Chapter 118 Apology at the Door
"Bianca, you could at least give me a hint."
After several failed attempts to get through to her, Glenn finally realized Bianca was no longer the pliable little girl he could manipulate at will.
His posture softened, his voice carrying a note of appeasement, the arrogance stripped away.
Bianca met his new humility with a cold smile, her eyes sharp with mockery. "I'm guessing you haven't heard about Blair's little performance at school. I expect a satisfying explanation."
The car window slid up slowly, cutting Glenn's face off from her view.
The frost in Bianca's eyes lingered.
She knew this was only the opening move in a long, ugly war.
Watching them tear each other apart... she couldn't help thinking it might turn out to be a remarkably entertaining show.
Back at her apartment, the living room was wrapped in silence. Bianca slipped off her coat and folded herself cross-legged on the sofa. Up close, you could see the hollow distance in her eyes.
She exhaled a long breath and leaned back against the cushions, her body slack with exhaustion.
Terrence didn't speak. He simply crossed the room, draped a soft blanket over her shoulders, and sat beside her. His arm came around her, guiding her gently to rest against his chest. He stayed there, steady and quiet, a silent anchor.
The sudden chime of the doorbell shattered the fragile calm.
Both Bianca and Terrence looked toward the door, confusion flickering in their eyes.
Terrence rubbed at his brow and reached for the tablet on the coffee table. A swipe of the screen revealed a familiar head of silver hair. His jaw tightened instantly, molars grinding. He tossed the tablet aside without a second glance, clearly unwilling to entertain whoever was standing outside.
But Donny seemed to know they were home. The doorbell didn't stop—if anything, it grew more insistent, each press sharp and deliberate, as if he had no intention of leaving until they opened the door.
The irritation crept up Terrence's spine. He pressed his fingers to his temple, his voice edged with fatigue.
"I'll send him a message."
Bianca's hand came up, resting lightly on his wrist. She shook her head slowly. "Maybe he really does have something urgent. Don't let me keep you from handling it."
She even managed a faint smile.
Terrence's tone softened, but his attention stayed on her, ignoring the noise outside. "I doubt it's anything important."
"It's fine," Bianca said, still shaking her head. "My mother's been gone for years. Sometimes the memories sneak up on me, and the mood gets heavy. Having someone else around might distract me from it."
Terrence's lips pressed into a thin line. He rose and walked to the door, his steps measured.
The moment he faced Donny, the warmth he'd shown Bianca was gone. His eyes dropped to the bottle of liquor dangling from Donny's hand.
He lifted a brow. "What's this?"
Donny gave the bottle a little shake, his voice carrying a hint of guilt. "Last time was my fault. I came to make it up to Bianca."
Terrence folded his arms, studying him. "You've been digging."
Donny's expression faltered, the guilt deepening. He coughed twice. "Terrence, I'm here to apologize to Bianca, not to you. Step aside."
Without waiting for permission, he slipped past Terrence into the apartment.
Terrence's brow twitched. He shut the door, his eyes following Donny's back, his mouth set in a straight line, thoughts turning over behind his gaze.
Bianca had already smoothed her expression, greeting him with a polite nod. "Mr. Dickson."
Her eyes flicked to the bottle in his hand.
Donny widened his eyes dramatically. "Come on, don't tell me you've never had a drink. Why are you both looking at me like that?"
He dropped the bottle onto the coffee table with a grin. "Tonight, we don't stop until we're drunk."
Terrence sat back down beside Bianca, his expression unreadable. "What's gotten into you? Showing up at my place to cause trouble?"
Donny waved off the comment, settling cross-legged by the table, one hand propping up his chin.
"After I went home last time, I couldn't figure out what I'd done to offend Bianca."
His eyes curved with a smile, but it didn't reach the depths.
Bianca's tone stayed level. "Mr. Dickson, you're overthinking. I was only making a point. No malice."
Donny didn't answer right away. He uncapped the bottle and poured the clear liquor into a set of small crystal glasses, sliding them across the table toward them.
"I was joking. It's rare for anyone outside my fiancee to show concern. I'm... surprised."
Bianca lowered her gaze to the liquid swirling in her glass.
She rarely drank. Normally, she would have refused.
But the weight pressing inside her chest made the idea of drinking strangely tempting.
One glass wouldn't hurt.
"A little alcohol can lift the mood, but too much will do harm. Mr. Dickson, you should be careful—and watch your diet as well."
If it had been anyone else, she wouldn't have said so much.
But for Donny, even ordinary food could be dangerous.
Seeing him here, she felt the warning was necessary.
Donny's smile softened, the sincerity breaking through for a moment. "Didn't expect you to be so particular. Thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind."
He tipped his head back and downed the drink without hesitation.
The burn slid down his throat, spreading warmth through his body. He let out a low sigh. "That hits the spot."
He rolled the empty glass between his fingers. "Terrence, we haven't had a drink together in ages. I miss those nights—just a few of us sitting around, talking over drinks."
A heavier breath left him, his eyes shadowed with nostalgia. "Shame things aren't the same anymore. Aside from Calvin, it feels like there's always a layer of glass between me and the others. Too much pretending."
Terrence didn't answer, his gaze steady, something unreadable behind it.
Bianca seemed to catch on to something in Donny's words. She lifted her glass, but instead of throwing it back, she took a careful sip.
The liquor was sharp, the heat biting instantly at her throat. She coughed, unable to help herself.
Terrence set a glass of ice water in front of her.
The chill washed away the burn, easing the tightness in her chest.
"If you can't handle it, don't force yourself," Terrence murmured.
Bianca shook her head stubbornly.
The drink was harsh, but the warmth it left behind was real.
She wanted that warmth—wanted it to smother the ache in her heart, to quiet the grief that rose when she thought of her mother.
She didn't even know her limit. Tonight seemed as good a time as any to find out.
Looking down at the small measure left in her glass, Bianca felt a sudden, misplaced confidence that she could keep going... maybe more than a few.