Chapter 190

Chapter 190

Marlowe's voice came crashing down from above.

Bianca's head snapped up. Her lips trembled, her mind a complete blank.

She stammered out an explanation: "Mrs. Tudor, it's not what you think. He was my old boss. We were just—"

"Just what?"

Marlowe let out a cold laugh, bent down, and picked up another photo from the floor. She held it up right in Bianca's face, practically shoving it at her.

In the photo, Bianca and Joseph were sitting in a booth at some private club. Joseph's hand rested on her thigh, her body pressed against his arm, the two of them with no space between them at all.

"Bianca, do you think I'm stupid? Or do you think I'm just easy to fool?"

Bianca's face went white as a sheet. Her lips trembled for a long moment, but she couldn't get a single word out.

She knew Marlowe too well. She knew that no matter what she said right now, it would be useless.

And besides, every single one of these photos was hard evidence.

Every one of them pinned her relationship with Joseph down in the most damning way possible.

"Mrs. Tudor, that was all in the past. After I met Henry, I never had any contact with him again—"

"Never?"

Marlowe's voice shot up sharply, cutting like a blade. "You think I don't know how you got involved with Henry? You were Gloria's best friend, and you couldn't even keep your hands off her husband. What exactly are you not capable of?"

The baby was startled by the sharp arguing and burst into a wail—a heartbreaking, desperate cry, her little face flushed deep red, looking utterly pitiful.

Bianca frantically patted the baby's back, murmuring whatever came to mind to soothe her, but she was shaking herself, so there was no way the baby was going to calm down.

Just then, the bedroom door was gently pushed open from outside.

Gloria stood in the doorway holding a glass of water, her face wearing just the right amount of concern and confusion, as if the baby's crying had drawn her in.

"Mom, what's going on? The baby sounds really upset—is she sick? Something sounds off to me."

She walked in, her eyes sweeping over the photos and papers scattered across the floor. She paused, as if startled by the scene in front of her.

"What's all this?"

Marlowe was still fuming and had no patience for Gloria's conveniently timed appearance. She let out a cold huff and said nothing.

When Bianca saw Gloria walk in, her expression grew even more complicated.

She took two steps back, clutching the baby, as if looking for somewhere to hide—but the room was only so big, and there was nowhere to go.

Gloria didn't ask any more questions. She walked straight over and held out her hands to Bianca.

Her voice was calm, even carrying a faint note of reassurance.

"Let me take her. You're in no state to settle her down. Better if I try."

Bianca hesitated for a moment. She glanced at Marlowe's face, dark and nearly twisted with anger, then looked at Gloria's perfectly composed expression, and finally handed the baby over.

As Gloria stepped forward to take her, her foot came down without any apparent intention—landing right on the edge of one of the photos, covering most of Bianca's flushed, slightly dazed face in the image.

At the same time, she tilted her head slightly, her gaze drifting almost imperceptibly over the photos strewn across the floor.

Gloria looked down at the baby in her arms, who had already gone quiet. The faintest curve touched the corner of her mouth, then vanished in an instant.

The baby's crying faded gradually, turning into soft hiccups, and finally settling into the occasional quiet sob.

"Mom, what's actually going on?"

She looked up at Marlowe, her voice full of genuine-sounding concern.

"You're still pregnant—you really can't let yourself get this worked up. Whatever it is, let's talk it through calmly. Don't make yourself sick over it."

The words were meant to be comforting, but landing in Marlowe's ears right now, they felt like salt poured into an open wound.

"Ask her!"

Marlowe pointed at Bianca, her finger trembling with rage. "Ask her what these photos are about. Ask her what her relationship is with this man."

At those words, Bianca seemed to lose all the strength in her body. She crouched down in a panic, frantically gathering the scattered photos with both hands, clutching them to her chest, the picture of complete desperation.

"It's not—it's not like that..."

Her voice broke into a sob. "That was all in the past. After I met Henry, I never reached out to him again. I swear, Mrs. Tudor, please believe me..."

"Believe you?"

Marlowe let out a cold laugh, and in that laugh was a towering fury—the rage of someone who had been made a fool of. "You tell me straight: is this child Henry's or not?"

Bianca's head jerked up. Her face was so pale it was nearly translucent, her eyes red-rimmed, her lips shaking violently.

"She's Henry's."

Her voice went sharp, carrying the desperate, frantic edge of someone on the verge of collapse.

"Mrs. Tudor, I swear to God, this baby is Henry's. You can't suspect me over a few photos. All of that was in the past. I haven't had any contact with that man in a long time."

Before she finished speaking, she dropped to her knees and crawled to Marlowe, grabbing the hem of her skirt with both hands, tears falling like broken beads.

"Mrs. Tudor, please—don't listen to what people are saying. I really haven't lied to you. This baby really is Henry's..."

She was crying so hard she could barely breathe, collapsed at Marlowe's feet, utterly broken.

Gloria stood by the window, holding the now-quiet baby, looking down at the scene on the floor.

A flash of contempt crossed her eyes.

So their little alliance hadn't been worth much after all.

"Enough."

She carried the baby over and stepped between Marlowe and Bianca, positioning herself to separate the two of them.

"Mom, please calm down. The baby is still upset—getting like this isn't good for her either."

Then she turned her head and looked at Bianca, still crumpled on the floor and shaking with sobs. "As for these photos..."

"Bianca, if things from your past are really over, you should have made sure they stayed buried. Now that it's come to this, it's not just embarrassing for you—it reflects badly on the Tudor family too. Nobody comes out of this looking good."

Marlowe drew a slow breath and pressed her hand to her chest, forcing herself to calm down.

She looked down at Bianca, a mess of tears on the floor, and the fury in her eyes gradually gave way to something more complicated.

Bianca had been playing her with that helpless, pitiful face for so long.

"Get up and talk to me properly."

Bianca got to her feet with a shaky sob, head down, not daring to meet her eyes, shoulders still trembling slightly.

Then, from downstairs, came the housekeeper's voice.

"Mr. Tudor is home."

Bianca went rigid. Whatever color was left in her face drained away completely in that instant.