Chapter 12 Jealousy
"How is it? Did I do okay?" Bianca asked, leaning forward just slightly, her eyes bright with anticipation.
Terrence's hand paused mid-motion. When he looked up at her, his expression was as unreadable as ever. "Acceptable. There's room for improvement."
Her lips pushed into a small pout. "Acceptable? That's hardly a compliment. Food is either good or bad—there's no middle ground."
He set down his utensils, meeting her gaze. After a beat, his voice softened just enough to be sincere. "It's good."
The smile that bloomed on her face was immediate, radiant. She began piling more food into his bowl. "If it's good, then eat more. I know you're busy with work and probably don't get the chance to eat properly. Don't let yourself end up with stomach problems."
"I've been a little bored at home lately," she added, her tone light, "so I can experiment with new recipes for you."
Before she could serve him another dish, Terrence's hand closed gently around hers, placing the utensils back into her palm. "Don't just focus on me."
His voice was low, but for the first time, he used the serving spoon to place a tender piece of chicken into her bowl. "You should eat too."
The meal passed in a rare, easy harmony between them.
After dinner, Terrence returned to his bedroom.
Robert appeared at the door, his voice respectful but cautious. "Mr. Anderson, it's time for your medication."
Terrence removed his sunglasses.
The world before him was still a blur of indistinct light and shadow. Even his own reflection was nothing but a vague outline. Days of hope collapsed into a single moment of disappointment, the frustration striking like a match to dry tinder.
"Medication? After all this time, and it's still the same." His voice was low, edged with the kind of impatience that was hard to disguise.
Robert lowered his head, beads of sweat forming at his temple. "Please, sir... the doctor has warned repeatedly that recovery from this condition cannot be rushed. The treatment needs time to work."
"Time?" Terrence's laugh was short, sharp, and cold. "The Anderson family has poured resources into this, and you're telling me we can't even buy time? Worthless..."
"Yes, sir, but the medicine still needs to be changed on schedule—" Robert began, only to be cut off.
"Get out."
Robert didn't dare argue. He bowed and left quickly.
Outside the door, Mira had been waiting for her chance. She stepped forward with a prepared medical kit, her tone laced with exaggerated concern. "Mr. Anderson, let me handle this for you—"
Before she could finish, a slender hand reached out, taking the kit from her with practiced ease.
Bianca's voice was calm, her movements efficient. "Thank you for bringing this over. I'll take it from here—you can leave now."
Without waiting for Mira's reaction, Bianca turned and walked swiftly toward the master bedroom.
Terrence stood alone before the mirror, his back carrying a rare weight of solitude.
Bianca's chest tightened at the sight. She bent to pick up his sunglasses from the floor, setting them gently on the table.
"I told everyone to get out," he said sharply, but the familiar, faint scent that reached him made him pause.
Bianca stepped closer, wrapping her fingers around his hand. "It's me. I'll change your medication."
His expression darkened, and he moved to pull away. "Leave. I don't need—"
She didn't let go, guiding him toward the bed with quiet determination. Her grip was soft but unyielding. "You said I'm the future mistress of this house... your future wife."
"I know you don't want others to see you like this. But I'm not 'others.'" Her voice fell to a whisper. "Trust me... please."
The rigid line of his jaw eased slightly. He said nothing, allowing her to proceed.
Bianca opened the kit and began preparing the ointment. She had done this before—long ago, in another time—when his condition worsened. She had studied countless medical texts, learning exactly how to help the treatment work.
Her fingertips dipped into the cool ointment, spreading it carefully around his eyes before beginning a gentle massage along precise pressure points.
"Let me handle this from now on," she murmured. "The massage helps the medicine absorb better. It'll speed up your recovery."
She felt the tension in him and, in an attempt to lighten the mood, added, "And don't throw these sunglasses again. You may have money to spare, but it's better to save when you can. After all, I'll be managing your household someday."
Her quiet chatter was like warm water over stone, washing away the sharp edges of his mood.
"You care if I waste money?" he asked, a faint trace of amusement in his tone.
"Then stop wearing them for good," she said. "I'll be your eyes. Just tell me where you want to go, and I'll take you."
For a fleeting moment, it crossed his mind that trusting her to lead him might walk him straight into trouble. Still, he couldn't bring himself to push her away. Instead, he let himself sink into the rare, quiet comfort she brought—something he hadn't felt in a long time.
When she finished, Bianca cleaned and packed the kit neatly. "All done. When you shower later, avoid this area. I'll check again in the morning."
She started to rise, but his hand closed around her wrist. She turned quickly. "What is it? Does it hurt again?"
Terrence didn't answer right away. After a moment, he released her. "Close the door on your way out."
"Alright."
She obeyed, pulling the door shut quietly.
As she stepped into the hallway, a shadow detached itself from the column ahead, blocking her path.
"Ms. Rodriguez," Mira said, her tone cool. "Changing his medication has always been the servants' job. You don't need to do it yourself."
Bianca stopped, her lips curving into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
"Changing my fiancé's medication is exactly my place," she said softly.
Leaning forward just enough to let her voice carry weight, she added, "Or is it that you've never understood your position here... and keep reaching for things that aren't yours?"
Mira's face tightened, but before she could reply, Bianca straightened, unwilling to waste more time.
Her smile lingered, but it never touched her eyes. "It's late. You should get some rest."
Without another glance at Mira's expression, Bianca walked past her.
The next morning, Bianca arrived at the master bedroom with the kit in hand, only to be stopped at the door.
Mira stepped in front of her, snatching the kit with a smug tilt of her chin. "Ms. Rodriguez, Mr. Anderson has instructed that I'll be handling his medication from now on."
Her red lips curved in satisfaction.
"He said that himself?" Bianca asked.
"Yes."
Bianca watched her walk away, a strange heaviness settling in her chest. Was it really that easy for a man to change his mind?
"What are you doing standing there?" Terrence's voice came from behind her, low and steady.
She turned. He was standing in the corridor, the dark lenses hiding his eyes, though she could feel them on her.
"Who upset you?" he asked.