Chapter 185

Chapter 185

Marlowe's face flushed red.

She glared at Henry, her lips trembling. She wanted to curse at him, throw something, make a scene.

But then she caught the look in his eyes.

She knew he wasn't joking.

She opened her mouth, then closed it without saying a word. She turned and gripped the stair railing, climbing the steps one by one.

"Don't get too pleased with yourself, Gloria. This isn't over."

At the landing, she paused and tilted her head slightly, glancing down from the corner of her eye.

Henry was leaning close to Gloria, saying something in a gentle voice. Gloria looked up at him, a faint smile on her lips.

The sight made Marlowe's blood boil, but she had no way to act on it. She thought for a moment, then spun around and headed straight for Bianca's room.

She shoved the door open. Bianca had been sitting by the chaise longue, lost in thought. She jumped to her feet at the noise, but before she could say a word, Marlowe tore into her.

"Your brilliant idea got me humiliated in front of Henry, and here you are hiding away without a care in the world."

Marlowe's eyes were shot with red. "Bianca, were you trying to make a fool of me from the very beginning?"

Bianca went pale. She wanted to fight back, but thinking about who Marlowe was, she swallowed it down.

She knew Marlowe was furious. Anything she said right now would only make things worse.

She lowered her eyes and forced herself to stay quiet. "I would never dare make a fool of you," she said softly.

Marlowe let out a cold laugh and stepped closer. "Then what do you call it? If it weren't for your idea, I wouldn't have been pushed into this mess."

Bianca backed up half a step, her waist pressing against the edge of the table. The cold surface seeped through her clothes, and somehow it cleared her head.

She slowly looked up. The timid look in her eyes faded, replaced by something calculating and cold.

Bianca shifted her expression and reached out to take Marlowe's sleeve, dropping her voice low, as if afraid of being overheard.

"Mrs. Tudor, you're right to be angry. I shouldn't have suggested it. But think about who's really to blame here."

Marlowe's brow furrowed slightly. She didn't respond.

Bianca leaned in closer, her voice barely a breath against Marlowe's ear, each word carefully baited.

"It's Gloria. Think about it. She had me get close to Ryan. What do you think she was after?"

She paused, giving Marlowe a few seconds, then went on. "She clearly wanted something from Ryan but didn't want to go after it herself, so she used me."

"The way I see it now, the two of us fighting each other here only benefits her in the end."

Marlowe's eyes flickered. The anger hadn't fully left, but something in those words had caught her attention.

Bianca read her expression and kept going, her voice dropping even lower, taking on a coaxing tone.

"Henry's watching too closely. Going at him head-on won't get us anywhere. But Ryan is different. If we tell him what Gloria's been up to — say we stumbled across it by accident — that's a real favor we'd be doing him."

"You know better than anyone that what Ryan hates most is people scheming behind his back. If he owes you one, do you really need to be afraid of Henry anymore?"

She paused, the corners of her lips curling up just barely, and delivered the final line with a light, offhand ease.

"Then we let Gloria deal with the fallout herself, while we sit back and watch it all play out."

Marlowe went quiet. Her eyes darkened and shifted, as if she were turning the words over carefully, weighing every bit of them.

Bianca didn't push. She stood still beside her, calm and patient, while something cold and satisfied moved behind her eyes.

This time, she would put Marlowe out front and stay safely hidden behind her.

After a moment, Marlowe let out a slow breath. The pale fury on her face gave way to something harder and colder.

She looked up at Bianca. Their eyes met, and each saw the same ruthlessness looking back.

"Tell me exactly how you think we should do this."

---

Just on the other side of the wall.

Gloria stood in the shadow of the hallway.

She had known Marlowe would come after Bianca, so she had slipped around to the far end of the corridor to wait.

The door had been left slightly ajar. Every word from inside reached her clearly.

Gloria's eyes slowly darkened. Her thick lashes dropped, hiding the current churning beneath the surface.

Bianca really hadn't learned a thing.

Did she think pushing Marlowe forward would keep her own hands clean?

The corner of Gloria's mouth curved up, barely, just for a second, then it was gone.

Then something came to her. She turned and went back downstairs.

In the kitchen, the nanny was getting dinner ready. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, bubbling softly.

"Mrs. Tudor, you didn't have to come down. Just call for me."

The nanny saw Gloria walk in and quickly set down what she was doing.

"It's fine. I'm just making up a bottle for the baby."

Gloria smiled and walked to the counter, taking out the formula and a bottle from the cabinet.

The nanny came over to help. "You really are so good to that child, Mrs. Tudor. More attentive than the mother herself."

Gloria didn't reply. She opened the formula, scooped some into the bottle, added warm water, and gently swirled it.

"One thing, Mrs. Tudor — don't use water that's too hot. It destroys the nutrients."

"I know. I looked it up. This brand had good reviews, so I had someone pick it up."

Gloria held the bottle up and checked how well it had dissolved, then swirled it again.

"What are you making?"

Footsteps came from behind her.

Gloria turned. Henry had appeared at the kitchen doorway at some point. He had changed into house clothes — a white t-shirt and black pants, his hair falling loosely. He looked a few years younger than he did at the office.

Gloria answered in a calm, easy voice.

"Making a bottle. The baby's probably hungry."

Henry walked over. At that, the tension in his face eased, and something softer came into his expression.

He stood beside her and looked at the bottle in her hands. "Let me help," he said, with a hint of eagerness.

Gloria smiled lightly. "Do you even know how?"

The way she looked at him stung his pride a little. He reached over to take the bottle.

Gloria stepped aside smoothly, pulling it out of reach. "Don't mess with it. I just got the measurements right. If you shake it up I'll have to start over."

"I'm not that hopeless."

He said it, but he pulled his hand back and stood there watching without another word.

While they were talking, the nanny turned around and caught the scene. She smiled at it.

She leaned in and looked at the bottle, clicking her tongue in mild surprise.

"You know, it's funny — most babies prefer nursing, but this little one seems to prefer the bottle."

Gloria kept her hands moving, her tone casual.

"Really? I don't find that strange. I was the same way as a baby."

The nanny nodded along. "I suppose every baby's different. I remember Miss Collins never had much milk — hardly ever nursed. It was almost always formula."

She laughed softly, not thinking much of it, and added, "Maybe these things really do run in the family."

Gloria's hands stilled for just a moment, then she kept swirling the bottle.

Henry, though, stopped.

He stood at the counter, holding the glass he had just filled, the warmth of it pressed against his palm. But the warmth did nothing to settle the strange feeling that had just moved through him.