Bianca's presence settled into the mansion like a cold draft—unwelcome, unavoidable, and watching everything.
She unpacked into the guest room without asking, humming softly as if she belonged there. By evening, she was already drifting through the halls with a glass of red wine, studying every detail of Dominic's life like she was mapping weaknesses.
Elara tried to stay calm.
She tried to pretend this wasn't tearing through the fragile peace she was building.
But Bianca was a storm she had grown up fearing.
And storms didn't stay quiet.
---
Dinner
Dominic sat at the head of the long table. Elara sat beside him. Bianca took the seat directly across—because of course she did—legs crossed, chin lifted.
The chef brought out roasted chicken, basil pasta, and wine.
Bianca's eyes flicked from the food to Dominic.
"Your taste is impressive," she said.
Dominic didn't answer. He cut into his food with deadly precision.
Bianca leaned back.
"Most men with power are sloppy. Too much wealth, not enough discipline. But you—" she paused, letting the tension rise, "—you seem… controlled."
Dominic didn't look up.
"Elara chose the menu."
Bianca's smile froze.
Elara watched the power shift silently.
Dominic continued eating, unbothered.
"She organizes the schedule. Approves the staff. Oversees details."
A slow, cold pride settled into his voice.
"She handles everything."
Bianca's fork stopped halfway to her lips.
Elara felt heat rise to her cheeks.
Bianca recovered quickly.
"Well. I suppose she needs something to justify her place here."
Elara flinched.
Dominic put his fork down.
Silence fell.
He turned his head, his eyes sharp as glass.
"Bianca."
She raised a brow.
"Speak about my wife with respect."
A shiver ran across the room.
Bianca exhaled softly, masking irritation with a lazy smile.
"Of course. I didn't mean anything… offensive."
Elara knew better.
Bianca never spoke without intention.
---
After Dinner
Elara excused herself first, needing air. She stepped onto the terrace, overlooking the vast city lights. Her hands trembled, and she pressed them against the cold railing.
Bianca was here to destroy her.
And part of her still feared that she could.
Footsteps approached.
Dominic.
"You're shaking," he said.
"I'm fine," she whispered.
"You're lying."
She closed her eyes.
"She ruins things. She ruined everything before. My friendships. My trust. My relationship with my father. And she'll—"
Dominic stepped closer.
"She won't ruin anything here."
"You don't know her."
"I don't need to know her."
Elara faced him, confused.
Dominic's eyes softened—just slightly.
"Anyone who tries to hurt you becomes my problem."
Her breath caught.
He wasn't saying it romantically.
He was saying it like a man who protected what he claimed.
It made her feel… safe.
Attractive.
Terrified.
Before she could respond—
Bianca's voice drifted from the doorway.
"Well," she said lightly, arms crossed, "isn't this cozy?"
Elara froze.
Dominic didn't turn.
He didn't even move.
He just said:
"You should knock before entering my conversations."
Bianca's smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize my sister needed supervision."
Dominic finally turned his head.
"She doesn't. But you do."
Bianca blinked.
He continued, voice low:
"If you want to stay in this house tonight, you will not raise your voice, provoke her, follow her, or speak about her past. Clear?"
Bianca's jaw tightened.
"Crystal."
Dominic looked away from her, dismissing her entirely.
Bianca walked off—heels sharp, angry.
Elara exhaled shakily.
Dominic watched her for a moment.
"You don't have to be afraid of her anymore."
"That's easy for you to say."
He stepped closer, so close she felt the heat from his body.
His voice dropped.
"I don't let people take what's mine."
Her heart pounded.
But before she could speak—
a loud crash sounded from inside the mansion.
Dominic's expression hardened.
Bianca.
And whatever she had done…
was only the beginning.