Chapter 3 - Unspoken Bonds
The silence in the guest suite was heavy, a suffocating blanket of dust motes dancing in the slivers of light cutting through the blackout curtains. Bianca sat on the edge of the four-poster bed, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress until her knuckles turned bone-white. The wedding dress, a towering structure of lace and tulle, hung like a shroud in the corner, mocking the shattered reality of the day.
She had expected tears. She had expected rage. Instead, she was drowning in a cold, calculating numbness.
The door clicked open, the sound sharp against the quiet. Julian stepped inside, carrying a glass of water. He didn't look like a groom who had just humiliated his fiancée. He looked like a man attending to a minor logistical error.
"Here," he said, placing the glass on the nightstand. "Drink."
Bianca didn't look at him. She stared at the water, her reflection distorted and dark. "You want me to drink water, Julian? That solves the fact that you have a seven-year-old son who is your illegitimate heir?"
"I know," Julian said. His voice was low, a practiced calm that grated against her nerves. He sat in the armchair opposite the bed, his posture rigid. "Bianca, listen to me. We need to handle this. If we make a scene, if we involve the press, the scandal will destroy the company. It will destroy us."
Bianca finally looked up. His eyes were sympathetic, but they were also glazed over, focused on some distant calculation in his head. "So, you're choosing the company over me. Over us."
"It's not a choice," he snapped, the veneer slipping for a second. "It's survival. Leo is my son. I have a responsibility to him."
"And I am what? A liability?" Bianca’s voice trembled, but the anger was finally burning through the numbness. "You brought him here, Julian. You brought him to my wedding."
"He was in the house," Julian corrected, standing up. He began to pace the small room, his hands clasped behind his back. "I thought it was safe. I thought Eleanor could handle it. I thought... I thought I could keep the two worlds separate."
"It’s never separate," Bianca whispered. "You’re lying to yourself."
Julian stopped pacing and turned to her. The expression on his face was a mask of tortured devotion. "I love you, Bianca. That hasn't changed. But this is a mess. A terrible, ugly mess. But it can be cleaned up. If you just stay quiet, if you let me handle Maria, we can get past this."
"Get past what?" Bianca laughed, a brittle, hollow sound. "The fact that you used a servant to have a child? The fact that your mother knew and said nothing? You expect me to just... stay quiet?"
"I expect you to be rational," Julian said, his voice hardening. "I expect you to understand that this is not about us anymore. It’s about the Ashford name."
He walked to the door and opened it, but didn't step through. "I’m going downstairs to check on Eleanor. She’s... she’s taking this harder than anyone. Stay here. I’ll come back up in an hour."
He left the door slightly ajar, the latch clicking shut with a finality that felt like a tombstone.
Bianca sat alone for ten minutes, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall echoing like a heartbeat. She picked up the glass of water and took a sip, her hand shaking so badly the water sloshed over the rim.
She needed to get out. The air in the room was stale, recycled air from a house that was lying to her. She stood up, smoothed her skirt, and walked out into the hallway.
The house was a labyrinth of marble and wood, echoing with the distant murmur of servants and the frantic footsteps of relatives. Bianca didn't go to the library where the family was gathering. She went toward the back of the house, toward the wing where the staff quarters were located, and the study where she had last seen Eleanor.
As she rounded the corner near the study, she saw a light spilling from under the door. She heard voices—Julian’s, and Eleanor’s, sharp and urgent.
Bianca froze. She knew she shouldn't listen. She knew she should turn and go back to her room. But her feet were rooted to the Persian rug.
"...she won't take it," Julian’s voice hissed, low and venomous. "She’s too smart, Mother. She knows the value of this family."
"You have to make her understand," Eleanor replied, her voice brittle with panic. "She has to go. Tonight. Before the guests wake up. The check is there. The envelope is on your desk. Make it worth her silence, Julian. Make it worth her leaving Leo behind."
"I know what to do," Julian said. "But she... she’s difficult. She’s hysterical. She’s demanding a wedding."
"She can have a wedding," Eleanor snapped. "Just not the one she thinks she’s having. If she causes a scene, Bianca, you cut her off. You tell her the engagement is off. You tell her she’s the one who ruined everything."
"I can't do that," Julian said. "Not yet."
"Not yet?" Eleanor scoffed. "Julian, this isn't about your feelings. It’s about the legacy. If you let her stay, she’ll expose everything. She’ll expose Maria, she’ll expose Leo, and she’ll expose the fact that you let a maid raise your son in this house. Do you want that on your tombstone?"
"I’m working on it," Julian said, his patience wearing thin.
Bianca felt the blood drain from her face. She pressed her back against the cool wall, inching closer to the doorframe. She had thought Julian was fighting for her. She had thought he was trying to protect her from the shame.
She peeked through the crack in the door.
The room was a war zone of expensive suits and fur coats. Julian stood by the fireplace, looking at his mother. On the desk, a thick white envelope sat next to a checkbook.
Julian picked up the checkbook. He scribbled a number, ripped the page out, and placed it in the envelope.
"Three hundred thousand," Julian said, his voice devoid of any warmth. "That’s the offer. A clean break. She signs the papers, she takes the money, and she disappears. No questions asked."
"And the boy?" Eleanor asked. "What about Leo?"
Julian looked at the envelope in his hand, then at his mother. "We figure that out later. For now, the priority is Bianca. She has to go."
Bianca’s breath hitched in her throat. She wasn't the fiancée he was trying to save. She was the problem. She was the scandal to be contained.
She saw Julian pick up the phone and dial a number. He put it on speaker.
"Get the car ready," Julian said to the person on the other end. "I’m bringing her to the airport. Tonight."
He hung up, turned, and walked out of the study, straight toward Bianca.
Bianca scrambled back into the shadows, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She watched him pass, his face a mask of concern, unaware that she had just heard him plan her exile.
But as Julian walked away, the door to the study remained open a crack. Behind him, standing in the dim light, was Maria.
May you like
She was holding Leo close, shielding him from the view. But her eyes were fixed on Bianca’s hiding spot. And in the dark, Maria’s lips moved. She didn't say a word. She didn't need to.
She simply smiled—a thin, tight, terrifying smile—and tilted her head toward the envelope on the desk. It was a silent acknowledgment: I know what they are paying you to leave. And I know you aren't leaving.
