Chapter 119 Thirst Unquenched
Bianca tipped the glass back and drained it in one breath.
Donny gave an appreciative clap, grinning wide. "Bianca, that's impressive. I'm really impressed."
Terrence shot him a sharp look, clearly annoyed at his constant instigation. He reached over, patting Bianca's back while sliding a glass of ice water toward her.
But Bianca pushed the water away. Her fingers nudged the empty glass across the table, her eyes hazy now, fixed on Terrence. Somewhere along the line her lips had curled into a faint smile—tinged with something almost childishly wounded.
Terrence knew immediately she was drunk. What surprised him was how little it had taken—barely one glass.
Her gaze had already gone soft and unfocused. He wasn't about to let her have another.
Donny, lounging nearby with zero restraint, chuckled. "Terrence, let her drink. We're not out in public. What's the harm?"
Terrence's eyes narrowed in warning, his voice ready to cut him off—but then the warmth in his arms shifted. Bianca had leaned into him, her hair falling in messy strands over her cheeks, a few tickling her skin.
She brushed them away impatiently, her fingers resting against his chest. "Terrence... I want more."
Her mind was drifting, but she wasn't completely gone. If anything, the alcohol had stripped away her usual reserve, leaving her bolder, more reckless.
The challenge in her tone made heat rise in Terrence's ears. He glanced at Donny, jaw tight.
Donny lifted his hands in mock surrender, sipping his drink with exaggerated innocence. "Half a glass."
Terrence kept her close, his eyes sending Donny a silent order.
Donny obliged, refilling the glass to the brim.
Bianca's eyes lit up instantly. "Donny, you're the best."
She reached for the drink, but Terrence's hand intercepted hers.
His gaze sharpened. "What did you just say?"
Even in her haze, Bianca flinched faintly.
"I said... Terrence, you're the best." She leaned in, brushing her cheek against his jaw.
His grip tightened at her waist, irritation toward Donny spiking. He was seconds away from throwing the man out.
Donny seemed to catch the shift in mood. He scooted a little farther away, raising a hand to shield his eyes. "Relax, Terrence. I'm just here for the booze. Whatever you two do, I'm not watching."
A vein pulsed at Terrence's temple. But the warmth pressed against him made it difficult to move—or speak.
In that moment of distraction, Bianca snatched the glass from the table. She lifted it to her lips but didn't swallow. Instead, she turned back to him, mischief glinting in her gaze.
The heat and scent of the liquor hit him a second later. Terrence froze, realizing only then that her mouth was on his—passing the drink to him.
The liquid slid over his tongue, smooth and faintly sweet, the burn muted. His fingers dug into her waist, holding her steady, his irritation with Donny deepening.
Donny, lost in his own drink, didn't notice a thing. His muttering faded into the background.
The air grew heavy with the scent of alcohol, the warmth curling around them.
By the third glass, Terrence caught her wrist before she could reach for a fourth. "That's enough."
Bianca's mouth twisted in defiance, her glare sharp with accusation, as if he'd committed some unforgivable offense.
He pinned her hands gently but firmly, his attention shifting to Donny. "You've had your fun. Time to leave."
Donny's eyes widened. "You've changed, Terrence. You never used to be like this."
Bianca's small frame shifted restlessly in Terrence's lap, the friction sparking heat that he had no intention of letting Donny witness.
Against his usual instincts, he relented. "Or find yourself a guest room. Now."
It was a rare concession—one he would never make under normal circumstances.
Donny, satisfied, scooped up the remaining bottle. "Fine. Shame the rest of this good drink is mine alone."
He wandered off toward the guest room, his steps slow and unhurried.
The moment the door closed behind him, Terrence swept Bianca into his arms, striding quickly toward the master bedroom. She was already fumbling at the buttons of his shirt.
He set her down on the bed, her wide eyes locking on his. His tie felt tighter than it should, his throat dry.
He brushed her hair back from her face, his voice low. "Do you need me to help you with a bath?"
Her arms slid around his neck.
"Help me with a bath, Terrence."
Her tone was softer now, the reckless edge replaced by a shadow of sadness.
"What's wrong?" He lifted her easily, one hand under her thighs, carrying her toward the bathroom.
"I miss my mother." Her head tucked into the curve of his neck, breathing him in.
It was the only thing that made her feel steady.
Her longing carried a bitter undercurrent—anger at the unanswered questions surrounding her mother's death. The truth was still hidden, and the injustice gnawed at her.
"I can help you," Terrence murmured.
Bianca's head snapped up, her voice firm. "I'll use your strength if I have to, but I don't want you investigating. I need to find the truth myself. I need to expose whoever's responsible."
His hand pressed against her back, a silent promise. "I'll always be here for you."
Her lashes fluttered, memories flashing through her mind. The rush of emotion was too much; she tightened her hold on his neck and kissed him—urgent, unrestrained.