Chapter 37 Husband and Wife in Name and Truth
Bianca's mind went utterly blank.
Heat surged to her cheeks so fast she could almost feel it spilling over, as if her skin might burst from the sudden rush of blood. She released her grip in a startled jerk, stumbling back on unsteady feet, nearly losing her balance again.
Terrence hadn't expected the accident either. His body went rigid, his eyes darkening to a shade that carried the weight of a storm, emotions churning beneath the surface. Yet his reaction was swift, instinctive—he snatched up the fallen towel and wrapped it back around himself with a rare flicker of haste.
"I… I didn't mean to," Bianca stammered, her voice tripping over itself. Her gaze darted anywhere but him, too mortified to meet his eyes.
The shame was suffocating. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst through her ribs. She couldn't stay here another second. Spinning away like a startled hare, she fled the master bedroom, half-running down the hall until she reached her own room.
She slammed the door shut and leaned against the cool wood, gulping for breath. The heat in her face refused to fade, and her mind kept replaying that charged, unintentional moment… over and over.
God. This was mortifying.
She dove beneath the covers, burying herself in the soft cocoon of her bed, trying to banish the image and the restless heat it left behind.
That night, Bianca slept fitfully, waking more than once to the echo of her own heartbeat.
By morning, faint shadows had settled beneath her eyes. She descended the stairs with hesitant steps, her gaze skimming past Terrence without truly meeting it. He, however, had already returned to his usual composed self.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, he stood tall, exuding quiet authority. When she appeared, his eyes lingered on her for a heartbeat longer than necessary, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.
"After breakfast, we're going to City Hall," he said, his tone even.
Bianca's fingers tightened around her glass of milk. "Okay," she murmured.
Breakfast passed in a silence that felt weighted but not hostile.
Soon, the sleek black limited-edition sports car rolled out of Crystal Gardens. Bianca sat upright in the passenger seat, her gaze fixed on the blur of the city sliding past the window, willing her pulse to settle.
She had chosen her outfit carefully—a simple yet elegant white dress, understated makeup that still framed her features with precision, her hair falling in a smooth cascade over her shoulders.
Terrence, in his perpetual black suit, was a striking contrast beside her. The colors clashed, yet somehow the pairing felt harmonious.
The paperwork at City Hall was completed with surprising ease. When the clerk handed over two small red marriage booklets, Bianca's breath caught. Her fingers trembled as she looked at the paired photographs and names inside.
In the photo, Terrence's expression was as composed as ever, though the line of his mouth had softened by the smallest fraction. She stood close to him, smiling brightly, her eyes lit with a glimmer she couldn't hide.
From this moment forward, they were husband and wife in the eyes of the law.
A wave of reclaimed happiness flooded her, filling every corner of her being. She clutched the little red booklet tightly.
"Mrs. Anderson," Terrence said, his voice low and resonant.
Bianca's head snapped up, her gaze locking with his. He wasn't wearing sunglasses today, and his eyes—usually as still as deep water—held her reflection in sharp clarity, something warm and unspoken simmering within them.
"Mr. Anderson," she replied, her smile instinctive, her heart softening.
He extended his hand. Without hesitation, she placed hers in his. His palm was broad and warm, closing firmly around hers.
The joy was impossible to contain.
But it didn't last long.
Back at Crystal Gardens, Terrence's phone rang. He answered, listening in silence, his expression unchanged. A few curt replies later, he ended the call.
"Grandmother knows about Robert and Mira," he told Bianca. "Robert went to her."
Bianca nodded. Robert had been with the Anderson family for years. It was no surprise he wouldn't accept being dismissed without a fight, and going to Yasmin to plead his case was expected.
"What did she say?" Bianca asked calmly.
"She wants us to come over."
When they arrived at The Anderson Mansion, Robert stood with his head bowed before Yasmin. His expression was sour with defeat. The moment he saw Terrence and Bianca, he stepped forward—and dropped to his knees.
"Mr. Terrence Anderson, Mrs. Yasmin Anderson," Robert began, voice thick with emotion, "I failed in my duties. Mira is young and doesn't understand her place. She offended Ms. Rodriguez—no, Mrs. Bianca Anderson. I beg you to remember her years of service to the Anderson family, her hard work if not her accomplishments, and grant her another chance. I will accept any punishment, so long as I can remain by Mr. Anderson's side."
His plea was heavy with sentiment, an attempt to sway them through emotion.
Yasmin sat poised at the head of the room, her expression stern. She didn't answer immediately. Her gaze moved first to Terrence, then settled on Bianca.
Terrence's face was cold, unwilling to speak.
Bianca stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Grandmother."
Yasmin's eyes held hers. "Bianca, I know what happened yesterday. Tell me—how should this be handled?"
The question was both a test and an opportunity for Bianca to assert herself.
Robert looked at her with desperate hope, counting on Yasmin's influence to soften her stance.
Bianca straightened, her voice steady. "Grandmother, Mira's actions were not a moment of foolishness. She has repeatedly stirred trouble, attempting to drive a wedge between Terrence and me. Yesterday, she went so far as to open my private correspondence without permission and publicly accuse me of impropriety. Such behavior is a direct challenge to authority."
Her gaze shifted to Robert, whose face was darkening. "As for Mr. Green—he has been outwardly compliant but inwardly defiant, even trying to lead me into error. Terrence has been lenient out of sentiment, but Crystal Gardens is the Anderson family's residence, and its rules cannot be trampled. If we excuse them now out of pity, how will we maintain order? How will those who are loyal and diligent continue to respect the household?"
Yasmin's eyes glimmered with approval. She didn't want a woman who merely clung to Terrence; she wanted someone who could stand as the mistress of the Anderson family, discerning and decisive.
"Well said."
She turned to Robert. "Did you hear that? You've been with me for years, yet you've forgotten the rules of the Anderson family. Bianca is the future mistress of this household. Disrespecting her is disrespecting Terrence—and the family itself."
Her voice sharpened. "For a servant who refuses to learn, the master has every right to act. Instead of reflecting on your mistakes, you came to me, hoping I'd undermine Bianca's authority? Who gave you that courage?"
Robert flinched under her words, his face drained of color.
"Pack your things and leave The Anderson Mansion," Yasmin ordered.
Once the matter was settled, she took Bianca's hand, her tone softening. "You did the right thing. From now on, take a greater role in family affairs. You have my support."
"Thank you, Grandmother. I'll do my best," Bianca replied, warmth spreading through her chest.
They also shared the news of their marriage, which delighted Yasmin.
Back at Crystal Gardens, Bianca's first act was to gather the household staff.
Standing on the main hall steps in her white dress, she seemed cool and composed, her gaze sweeping over the varied faces below, her presence commanding without effort.
"Everyone knows what happened with Mr. Green and Mira," she began. "I have only two points to make."
"Those who are loyal and diligent will never be mistreated. Starting this month, all salaries will be raised by ten percent. At year's end, bonuses will be awarded based on performance."
A ripple of surprise moved through the crowd, several faces lighting up.
Her tone shifted. "But anyone who plays both sides, spreads gossip, or thinks they can get away with misconduct—Mira is your warning."
Her voice wasn't loud, yet it carried a weight that pressed down on the room, echoing the authority Terrence displayed when angered.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mrs. Anderson!" the staff chorused, their voices more respectful than ever before.
That evening, Bianca went to the study to find Terrence, only to discover he wasn't there.
She noticed a few scattered documents on his desk and began tidying them. As her hand pressed against a carved detail on the side of the bookshelf, she froze.
The wall beside the shelf, once seamless, began to shift… slowly opening.
Bianca's heart slammed against her ribs.
Terrence's study had a hidden room?