Chapter 30 Misunderstanding
Bianca saw Terrence standing at the entrance, and her heart gave a sharp jolt. Without hesitation, she wrenched her wrist free from Samuel's grasp, the force making him stumble back a step.
"Get away from me. Don't touch me."
She pulled a tissue from her bag, scrubbing the spot where his hand had been as if she could erase the contact. Then she strode toward Terrence, her voice steady. "Terrence."
Samuel's jaw tightened, anger flashing in his eyes. But when he looked at Terrence, a glint of calculation slid into his expression. He raised his voice deliberately, letting it carry. "Terrence, you're here shopping too? Bianca just picked out something for me. I feel bad letting her spend so much."
Bianca's gaze went glacial. She could feel the drop in temperature around her, the way Terrence's presence seemed to fill the air with a silent, cutting chill. She shot Samuel a look sharp enough to draw blood. This debt, she would remember.
"Samuel, stop lying. Terrence, this gift is for you. I have no idea why he's here. I'm starting to think he's following me."
Terrence didn't answer immediately. His eyes flicked to the shopping bag in her hand before settling on Samuel.
"Who gave you the courage to covet my fiancée?"
The words landed like a blade. Samuel froze, the weight of Terrence's authority pressing down on him. He forced a brittle smile. "Terrence, you've got it wrong."
"Wrong?" Terrence's laugh was cold, humorless. Behind the sunglasses, his gaze was as sharp as a nail driven into wood, heavy with contempt. "This is the first and last time. If I ever see you near her again, you won't be able to afford the consequences."
Without sparing Samuel another glance, Terrence took Bianca's hand and turned away. She followed, but not before sending Samuel one last icy look over her shoulder.
As they left, Samuel's phone lit up.
A message from Blair read: [Mr. Anderson, you saw Bianca, right?]
Samuel's reply was short. His eyes stayed fixed on Bianca's retreating figure as he muttered to himself, "If I can't have you, Bianca, I'll make sure you don't get to be happy."
Earlier that day, Blair had been shopping at the same mall. Spotting Bianca, she'd tipped off Samuel, setting the stage for what had just happened.
In the car, Bianca sat with the shopping bag clutched in both hands, her fingers twisting the handles. She leaned closer, trying to bridge the silence. But before she could speak, Terrence closed his eyes, his body language making it clear he didn't want to engage.
A knot of hurt formed in her chest, but she wanted to clear the misunderstanding. She spoke anyway, her voice low but firm. "I wasn't with him. If you don't believe me, check the security footage. I was picking something out for you when he appeared behind me.
"And why would I spend your money on someone like him? I'm not stupid."
Terrence remained silent.
When the car stopped, he opened the door and stepped out without looking back. Bianca stared down at the gift in her lap. She'd planned to surprise him, but now the moment had been ruined. All because of Samuel.
Her jaw tightened. She got out and followed him, her resolve hardening with each step.
Just as he was about to close the door to his study, she pressed her palm against it and slipped inside.
Terrence stood behind his desk, spine straight, the set of his shoulders radiating cold detachment.
"Out," he said, his voice flat, stripped of anything that might be mistaken for warmth.
Bianca drew in a slow breath, stepped closer, and laid the tie she had chosen on the polished wood. Black silk, smooth as water under the fingers, caught the light in a muted shimmer; the fine gold embroidery glinted with a quiet, deliberate elegance.
"I saw it and knew it was yours," she said softly. "The pale blue one Samuel touched—I left it. It felt… wrong. Dirty. If you don't believe me, have someone check the cameras. Or ask the staff."
His gaze flicked to the tie, then back to her, unreadable behind the dark lenses.
She tried again, her voice gentler now, almost coaxing. "Let me put it on you. If you don't like it, I can exchange it."
Her hand lifted, fingers brushing the edge of the silk—
"I said out." The words cut through the air like a blade, sharp with impatience, leaving no room for argument.
The wall she had been leaning against inside herself finally gave way. Days of swallowing her frustration, of forcing herself into quiet endurance, shattered in an instant. The sting of his misunderstanding cut deeper than she cared to admit. And no matter how she tried to explain, he refused to hear her.
Suspicion she could endure. Doubt she could answer. But this—this cold dismissal, the refusal to even listen—was something she could not bear.
"Fine," she snapped, her voice trembling with restrained fury. "I've tried to talk to you, but you won't listen. You'd rather believe an outsider than your fiancée."
Her breath came sharper now. "If you trust Samuel so much, maybe you should marry him instead."
"You still don't see me, do you? After all this time? If I wanted him—if I wanted to betray you—I've had more than enough chances. Why would I stay here, humbling myself, trying to please you?"
Her eyes glistened, tears threatening but held at bay by sheer defiance. She lifted her chin, refusing to let them fall.
Something in Terrence's chest tightened. He looked at her—the faint flush on her nose, the damp shimmer in her eyes—and saw not just the defiance, but the wound beneath it. She was like a small, furious cat: bristling, cornered, but hurt.
Bianca turned her head away, severing the fragile thread between them.
"If you think I'm the kind of woman who can't be trusted," she said, her voice low and sharp, "then this engagement means nothing. I don't want it."
Her hand shot out, the silk twisting in her grip before she flung it into the bin without a glance.
"I won't stand in the way of your future. End it. Tell everyone you left me if that protects your reputation."
She had barely touched the doorknob when a strong arm caught her, pulling her back hard against him.
His grip on her waist was unyielding, his chin pressing into her shoulder. For the first time, he felt the sting of his own words.
"Let go. Isn't this what you wanted?" she demanded, her voice shaking.
She twisted in his hold, but his strength was immovable. Her resistance faltered.
"Bianca," his voice was low, roughened by something he could not name, "try leaving me… and see what happens."
"You're the one who told me to go," she shot back, heat flaring in her tone.
His arms tightened, his face burying into the curve of her neck. He breathed her in—the faint sweetness of her skin—like it was the only thing that could steady the storm inside him. A storm he didn't understand, didn't want to name.
"Bianca," he said again, the steel in his voice tempered now by an unwilling concession, "I never told you to leave."
"But you don't believe me," she whispered, the hurt finally spilling over as a tear traced down her cheek.
"You're hurting me. Loosen your grip."
His arms eased, but he didn't let go. Instead, he turned her to face him, his gaze locking on hers. One hand lifted, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheek, chasing away the tear as if he could erase the wound it carried.