Bianca walked into the mansion as if she owned it, her heels striking the marble with a confidence that felt like intrusion.
Elara followed, tense, every muscle tight.
Dominic walked beside her, silent, but the air around him was colder—warning colder.
Bianca drifted her fingers over the gold-trimmed walls.
"So this is where you live now," she said. "Quite an upgrade from the cramped apartment, don't you think?"
Elara didn't answer.
Dominic did.
"If you're here to insult her, turn around."
Bianca flashed a smile over her shoulder.
"Relax, I'm just exploring."
Dominic didn't move.
He didn't even blink.
But Bianca shifted her gaze to him—testing.
"You know what I've always admired about rich men?" she asked lightly. "They're predictable. You give them softness, they want more. Give them attention, they follow. Give them a glance—"
Elara stepped in front of Bianca before the sentence finished.
"That's enough."
Bianca raised a brow.
"Oh? Does he belong to you now?"
Elara swallowed.
"He's my husband."
"And yet," Bianca whispered, "you look terrified to say it."
Elara's throat tightened.
Dominic stepped forward, placing his hand lightly on the small of Elara's back.
A touch.
A boundary.
A declaration.
Bianca's smile dropped.
Just a fraction.
But enough.
Dominic spoke, voice velvet over steel.
"You're in my house. Not hers. So if you want to test something—test me."
Bianca blinked, recalculating.
Then laughed.
"Relax, Dominic. I didn't come to seduce you."
He didn't smile.
He didn't relax.
He only watched her.
Dangerously quiet.
Bianca turned back to Elara.
"No hug?" she asked. "We used to be close."
"You used to pretend," Elara said softly.
Bianca's expression flickered.
"Pretend? I supported you. I gave you clothes. I introduced you to people—"
"You stole people from me. You wanted them to choose you. You made me feel small."
Bianca stepped closer, voice dropping into something more honest, more poisonous.
"I didn't make you small, Elara. You are small. You always have been. And now… suddenly you're married to a billionaire?" She tilted her head. "Come on. What's the truth?"
Elara opened her mouth—
But Dominic spoke first.
"She doesn't owe you explanations."
Bianca's eyes narrowed.
"And you do?" she fired back.
Dominic's smile was slow.
Deadly.
Cold.
"No one interrogates my wife. Not even family."
Bianca let out a breathy laugh.
"Oh, please. I know her better than you."
Dominic raised a brow.
"Do you?"
Bianca's expression wavered—just enough to reveal insecurity—but she recovered fast.
She moved to the velvet sofa and sat down with deliberate elegance.
"Well," she said, crossing her legs, "I didn't come to fight. I came to stay for a while."
Elara froze.
"No."
Bianca's smile sharpened.
"Yes."
"This is not your home."
"It was my father's money that paid for your old life," Bianca said. "You owe me a little hospitality."
Dominic cut in, voice like a blade sliding out of its sheath.
"She stays one night."
Bianca smirked.
"So you do have rules."
"I have boundaries."
"And consequences?" Bianca asked sweetly.
Dominic's eyes didn't flinch.
"Always."
Bianca leaned back, satisfied—for now.
Elara's heart pounded.
She knew this wasn't a visit.
It was the beginning of Bianca's war.
And Bianca never started what she didn't plan to finish.
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