Chapter 79 Insomnia
Debra's voice came through the phone speaker, sharp and unmistakable. Every word, every sneer, was caught in crystal clarity.
Bianca's tone was cool, deliberate, the kind that made the air feel heavier. "I recorded every single thing you just said. If you can't produce proof that I got into this school through connections, I won't hesitate to take this to court… and sue you for defamation."
Her gaze swept across Debra and her little entourage, steady and unflinching. It was the look of someone who already knew the outcome.
Debra's hand shot out, quick and aggressive, aiming for the phone. Bianca stepped back with feline precision, just out of her grasp.
"What's wrong?" she said, her voice edged with mockery. "Trying to add petty theft to your rap sheet?" She slipped the phone into her pocket with a casual grace. "The recording's already uploaded to the cloud. Even if you grabbed my phone and deleted it, it wouldn't matter."
Natalie and the other girl went pale, the blood draining from their faces.
Debra kept her composure better, but her eyes betrayed her. They burned with a quiet, festering hatred, the kind that simmered behind a smile.
Of course they had no evidence. Bianca had earned her place here fair and square. This was nothing but petty malice, a cheap attempt to rattle her.
Natalie glanced at the other girl. Neither wanted to speak, but finally Natalie swallowed hard and forced the words out. "I… I'm sorry."
The other girl rushed to echo her. "We've apologized. You can't leak that recording."
Bianca's eyes flicked to her, unreadable.
She had no intention of handing it over to anyone. This was never about legal action—it was about sending a message. She wanted Debra and her pack to understand she wasn't someone you could push around. If they wanted to pick a fight, they'd better think twice.
Debra and her friends left in a flurry of awkward movements, their retreat almost comical. Bianca sat down by the window, the light spilling across her table, and pulled out her phone. She snapped a photo of her lunch, the plate neatly arranged with sweet-and-sour ribs and a small strawberry pudding.
Somewhere else, in the top-floor conference room, the meeting dragged on. Terrence sat at the head of the table, his eyes lowered as his fingers slid across his phone screen.
The image filled the display—Bianca's photo. Sweet-and-sour ribs, strawberry pudding, and beneath it, a short message.
Bianca: [The ribs are amazing. Too bad you're not here… I'm stealing your share.]
His lips curved in a faint smile before he could stop himself. The ice in his eyes melted, replaced by something warmer, softer.
Around the table, his staff exchanged bewildered glances. Terrence was known for his ruthless efficiency, for running meetings with military precision. None of them had ever seen him smile like that.
Bianca had just put her phone away when a tray of food landed in front of her.
Melissa sat down across from her, moving like someone approaching a wild animal. "Bianca," she said carefully, "who were you texting just now? You looked… really happy."
"A friend." Bianca's smile vanished, replaced by a polite, flat tone.
Melissa studied her, uneasy. This Bianca wasn't the same timid girl she used to push around. She'd seen the confrontation with Debra earlier—seen the steel in her eyes.
"You seem… different since the break," Melissa ventured.
Bianca's gaze lifted, steady and calm. "Better," she asked, "or worse?"
Melissa's heart gave a hard thump. She looked away quickly, forcing her lips into a tight line, her eyes fixed on her lunch.
She didn't answer, but inside, her thoughts churned. Did Bianca know? Did she know all the little things Melissa had done to undermine her? And if she did… why hadn't she struck back?
Melissa stirred her food, her mind far from the table. No—Bianca couldn't know. She'd been careful. Perfect. It had to be her imagination.
She took a bite, chewing without tasting. Bianca watched her, a faint, cold smile curling her lips. She scooped a spoonful of pudding, the sweetness melting across her tongue.
In another place, the ticking of a wall clock filled the silence, each sound magnified until it was unbearable. Terrence sat in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, the shadows swallowing him whole. Even the light in his eyes seemed gone.
His phone lit up. He glanced at it, his fingers hovering over Bianca's contact photo before pulling back. His gaze lingered on the last message she'd sent him—two simple words: "Good night."
Since Bianca had returned to campus, his routine had unraveled completely. Every time he closed his eyes, she was there—laughing, teasing, curling into him like she belonged. The more he thought about her, the more awake he became. The dark smudges under his eyes deepened by the day.
By the seventh morning, he gave in. Pressing his fingers to his temple, his voice rough, he called Barry. "Buy a mille-feuille cake from that place in South City. And a hot cocoa, low sugar. Get it to Bianca before she finishes work."
Barry agreed instantly, only relaxing once the call ended. Finally, Terrence was moving. If he kept this up, he'd burn himself out completely. His dark circles were so deep they looked like bruises.
Bianca got the message just after class. Her eyes lit up, her smile impossible to hide. She quickened her pace toward the school gate.
From a distance, she spotted the familiar insulated bag, still warm in the hand that held it.
She was about to turn away when something caught her eye—a familiar car parked nearby.
Her steps slowed, then stopped. She turned back, recognizing the license plate, and jogged toward it. Her excitement was tangled with a flicker of uncertainty. Why would Terrence be here… but not come to see her?
The question began to answer itself as the window rolled down.
His face was as striking as ever, but tired in a way she'd never seen before.
"You're here," she said, leaning into the open window, her pulse jumping. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Her eyes caught on the dark shadows beneath his, stark against his skin. They made his sharp, commanding gaze look almost vulnerable.
Her brows pulled together. She reached out, touching the edge of one shadow with her fingertip. "Trouble at work?"
He caught her cool fingers, holding them gently, his thumb brushing over her skin. "Didn't sleep well," he said.
Bianca studied him, suspicion in her eyes. In another life, Terrence had never looked like this. No matter how difficult the situation, he'd handled it without showing weakness.
"Liar," she said softly, pulling her hand back. She tapped his forehead with a fingertip, her voice firm despite its gentleness. "Those dark circles are deep enough to look like bruises. You look like you haven't slept in days. And you expect me to believe it's just work? Be honest."
Her tone was warm, but it carried a stubborn edge.
Terrence's eyes locked on her face—the face he'd been seeing in his mind every night. This time, there was something different in his gaze. Something openly tender.
The realization hit him like a whisper against his skin, leaving a faint ache in his chest.
He stayed silent for a few seconds, his tongue wetting dry lips. Then, with a sharp exhale, he spoke.
"Can't sleep."