Chapter 61 No Fear, Not of You
The moment Terrence turned, Bianca felt as if an invisible hand had clamped down on her heart, squeezing until she could barely breathe.
The silence radiating off him was colder than any burst of anger, and it unsettled her in a way she couldn't name.
Almost without thinking, Bianca shot up from the couch. Her feet carried her forward in a rush, and just as Terrence was about to step out of the study, she wrapped her arms tightly around his lean waist from behind.
Her grip was fierce, her cheek pressed against the straight line of his back. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, she felt the sudden rigidity of his body, the tremor in the muscles beneath as if they'd been pulled taut.
"Terrence, don't go!" Her voice was urgent, edged with a faint, almost imperceptible catch. "It's not what you think!"
Terrence's steps halted.
He could feel the warmth against his back, the slight trembling of her hold.
But in his mind, the image refused to fade—her eyes, wide and startled, that flicker of panic when she'd looked up. It was a shard lodged in a place he didn't let anyone touch.
"Let go." His voice was low and hoarse, stripped of emotion, yet carrying a deliberate distance.
Bianca only tightened her hold, as if releasing him would mean losing him entirely.
"I'm not letting go. You have to hear me out."
She drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to speak quickly before the moment slipped away. "That video—it came from an unknown number just now. I have no idea who sent it or where it came from. I'd only watched it for less than a minute, trying to figure out what it was, when you walked in."
His body stayed rigid, no hint of easing, and her stomach sank. She tried again. "Are you upset because I was watching it in private? I swear I just got it. I haven't even had time to think about who's behind it—"
"It's not that." Terrence's voice cut through hers, quiet but rough, stopping her mid-sentence.
"I don't care who sent it."
Bianca blinked. Not that? Then what?
Her arms loosened slightly around his waist. Tilting her head, she stared at the tense line of his neck, confusion knitting her brow. "Then you're…"
His Adam's apple moved sharply before he forced the words out, each one carrying a strain she almost missed. "When you were watching… you looked… afraid."
The last word was barely more than a whisper, but it landed in her chest like a stone.
Afraid?
Her mind flashed back to the moment she'd looked up, startled by his sudden arrival, the flicker of shock she hadn't managed to hide. Combined with his reaction now, the realization hit her hard.
He wasn't angry about the video's source or content.
He was afraid—afraid that she'd seen a side of him most people never did, and that it had made her recoil.
He thought she was afraid of him.
The thought twisted something deep inside her. Without hesitation, she tightened her hold, her voice urgent. "No, Terrence. I'm not afraid."
She moved around to face him, forcing him to meet her eyes.
Her hands cradled his face, keeping him from looking away.
His lashes were lowered, shadowing the storm in his gaze, but the hard press of his mouth told her everything about his unease.
"Look at me, Terrence."
"I'm not afraid of you. Not even a little."
Her tone was both exasperated and deadly serious. "You startled me, that's all. I was completely focused on figuring out who sent that damn video, and you came in without a sound. Anyone would jump. Try it yourself sometime."
She even shot him a mock glare, more teasing than reproach.
Terrence just stared, silent.
Bianca's resolve hardened. If words weren't enough, she'd prove it another way.
She rose onto her toes, slid her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his.
Her kiss was gentle at first, tracing the shape of his mouth, coaxing away the tension. Then she deepened it, her tongue brushing against his, offering herself without reservation.
She felt the shift in him—the rigid stillness giving way to a faint tremor, then to a slow, deliberate relaxation. Finally, as if something had clicked into place, he took control, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other locking around her waist, pulling her firmly against him.
Her cheeks flushed, but her eyes shone as she pulled back just enough to speak. "Terrence, listen to me. You're my husband. You're the man I chose to spend my life with. Every side of you—the good, the bad, the gentle, the fierce—"
Her gaze was unwavering. "I accept them all, because they're part of you. How could I ever be afraid of the man I love?"
She reached for her phone, and instead of avoiding the image, she studied it closely before looking up. Her lips curved in a half-serious, half-playful smile. "Honestly? Forget the creep who filmed it. Even in that grainy footage, your presence… it's striking. You're my husband. I'm proud of that."
Her words hit him like a wave, breaking through the last barrier he'd been holding.
"I thought…"
"No thinking," she cut in, wrapping her arms around him again, her hand patting his back. "Never think that way, Terrence. I'm here. I'll always be here. I'll never fear you. I'll never leave."
He stared at her, at the spark of mischief in her eyes.
No fear. No distance.
His body finally began to loosen.
Bianca felt it, relief washing through her. She set her phone aside and moved closer, her arms looping around his neck to draw him toward her.
"Do you believe me now, Mr. Anderson?" she asked softly, her breath brushing his lips.
"It's not about courage. It's because I want you—every part of you, exactly as you are."
His Adam's apple shifted again.
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he pulled her into him with a force that left no space between them, holding her so tightly she felt as if he was trying to fuse her into himself.
His face buried in the curve of her neck, he breathed her in.
It hurt a little, but she welcomed it.
She relaxed into his hold, her hand moving in slow, soothing strokes across his back.
Then she remembered. Tilting her head, she asked, "What about the video? What are you going to do?"
She knew whoever had sent it had done so to drive a wedge between them.
At the mention of it, his gaze sharpened, though it softened again when it met hers. "I'll handle it. I'll trace it back and find out who's behind it."
"Good." She nodded, trusting him, then let a sly smile tug at her lips.
"But, Mr. Anderson, if someone points a camera at you again, try to keep your face in check. I think you look fantastic, but not everyone shares my taste."
A faint smile flickered in his eyes, easing the hard line of his jaw.
"Only you would think that look is attractive," he murmured, his voice carrying that indulgence he reserved for her alone.
"Of course. I know you better than anyone." Her fingers left his shirt buttons to smooth the crease between his brows. "This—stop frowning. Don't keep things bottled up. And don't… ever misunderstand me again."
Terrence caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.
"I won't."
The warmth of his lips sent a jolt through her.
"What do you want for dinner?" he asked suddenly. "We could go out, or I could cook."
Her brows lifted in surprise. "You'd cook for me? I'm honored."
"Occasionally," he said, watching the sparkle in her eyes. "Only for you."
The simple words struck deeper than any sweet line.
Her smile lit up her face. She leaned in and brushed a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth. "Then I want the pasta you made last time—with extra cheese. Lots of it."
"Done." His arm slid from her shoulder to her waist, drawing her closer.