. That's a clean ending for everyone."

Henry's expression went completely flat.

"No. Mom, do you hear yourself?"

"She lied to me. She was going to make me raise someone else's child. She made me — made the entire Tudor family — a joke. And now you're telling me to give her an apartment and let her walk?"

He drew a sharp breath. His chest heaved. The veins at his temples pulsed.

"Not a chance."

Marlowe's face tightened. She opened her mouth, but when she met Henry's bloodshot eyes, the words died in her throat.

She knew she was in the wrong. But right now, what she needed most was to keep Bianca under control.

Bianca had something on her.

She couldn't afford to gamble.

Then Gloria, who had been silent this whole time, spoke.

She stepped out from the corner and stood beside Henry, her voice quiet and even. "Mom, I think we should let Henry handle this."

Marlowe snapped her head around, eyes sharp as a blade.

Gloria didn't flinch. She held her gaze without backing down.

"The Tudor family has been more than generous to Bianca over the years — gave her things she deserved and things she didn't. What she's doing now isn't something an apartment and a check can fix."

"Mom, I'm not trying to be cruel. But if we give in today — hand her a place to live and money to go with it — she'll come back. She'll keep coming back, using whatever she has on us, and the Tudor family will never be free of her. That's what will really cost us our reputation."

Henry heard her words and felt some of the weight lift. He glanced at her, his expression complicated.

Gratitude. Guilt. And something else — a quiet unease he didn't want to name.

She always did this.

Showed up exactly when he needed her. Stepped in, spoke up, put herself between him and whatever was coming.

But that was the thing. She was always so perfectly timed that it felt almost staged.

No.

He shook his head and pushed the thought away.

This wasn't the moment for that.

Bianca sat on the floor and suddenly burst out laughing — a sharp, grating sound that made everyone's skin crawl.

"What a performance," she said.

Marlowe tensed at the sound of her voice.

"You called my baby a bastard? Then what do you call the one you're carrying?"

Marlowe's mind went blank. She couldn't get a single word out.

Bianca saw her reaction and finally smiled — a smile edged with the kind of madness that comes from having nothing left to lose.

"What's wrong, lost your voice? You had plenty to say before. Called me a liar, called me shameless. So what about you?"

She was getting louder, more wound up, tears still on her face and a grin splitting it open.

"Marlowe, the one in your belly — that's the real bastard!"

"What?"

The words had barely landed when a voice came from the doorway.

Everyone turned.

Henry's second uncle, Keith Tudor, stood at the entrance, leaning on a cane.

He was seventy-six, his hair completely white and cropped close, his back slightly bent — but his eyes were still sharp.

Behind him stood his third uncle, Maurice Tudor, along with several elders from the extended Tudor family. They were all dressed in dark clothes, and every face wore the same grim expression.

Marlowe hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected any of them to show up. The color drained from her face.

"What did she just say?" Keith's voice was measured, giving nothing away — but the weight behind it made the room go quiet.

Henry took a slow breath. He unclenched his fist, clenched it again, then let it go.

He stepped forward, positioning himself between Marlowe and Bianca, facing Keith.

"It's a long story. Please, sit down. I'll explain everything."

"Explain."

Keith looked at him. What was in his eyes was hard to read — disappointment, sadness, and a frustration that comes from expecting better.

"Henry, I watched you grow up. When you were a boy, you fell out of the tree in my yard and tore up your knee pretty badly. Didn't shed a single tear. I thought to myself, this kid has backbone."

"All these years, I've watched what you've done out there. I thought you'd grown. Thought you could handle things."

"And yet you can't even manage your own household. Look at the state of this family. What are people supposed to think? Where does that leave the Tudor name?"

Henry's face flushed.

The words weren't harsh. They weren't even really a scolding. But every one of them landed like a slap.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. There was nothing to say.

Keith looked away from him.

He turned to the elders who had followed him in, raised a hand, and gestured. "All of you, sit down. We're here now, so we're going to get to the bottom of this. Nobody's walking away from anything today."

The elders found their seats.

Gloria stood in the corner — close enough to read every face in the room, far enough that no one would notice her right away.

She looked down and quietly swiped across her phone screen.

[The curtain's up. Get here.]

Ryan replied almost instantly: [On my way.]