Chapter 59 You Are Mine
Bianca cut through the tirade on the other end of the line. "When you say I 'snatched property,' are you referring to reclaiming my mother's lawful inheritance?"
Silence slammed into the call.
She continued, her voice steady. "Perhaps you should ask the woman crying beside you—Thea—why my mother's belongings ended up in the Ember mansion. I have the inventory and photographs, all verified against official records."
"If Thea refuses to return them willingly, I'll take them back myself. I've already given you the chance."
She paused, catching the change in the rhythm of breathing on the other end. Thea's sobs had thinned into hurried, panicked whispers.
"And by the way, I have a recording. Thea's own voice instructing her relatives to hide certain items. Would you like me to play it now? Or should I send you screenshots of the evidence?"
"You… where did you get these things?" Glenn's voice cracked, the authority in it faltering.
"Where I got them doesn't matter. What matters is that they're real."
Bianca's fingertips felt cold, but her tone only sharpened. "I'm reclaiming what belongs to my mother—legally and properly. I fail to see how that tarnishes your reputation or damages Thea's."
"Or is it that, in your mind, allowing outsiders to seize your late wife's inheritance—letting your current wife and her family swallow and sell off the possessions of the woman who built this household—is what passes for dignity in the Rodriguez family? Is that your definition of propriety?"
"Bianca! Watch your tone!" Glenn's anger surged, his voice heavy with paternal authority. "Even if your stepmother mishandled a few things, it's still a family matter. Must you make it public? Must you turn us into a spectacle for all of Emerald City? You're the Anderson family's daughter-in-law now—you should know better, think of the bigger picture. You don't lack anything. Why…"
"I don't lack anything, so I'm fair game to be robbed?" Bianca's voice cut in, soft but laced with frost.
Her nose burned, the ache pressing behind her eyes, but she forced it down, refusing to let a tremor touch her words. "When you shield them, have you ever—just for a moment—thought of my mother? Thought of what she did for you? This family, the Rodriguez Group… would they even exist as they are without her?"
Silence again. Only Glenn's heavy breathing filled the line.
He had no answer.
"Why bring up the past?" His voice softened, but it was the tone of someone trying to smooth over cracks without fixing them. "Bianca, I know you're upset. Come back home. We'll sit down, talk it through. Let your stepmother and uncle look for the items slowly. Once they find them, they'll give them back to you. No need to drag lawyers into this—it sounds ugly when word gets out…"
"That won't be necessary."
Cold resolve settled over her.
"I've already recovered part of what's mine today. The rest is listed, documented, and backed up. If they're not returned to the location I specify, I'll instruct my lawyer to file formal charges for misappropriation of inheritance. At that point, it's a matter of law. Whether it sounds ugly or not is irrelevant."
She didn't wait for his reply. "That's all. I have other matters to attend to. Goodbye."
Before Glenn could react, she ended the call, switched the phone to silent, and tossed it onto the seat beside her.
The car fell quiet again, save for the low hum of the engine.
Bianca turned her face toward the window. Neon lights streaked across her pale profile, but they couldn't touch the emptiness in her eyes.
From the front passenger seat, Ralph passed back a bottle of water, the cap already twisted open. "Ma'am, have some water."
She accepted it with a quiet thank-you.
By the time they reached Crystal Gardens, night had settled completely.
She instructed the butler to ensure the boxes were stored safely, then headed straight upstairs.
Dinner held no appeal. She told the staff not to disturb her and slipped into her bedroom.
After washing away the day's residue, she changed into soft loungewear and curled up on the sofa in the sitting room, knees drawn to her chest, staring out at the heavy darkness beyond the glass.
She didn't know how long she sat there before familiar footsteps approached. They paused outside the door, then entered with a gentle push.
Terrence stepped inside.
He'd changed out of his suit into a dark gray sweater and casual pants.
"Bianca?" His voice was low, carrying a note of concern.
She blinked herself back to the present, trying to summon a smile. Her voice was rough. "You're back."
His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
Even without seeing her face clearly, he could hear the strain in her tone.
He crossed the room, gathering both her and the blanket around her into his arms.
Bianca stiffened for a heartbeat, then let herself sink into him.
The familiar scent of him closed around her.
Terrence's chin brushed the crown of her head, his palm stroking slowly along her arm in a quiet rhythm meant to soothe.
"What happened?" His voice was gentle, rare in its softness. "The visit to the Ember mansion didn't go well?"
She shook her head against his chest, then nodded faintly.
After a pause, she recounted the day's events at the Ember mansion.
She kept her tone measured, almost detached, as if narrating someone else's story. But when she reached her father's words, her fingers clenched involuntarily into his shirt.
Terrence listened without interruption, though the air around him cooled with each detail. His arm tightened around her, a flicker of steel passing through his eyes.
"He said I was being unreasonable, ignoring family ties, making the Rodriguez family a laughingstock." Bianca's voice was muffled against him, thick with the weight of unshed tears. "But did he ever think—when they treated my mother's things that way—whether she would be hurt? I just wanted to take back what she left me. Why is that so hard?"
Terrence felt the faint dampness seeping through his shirt, something twisting sharply in his chest.
He lowered his head, finding her cheek by touch, and brushed away the cold trace with his thumb.
"You did nothing wrong."
"Reclaiming your rightful inheritance is your legal and moral right. The wrong is theirs."
He lifted her face, meeting her eyes. "Bianca, you don't need to feel guilty for their wrongdoing. The shame belongs to them."
"If they won't return the rest willingly, then we go through legal channels. I'll have Barry contact the legal department, find the best attorneys for inheritance disputes and criminal charges. Whatever can be recovered, whatever can be prosecuted—we'll pursue it all."
Bianca's arms slid around his neck, pulling herself closer, her face buried in the curve of his shoulder, drinking in the comfort of his presence.
"Terrence… thank you." Her voice was muffled, heavy with dependence.
He held her tighter.
"I told you," he murmured against her ear, his breath warm, "you're mine. And I'll stand with you—always."