Chapter 60 Could He Have Frightened Her?
Bianca was curled in Terrence's arms, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear.
"Bianca." His voice was low, rough, brushing against the crown of her head.
"Mmm?" she murmured without lifting her face.
"You still have me." The words were simple, but they landed with the weight of a vow, sinking deep into the most fragile part of her heart.
Her nose stung, and her arms tightened around his waist.
Yes… she still had him.
Something soft inside her shifted, and she leaned in, pressing the faintest kiss against him.
"Terrence," her voice rasped, "thank you."
He didn't answer. Instead, his arms locked around her, pulling her in until there was no space left between them, and then his mouth was on hers.
His kiss was fierce, unyielding—his hand at her jaw, his lips parting hers, claiming her breath as if he could drink her in and keep her there forever. It was almost desperate, almost too much, yet she didn't pull away.
When they broke apart, both were breathing hard.
His forehead rested against hers, his breath hot against her cheek. "You never need to thank me," he said, voice so hoarse it was nearly a whisper. "Bianca… you're mine."
Her chest felt molten, and she tucked herself back into his embrace. "Mm," she breathed, "I'm yours."
Morning light slipped through the gap in the heavy velvet curtains, painting the bedroom in muted gold.
When Bianca woke in Terrence's arms, the day was already bright. She shifted slightly, but the arm at her waist tightened instinctively, keeping her close.
"You're awake?" His voice carried the husky edge of sleep, rumbling above her head.
His eyes were still closed, his palm tracing a slow path down her back.
"Mm." She tilted her face up, catching the clean lines of his jaw.
In the sunlight, he wore no sunglasses. Those eyes—once unfocused—now held the faintest outline of her face. The world was still blurred for him, but Hugo had said his recovery was faster than anyone had expected.
Terrence lowered his head, finding her lips by instinct, and pressed a kiss there—slow, lingering, warm.
Her cheeks flushed. Her fingertips brushed the open collar of his sleep shirt. "You should get up. Don't you have that evaluation with Dr. Graves today?"
He made a sound of agreement, but instead of moving, he held her tighter, burying his face in the curve of her neck and drawing in a long breath before reluctantly letting her go.
After they washed up, they went downstairs together for breakfast.
"I'll pick you up this afternoon?" Bianca slid the warmed glass of milk toward him.
"Let the driver bring me home." He caught her hand. "You were exhausted yesterday. Stay here and rest."
He meant the ordeal at the Ember mansion.
Her heart warmed. She turned her hand in his, threading their fingers together. "I'm not tired. But you—make sure you listen to Dr. Graves and tell me everything when you get back."
A faint smile touched his mouth. "I will."
When Terrence left, Bianca decided against going into the office. She headed for the study.
The boxes she'd retrieved from the Ember family were neatly arranged in the adjoining sitting room by the butler. She crossed to them and began opening each one.
Most of her mother's things had survived in decent condition, though some jewelry cases were empty, and a few paintings had been clumsily re-framed.
She ran her fingers over each familiar object, the ache in her chest deepening.
At least… most of it was back.
She spent the morning in that sitting room, cataloging and recording everything again, then instructed the butler to contact a professional art restorer and a jeweler for appraisal and preservation. Anything missing would be pursued.
It was close to noon by the time she returned to the study, weary. She made herself a coffee and sank into the sofa by the window.
Her phone buzzed.
A multimedia message from an unknown number.
No text—just a video attachment.
Bianca's brows drew together. Something about it felt wrong.
Her finger hovered, but she tapped download anyway.
The video loaded and began to play automatically.
The image shook slightly, as though filmed in secret. The lighting was dim, the space industrial—a warehouse, maybe.
In the center of the frame stood a tall figure, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. His back to the camera, he seemed carved from shadow.
Terrence.
Even from behind, she knew him instantly.
In front of him, a man knelt. The distance and poor resolution made it impossible to see his face, but she could see the trembling, the repeated bowing of his head, the frantic murmur of pleas.
Terrence didn't speak. He simply stood there, radiating a pressure so heavy it seemed to seep through the screen.
Then he lifted a hand.
Someone stepped forward immediately, dragging the kneeling man away with brisk, efficient movements.
The whole scene was quiet enough to be suffocating, broken only by muffled sobs.
The camera froze on Terrence as he turned his head. In the dim light, his face was bare—no sunglasses—and his eyes were glacial, stripped of warmth. They were nothing like the eyes that looked at her with focus and tenderness.
The video cut off.
Bianca's fingers felt cold around her phone.
She knew Terrence had another side.
She'd heard fragments of rumors before. She understood that holding the position of Anderson family head required more than boardroom skill.
But still… seeing it was different.
She stared at the paused frame, mind turning. Who had sent this? And why?
Samuel?
Her thoughts were sharp, focused—until the study door swung open without warning.
"Bianca…"
Terrence's voice stopped short.
Everything in his expression froze the moment his gaze fell on the phone in her hand.
His vision had recovered enough to make out the image on the screen—the loop of that warehouse scene.
And Bianca… was watching it, brows drawn, her face set in concentration.
The faint smile he'd worn vanished. In its place came a blankness, as if something inside him had gone still.
He stood in the doorway, eyes locked on the screen, then shifting to her face.
The sudden intrusion made her start. She looked up—and met eyes that had lost all warmth, eyes that seemed endless and cold.
On the phone's screen, the freeze-frame showed his own profile in shadow.
What cut deepest was her reaction.
Those eyes of hers—always holding him—now carried the trace of shock she hadn't had time to hide… and something else.
Unease.
She was unsettled by him.
Terrence's chest felt like stone sinking in water.
She'd seen it.
The part of him he never wanted her to see.
And her reaction confirmed his worst fear.
He stood there, silent.
He let out a bitter laugh in his mind, thinking, 'Look at yourself, Terrence; this is the truth—you're the man who could frighten her.'
He didn't speak. But the air around him thickened, pressing down harder than the scene in the video.
Bianca's stomach dropped.
"Terrence, listen to me…" she began quickly.
But it was as if he couldn't hear her.
He didn't want to hear what she might say.
Without another word, without even meeting her eyes again, he turned and walked out.