Chapter 135 Are Melissa And Terrence Really Close?
"I don't know what you're talking about. Let go!" The redhead slapped at Bianca's hand.
Bianca caught her wrist with her free hand. Her voice was cold and hard. "Tell me. Who sent you?"
"Nobody sent me. I just can't stand you. Can't stand how you latch onto rich men..."
She stopped mid-sentence. Something clicked in her mind about what Bianca had said earlier.
"I... I didn't know the forum post was fake. I'm sorry, okay? Can you let go now?"
The pain in her scalp drained away her bravado. Her tone shifted, almost pleading.
Bianca released her grip and brushed off her palms. "Try that again and you'll see what else I can do."
The cafeteria buzzed with conversation. She had spoken loud enough for everyone watching to hear—not just the redhead.
The girl didn't dare say another word. She nodded frantically and fled.
After that scene, nobody else tried to mess with Bianca.
But the forum drama didn't die down. There were just fewer people piling on.
That night, the lamp on the nightstand clicked on. Warm light spilled across the room, pulling Bianca from shallow sleep.
She lifted her arms drowsily, looping them around the neck of whoever had arrived. Her voice was soft, almost pleading.
"You must be exhausted. I missed you so much."
Terrence stood just beyond the circle of light. Something in his chest shifted. The weight he'd been carrying lifted. His expression softened as he reached up and touched the side of her face.
"I'm done now. I'll make time for you."
Bianca wasn't fully awake, but joy rang clear in her voice.
"Yes!"
She pulled him close. Her warmth drove away the lingering chill in him.
The next morning, Bianca yawned and stretched.
Then she froze. Her hand reached sideways instinctively, finding nothing but empty sheets. Disappointment flickered through her.
Her gaze landed on something on the nightstand—a dark invitation edged in gold.
She picked it up. A charity art exhibition.
Her interest piqued. She reached for her phone to text Terrence.
The sound of running water stopped in the bathroom. A man emerged through the steam, wearing nothing but a towel.
Bianca's mouth fell open. Last night hadn't been a dream.
She scrambled out of bed and threw herself at Terrence.
"Terrence, I missed you so much while you were gone."
The intensity of her emotion softened something in his eyes. He ran his hand through her hair.
"I missed you too."
Her hair brushed against his jaw, tickling. Then something soft pressed against his lips—brief, but leaving heat behind long after she pulled away.
The corner of Terrence's mouth lifted.
"Tonight's exhibition. Will you come with me?"
"Yes!"
Golden nightfall draped the city. Beneath the domed ceiling of the Lakeside Arts Center, crystal chandeliers glittered like falling stars, casting light that made the paintings and sculptures below shimmer.
Bianca's heels clicked against the cold marble. Her pale silk dress swept the floor with each step, leaving faint arcs in her wake.
The air smelled of champagne and truffles. She looked ahead.
In the crowd, one figure stood out. Her eyes locked on it at once.
What was Melissa doing here?
Confusion prickled through her. She chose a corner where Melissa wouldn't notice her and crept closer, straining to hear the conversation.
Melissa stood at the center of a cluster of women.
She wore a dusty pink gown, the skirt billowing like petals. She held a champagne flute, her nails painted with pearl polish. Her voice carried, deliberately intimate.
"The Anderson Mansion? Oh, I've been there. The rumors aren't really accurate. Terrence isn't nearly as scary as people say."
"Ms. Jenkins, is that true? I heard the head of the Anderson family is ruthless. Doesn't show mercy to anyone. The body count's got to be more than one or two."
One of the women wagged her finger dramatically.
Melissa's shoulders twitched, as if remembering something unpleasant. But she recovered quickly, putting on a shy expression.
"Oh, I don't really know about all that. But Terrence is very gentle with me. Completely different from what you're saying."
A woman in a green dress spoke, her tone dripping with acid. "Anyone can talk big. I don't believe Mr. Anderson would look twice at someone like you."
Melissa's expression shifted. She glared at the woman.
"I have Terrence's number. If you don't believe me, I can call him over. He's gentle, sure, but he's strict about who I socialize with. He doesn't want me hanging around the wrong kind of people."
The women around her reacted differently. Some started sucking up. Others quietly backed away.
The woman in green didn't move. She kept needling.
"You say you have it? Then call Mr. Anderson over. I want to see if you're faking."
"Terrence is very busy... I don't think he can make it." Melissa's smile froze. Her dislike for the woman sharpened.
The woman in green covered her mouth in mock surprise. "Can't make it? Are you joking? Mr. Anderson's on tonight's guest list. I saw him come in earlier. How could he not be available?"
Melissa's smile faded. Panic flashed across her face. But she doubled down. "I really didn't know. Maybe Terrence is planning a surprise for me. I'll send him a message..."
She unlocked her phone. Her fingers trembled. Should she use Bianca to lure Terrence here?
If she failed to bring Terrence, her lie would be exposed right here, right now.
Sweat gathered at Melissa's temples.
Bianca finished the last bite of her dessert. She turned her champagne flute slowly, watching the liquid swirl.
How did Melissa know Terrence? How much of what she said about having his contact information was real?
Or was she making the whole thing up?
Melissa's voice rose again—still the woman in green, still mocking.
"I think you don't know anything. Tonight's exhibition is centered around Mr. Anderson. You claim you're close to him, but you didn't even know that?
"I can't stand people like you, pretending to be something you're not. That dress is a rental, isn't it? Last season's style from years ago. How embarrassing."
"Stop lying!" Melissa's voice trembled with fury. The volume climbed without her realizing it.
The moment the words left her mouth, the lights in the hall went dark.