Chapter 53 You Are Mine
Bianca stepped back into Crystal Gardens.
"Mrs. Anderson, you're home." The butler approached to take her bag, his voice carrying a hint of unease.
Bianca caught it instantly. "Where's Mr. Anderson?"
"In the study… he hasn't taken his medicine." The butler lowered his voice. "We reminded him at noon and again this evening, but he told us to leave it. Later, he wouldn't let anyone inside."
Her chest tightened. She moved quickly upstairs.
The study door was ajar, the room unlit. She pushed it open gently. Terrence sat in the armchair by the window, his silhouette framed in the fading light, a picture of quiet isolation. The glass of water and the pills on the desk were untouched.
"Terrence?" she called softly.
He didn't turn, didn't answer, only tilted his head slightly, his blurred gaze finding the figure in the doorway.
Bianca crossed the room, crouched beside him, placing her hand over his. His fingers were cold.
"Why haven't you taken your medicine?" Her voice was gentle.
"Forgot." The reply was flat, and he pulled his hand away.
She felt the weight of his mood settle between them. He was angry.
She straightened and flicked on the desk lamp. Warm amber light spilled across the room, chasing away the shadows. Only then did she notice the hard line of his jaw… the way his lips were pressed into a thin, unyielding line.
She crossed the space between them again—this time settling herself onto his lap, her arms looping around his neck. "What's wrong?"
His body tensed, but he didn't push her away. Silence stretched between them.
"I reminded you this morning to take it on time. You're not listening." She tried to keep her tone light. "I'll have the kitchen bring fresh warm water."
When she began to rise, his hand pressed her back into place.
"Bianca." His voice carried a weight that made her pause. "Where do I rank in your heart?"
She blinked, cupping his face. "Terrence, listen to me."
"You're always first."
Leaning closer, her nose brushed his. "Nothing and no one will ever come before you."
His throat moved as if swallowing words. He loosened his grip on her wrist.
"Liar."
Her arms tightened around him, their bodies pressed close enough for her to feel the shift in his breathing. She searched his eyes. "Why do you think I'm lying?"
"Why didn't you answer my messages?" he countered.
Bianca froze, then pulled out her phone. "It died. Shut itself off."
The stiffness in his expression faltered. She arched a brow. "So you're upset because I didn't reply?"
He said nothing.
A smile tugged at her lips despite herself. "I was swamped today. My supervisor dumped five years of archived files on me and wanted them done by tonight."
Resting her cheek against his shoulder, she added, "I barely had time to drink water. I didn't even notice my phone had gone dead. It wasn't intentional."
His arm finally came around her waist, his voice low. "I thought you didn't want to answer."
Her heart ached at the insecurity she heard. "I'd never ignore you. I didn't even want to leave this morning."
"It's my fault. I shouldn't have let work push you aside or made you wait."
She kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then down the line of his throat, pausing at his collarbone. "I'm apologizing, Mr. Anderson." Her eyes shimmered. "Do you accept?"
He studied her blurred outline, then in one swift motion, turned and pressed her back against the sofa. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss heavy with a day's worth of restless frustration. Bianca opened to him, matching his urgency.
When they broke apart, breathless, his forehead rested against hers. "Medicine."
She laughed softly, pushing at him. "I'll warm the water."
"No need." He picked up the cold glass, swallowed the pills, and kissed her again.
Her soft hum melted into the quiet. Pulling away, she reached into her bag, retrieving a slender box. "I designed this myself." Opening it, she placed a rosewood bookmark into his palm. "The hands carved here mean we move forward together. The clouds above are breaking apart… it means the sky will clear."
Her fingers traced the carved lines. "No matter how much fog lies ahead, I'll hold your hand and walk with you."
The warmth of the bookmark settled into his palm, chasing away the agitation and the deeper fear that had shadowed him all day. He set it carefully on the table, then drew her back into his arms.
"Bianca," he murmured into her neck, "you're mine."
"Yes," she whispered back. "I'm yours."
"Always."
"Always."
His lips trailed along her throat, lingering at her collarbone. "Terrence…" she breathed.
He lifted his head, finding her mouth in the dim light. His hand slipped beneath the hem of her blouse, palm warm against her skin, moving upward. She trembled, but didn't pull away, holding him closer.
A voice came from outside the door, hesitant. "Mr. Anderson, Ms. Sharp is here. She says there's a document that needs your urgent signature."
The air between them shifted instantly. Terrence went still, his expression cooling. "Send her away."
Bianca's brows drew together. She straightened her clothes and stepped back.
The servant hesitated. Bianca rose. "I'll see."
Hestia's voice carried a mix of grace and urgency. "Terrence, this is the latest risk assessment for the Eastside project. Legal says it must be signed tonight for tomorrow morning's meeting."
"I know you're busy, but… can you give me five minutes? Just for a signature."
In the study, the air had turned frigid.
Terrence stepped out with Bianca.
Downstairs, facing Hestia, his expression was sharp. "Where's Barry?"
She hadn't expected the question. "Barry had something to take care of, so I…"