Chapter 11 Sharing the Same Bed
Mira pressed on, "After all, from what I can see, the effect is almost… immediate."
Terrence said nothing. Behind the dark lenses, his eyes returned to the bed, to Bianca curled into herself, fighting the poison in her veins with every shred of willpower she had left. His gaze was deep, unreadable.
Could Mira be telling the truth…?
Bianca's voice cut through the silence. "Mr. Anderson and I already have an engagement. I will marry him sooner or later. Something like this, whether it happens now or later, doesn't harm me."
She held his gaze, unwavering. "If I truly wanted to do something… Mr. Anderson is far too intelligent. Any tricks I might attempt would never escape his notice."
Her hand reached for his, guiding his palm to rest over her heart. The thin fabric between them did nothing to hide the rapid, pounding rhythm beneath.
"I didn't drink her soup," she said softly, "but I would never use something so filthy to… lure you."
Terrence stood silent for a moment, then withdrew his hand. His attention shifted to Mira, whose expression flickered between defiance and unease. His voice was back to its usual cold edge. "Leave. I'll find out the truth."
Mira's nails bit into her own palms. She had laid her plan with precision, only to see Bianca dismantle it in a handful of sentences.
"Yes, Mr. Anderson." She forced composure, but as she stepped out, she shot Bianca a look sharp enough to cut.
The door closed. Terrence started toward it, but a trembling hand caught his sleeve.
He looked down. Bianca's face was tilted up toward his, her eyes still bright with unshed tears. Fear and dependence mixed in them, the way a small, cornered animal might look at the only shelter it could find.
"Don't go," she whispered, her voice catching. "I… I'm afraid to be alone in this room."
Her arms wrapped around his, her body leaning into him. She was still shaking.
"Crystal Gardens is heavily guarded," she said, her voice low but steady. "Without someone guiding them, how could an outsider find my room so easily?"
Her fear didn't feel staged.
Terrence's gaze dropped to the delicate line of her shoulder blades beneath the fabric. Something inside him eased, just a fraction.
"I'll send someone to stay with you."
"No!" Bianca's refusal was immediate. She clung tighter, almost hanging on him. "I don't trust anyone but you. Please… stay."
Her grip carried a vulnerability that was hard to ignore.
After a pause, Terrence lifted his hand and, with a touch that was almost awkward, patted her back. "Come to my room. Rest there. Until you want otherwise, I won't cross the line. The doctor will be here soon."
Bianca was still wrapped in the shadow of what had happened. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to remain near him, where safety felt possible.
She nodded in his arms, small and quiet.
Terrence carried her to his master bedroom. The space was sleek, stripped of excess, filled with the cool, clean scent she had come to associate with him.
In the wide black bed, Bianca curled into herself, surrounded by that familiar sense of security. The doctor arrived quickly; after an injection, her body began to calm, and she slipped into sleep.
It was late when Terrence finished his work and returned. He stopped at the doorway.
Under the warm glow of the bedside lamp, Bianca's skin seemed almost luminous against the dark sheets. Her face was peaceful now, the tension gone. He stood there for a moment before lying down quietly on the other side.
Morning came.
Bianca woke feeling clear-headed. The space beside her was empty.
Downstairs, the dining room was already cleared. Mira was speaking in low tones with two maids she favored. When she spotted Bianca, her eyes flicked over her with a trace of mockery before she walked away.
Bianca intercepted one of the maids as she tried to leave. "Where's my breakfast?"
Nia's smile was edged with contempt. "Ms. Rodriguez, you didn't get enough to eat last night? And now you're hungry again?"
Bianca's eyes cooled instantly, though her lips curved faintly. "It seems you and Mira are quite close. Could it be… you're working together?"
Nia's face tightened. "What are you talking about?"
"Whether I'm wrong or not, we'll find out when Mr. Anderson returns and the police investigate."
Her voice carried a weight that made Nia flinch. "Now, go prepare my breakfast. And remember—if I have any problems with food again, everyone who handled it in Crystal Gardens will share the blame."
Nia muttered something under her breath but went to the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, she returned with a simple sandwich, setting it down with obvious reluctance.
She turned to Bianca, her tone sharp. "Ms. Rodriguez, anything else you need?"
Bianca looked up at her with a calm smile, then pulled out her phone and tapped the screen.
Nia's own voice spilled into the air—her mocking words from moments ago, caught perfectly in the recording.
Nia froze. "You… you recorded me? Delete that!"
Bianca tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting the phone sway slightly in her hand. "That's not the only thing I've recorded. Everything you've said about me these past days… I have it all. Tell me, if Mr. Anderson hears this, do you think he'll keep you here?"
Panic flickered across Nia's face. The pay here was generous. Terrence might be cold, but he was fair. Losing this job would be costly.
"What do you want?"
Bianca took a slow bite of the sandwich, her gaze steady. "I know you're close to Mira. Keep an eye on her for me. Any unusual moves—tell me immediately."
She smiled faintly at Nia's hesitation. "Do this well, and the recordings disappear. Otherwise…"
Evening brought Terrence back to Crystal Gardens. He paused at the dining room doorway, surprised.
Bianca was there, wearing an apron, moving between the table and the kitchen. The table was already set with several dishes, each one rich with color and aroma. Some were his favorites—recipes that required precise timing and skill.
"You're back?" Bianca turned, her smile bright, tinged with pride. "I cooked tonight. I wanted to thank you for saving me yesterday."
She guided him to the table, placing a steaming bowl of soup in front of him like a prize. "Try it. I remember you like this flavor."
Terrence's eyes flicked over the spread, a brief flash of surprise in them. She was right—he did like these dishes. But how had she learned that?
He picked up the silver spoon, tasting the soup.
The flavor was rich, balanced perfectly, the heat just right. It was better than he expected.
Bianca's eyes were wide, waiting. "Well?"
Terrence set the spoon down, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. His expression didn't change much. "It's fine."
But he reached for the spoon again, taking another mouthful… and another. And Bianca saw it—saw the way he kept eating despite the mask he wore.