Chapter 21 Who Taught You Medicine?
Bianca was closest. The moment Yasmin's body swayed, she caught the shift, her instincts snapping into focus. She stepped forward without hesitation, her hands steady as they gripped Yasmin's arms to keep her upright.
Terrence was beside them in an instant, his brows drawn tight. "Grandmother, what's wrong?"
Yasmin pressed a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes for a moment as if willing the dizziness away. When she opened them again, some color had returned to her cheeks. She waved a hand dismissively. "It's nothing… just a sudden spell of dizziness. An old problem. I'll be fine after a short rest."
Bianca guided her gently toward the nearest sofa, easing her down with care. The faint crease between Yasmin's brows and the subtle weariness in her expression stirred something in Bianca's chest. She remembered—too vividly—how in another life Yasmin had suffered similar episodes, the result of poor circulation.
"Mrs. Anderson," Bianca said softly, her voice warm, "may I try something? A bit of massage might help ease the discomfort."
Yasmin's eyes flickered with surprise.
"My mother used to struggle with headaches and dizziness," Bianca explained with a small smile. "I learned some simple techniques from a doctor to help relieve fatigue and improve circulation."
She did not mention the truth—that in another lifetime she had mastered these skills for Terrence's sake. Instead, she let the credit fall to her late mother, Daphne, and a conveniently fictional teacher.
Yasmin's interest sparked. She nodded. "All right, my dear. Let's see what you can do."
Bianca stepped behind her, her long fingers finding precise points along Yasmin's scalp. Her pressure was firm but gentle, each movement deliberate, practiced. Terrence stood nearby, his gaze fixed on Bianca's profile.
There was an intensity in his eyes, as though he were trying to reconcile the image before him with the woman he thought he knew—a woman he had assumed was nothing more than a spoiled socialite.
Mira, watching from across the room, curled her lip and muttered under her breath, "Putting on a show."
Minutes passed. Yasmin released a slow, deep breath, her shoulders loosening. She reached up to clasp Bianca's hand, patting it with genuine affection. "Much better… the dizziness is gone. I didn't expect you to have such a skill."
Bianca's smile was modest. "You flatter me, Mrs. Anderson. I'm just glad I could help."
"I hear from Terrence that you enjoy health remedies," Bianca continued. "I know how to prepare herbal teas and tonics. When I join the Anderson family, I'd be happy to make them for you often."
Yasmin's face lit with delight, her fondness for Bianca deepening by the moment.
Mira's eyes narrowed. She leaned closer to Yasmin, her voice pitched low but sharp. "Ms. Rodriguez has been unusually strict with the staff since she arrived. Even the smallest mistakes—she fines them or resorts to harsher discipline."
She expected Yasmin to frown, perhaps to chastise Bianca. Instead, Yasmin's grip on Bianca's hand tightened, her voice rising with authority as she addressed Mira. "The lady of this house must command respect. I see Bianca as fair in her judgments. Had it been me, that maid from earlier would have been dismissed without hesitation. Bianca spared her, allowing her to keep a modest wage because of her sick mother. That is mercy."
Yasmin's gaze sharpened. "If you all do your jobs well, there will be no reason for punishment."
Mira's mouth snapped shut. Bianca's eyes lifted slightly at the corners, a hint of disdain in her glance toward Mira.
Later, after Yasmin had left and the evening meal was finished, Bianca carried a small box of medicine to Terrence's bedroom as she did every night. But when she reached the door, she froze.
Inside, a team of doctors was gathered—Terrence's personal medical staff, the same group entrusted with his eye condition and other injuries.
Without thinking, she pushed the door open. "Mr. Anderson, what happened?"
Terrence sat without his usual dark glasses. His legs were bound with bandages, the muscles in his jaw taut with restraint. Though he tried to mask it, the bulging vein at his temple betrayed the agony he was enduring.
"Ms. Rodriguez," Dr. Hugo Graves said quickly, "Mr. Anderson's leg injury has flared up. It's best not to touch him right now."
Hugo's tone carried the weight of years of frustration. Terrence's injury had plagued him for so long, their team had exhausted countless treatments, none bringing lasting relief.
"Your leg… it's hurting again?" Bianca's voice was hushed, almost hesitant. She reached out, then stopped, afraid her touch might worsen the pain. Her eyes, bright with concern, told the truth more clearly than words.
"I'm fine. Leave." Terrence's voice was tight, each syllable pulled through clenched teeth. Even now, he clung to his pride.
Bianca turned to Hugo. "Dr. Graves, let me try acupuncture. He's in too much pain—medicine alone won't help. You can't keep giving him anesthetics every time this happens."
Hugo, the lead physician on the medical team, didn't even pause to think. The moment he heard Bianca suggest acupuncture for Terrence, he flatly refused. "We've tried it. It hasn't worked. This is a matter for trained professionals, Ms. Rodriguez. Please, stand aside."
Bianca's gaze flicked back to Terrence. The sweat beading on his forehead told her everything. "No. He is my future husband. Any method worth trying should be tried. Perhaps the way you've done it before was wrong. I can do it myself—and I am confident."
It wasn't bravado. She knew exactly what she was doing. In another life, she had learned acupuncture for him.
Hugo's brow furrowed. Bianca might be Terrence's fiancée, but this was no time for playful notions. The idea that a pampered socialite could possess real medical skill was laughable… and he was in no mood to laugh.
He replied, "I'm not on board with this!"
Bianca ignored him. She stepped closer, taking Terrence's hand firmly. "Mr. Anderson, give me one chance. I won't harm you. I would never gamble with your life. If I wasn't certain, I wouldn't say it."
Terrence turned his head toward her. Even with his vision blurred, he found her face easily. The pain in his leg was a relentless swarm, gnawing at him without mercy. He could barely think.
"Let her," he said.
"Mr. Anderson, this is too risky," Hugo protested. "If she damages the leg further, recovery will be impossible."
Terrence's voice was final. "You've tried everything and failed. Let Bianca try."
If the leg was lost, so be it. Years of torment had worn him down. Better to end it than endure this forever.
Before anyone could object further, Bianca dashed to her room and returned with a small, well-kept medical kit. Before the eyes of the entire team, she disinfected a set of silver needles and began placing them with precision along the key points of Terrence's leg.
The room fell silent. Even Hugo, skeptical to the last, found himself watching closely. Her hands moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where each needle belonged.
Ten minutes later, Terrence's breathing had eased. The sharpness of his pain dulled, replaced by a surprising lightness. The crease between his brows eased, and the tightness in his shoulders slowly dissolved.
Bianca removed the needles one by one. "It's done. Acupuncture can relieve pain, but it's not a cure. If you want lasting improvement, it will take time and consistency."
Terrence pressed his palms against his thighs, surprise flickering in his eyes. But along with it came a deeper suspicion. "You… know medicine. Who taught you?"
Bianca's hands paused over her kit. She remembered—Terrence believed her to be nothing more than a pampered heiress. The more she revealed, the more questions he would have.
"I've always been quick to learn," she said lightly. "My mother loved medical books. I picked up what I could from her."
Her gaze met his directly, her eyes bright, steady. "Is that a problem, Mr. Anderson?"
Terrence said nothing.