Chapter 66 You Think I'm Not Capable?
The night had burned itself down to embers, the air thick with the heat of bodies and the faint scent of skin. It had been relentless—two currents colliding again and again until every ounce of strength was spent.
Only then had they collapsed together, tangled in sheets, sweat cooling against their skin, the silence humming with something unspoken.
Morning crept in through the curtains.
Bianca rolled over, intent on claiming the entire bed for herself, maybe even a few lazy turns beneath the blankets. Instead, her forehead bumped into something warm and solid—a chest that felt like it had been carved for the sole purpose of holding her.
Her heart skipped a beat. She turned her head.
Terrence was there, watching her with a smile that carried the kind of ease that came from knowing exactly how to unsettle her.
"You're not at the office. Day off?" she asked, her brows knitting.
"Something more important today," he said, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her closer.
Bianca let him, though her eyes narrowed with curiosity. "What?"
"Grandmother wants me to bring you to the family estate. We'll visit the memorial hall… and she'll have your name entered into the family archives."
Her lashes trembled. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
In another life—another marriage—she had been Terrence's wife without ever being recognized by his family's elders. Especially his grandmother, the matriarch. Every meeting had been marked by coolness, sometimes outright disappointment. The idea of her name in the family records had been unthinkable.
But this time, Terrence's grandmother had seen her love for him—real, unguarded. And now she was offering something Bianca had never been given before.
Being written into the archives meant she was no longer an outsider. It meant she belonged.
The thought sent a rush through her chest, banishing any trace of sleep. She grabbed Terrence's hand. "Then let's not keep her waiting!"
The car rolled down the long drive toward the estate. Bianca sat straighter, her spine taut with anticipation.
The grounds looked more solemn than usual. Stone paths flanked by manicured hedges swayed gently in the morning breeze. Sunlight filtered through towering oaks, breaking into warm patches on the ground. Her gown—a pale silver-gray silk—caught the light with every step, the fitted cut tracing the curve of her waist, the delicate shimmer at the neckline drawing the eye to her slender throat. Matching low heels glinted softly, the satin catching each shift of her stride.
Terrence was in deep charcoal, a tailored suit over a black shirt, no embellishments, yet carrying a quiet power.
Staff moved with deliberate grace. Every greeting to Bianca was formal, respectful.
Beside her, Terrence tipped his head in acknowledgment, then reached down to take her hand. His fingers brushed her palm, a subtle reassurance against the tension coiling in her.
His grandmother approached—deep violet dress, lines softened by age but still carrying the poise of someone who had once turned heads without effort. Her silver hair was pinned neatly, each strand in place.
The memorial hall smelled faintly of polished wood. Terrence's grandmother opened the heavy ledger, her voice steady as she wrote "Bianca" beside Terrence's name, each stroke deliberate.
Bianca bowed with Terrence, the weight of the moment pressing into her chest.
She had never imagined this—her name inked into the family's history. No one could question her place now. Mrs. Anderson was not just a title; it was sanctioned by the family's heart.
Outside, Terrence's grandmother clasped her hand, warm and firm. "Bianca," she said, her gaze drifting to Bianca's midsection, eyes bright with unhidden hope. "You've been married for some time now… have you thought about children?"
Heat surged into Bianca's cheeks. Her fingers twisted in the fabric at her hip. Words tangled and caught.
Terrence stepped in. "Grandmother, that's not something to rush."
Her eyes cut to him, sharp. She studied him, the silence stretching, then something shifted in her expression—a mix of resignation and mild exasperation.
She dismissed the staff, pulled Bianca into a side room, voice dropping low. "Tell me honestly… is Terrence good to you?"
Bianca nodded, still flushed. "He's very good to me."
"And in that area…" The older woman's voice dipped further, her gaze heavy with meaning. "You know what I'm asking… is everything… fine?"
Bianca's blush deepened, spreading from her neck to the tips of her ears. She stared, stunned that the question had been asked so plainly.
She hesitated. She couldn't exactly say that Terrence was not only fine but tireless—so much so that she often had to plead for mercy.
Her pause was taken for confirmation.
The grandmother's brows drew together, her hand patting Bianca's with gentle sympathy. "I suspected as much. He looks strong, but… you know. Don't worry. I have a remedy."
Bianca opened her mouth to explain but found no graceful way to do it. She could only watch as the matriarch summoned the butler to prepare "a special dish."
By lunch, they were still at the estate.
A deep-colored soup appeared on the table, fragrant with spices, steam curling upward. The butler set it before Terrence with solemn care. "Sir, this is at your grandmother's request… it's said to restore vitality."
Terrence lifted a brow toward the matriarch.
Her expression was stern. "Drink it. For my great-grandchild, you'll finish every drop."
He looked at Bianca, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
Bianca kept her gaze down, feigning innocence.
"Don't look at her. She has nothing to do with this," his grandmother said firmly.
Resigned, Terrence dipped the spoon. The taste hit hard—sweetness clashing with bitterness, the kind that lingered unpleasantly.
He glanced up just in time to catch Bianca biting back a laugh.
She ducked her head, shoulders trembling, the occasional muffled sound escaping. Under his grandmother's watchful gaze, he forced down every mouthful.
Only when the bowl was empty did she nod in satisfaction.
In the car on the way back, Bianca couldn't hold it in. She leaned back, laughing so hard her stomach hurt, tears spilling over. "Terrence… she thinks you can't… and made you drink that soup…"
Terrence's mouth curved. He leaned in suddenly, pulling her against him, his breath warm at her ear, carrying a dangerous edge.
"You think I'm… not capable?"