CHAPTER 02

The days dragged on, each one heavier than the last. Bianca lived daily beneath the freezing mantle of her mother Vivian's ignorance, who rarely spoke to her except for a veiled reproach. Her father, Bruno, though less harsh, maintained an abyssal distance—a coldness that hurt more than any shout.

That was why, when she saw him standing before her one day, looking her in the eyes and greeting her, Bianca felt dazed for a second. Her father's voice was deep, unusual.

"Bianca," Bruno uttered, his tone neutral but firm. "I need to talk to you. I'll wait for you in the living room." Without waiting for an answer, he turned around and disappeared.

Filled with growing distrust, Bianca slowly made her way to the living room, every step a heavy burden. Upon entering, she noticed her father had company. There was Vivian, sitting on the sofa, her posture rigid and her face contorted, radiating palpable anger. Bianca sat down as well, her movements slow and cautious, as if every joint ached.

"Why did you want to see me?" she wanted to know, her voice barely a whisper.

Bruno took a breath, the weight of the moment visible on his shoulders.

"Due to Aitana's sudden death, everything has changed. But one thing hasn't changed, Bianca: the debt we owe that family. We have spoken with Eric's parents, and George, along with his wife Jackeline, have given their approval for your marriage to Eric to take place."

Bianca's world came to a halt. Such an outcome was unimaginable, absurd. It hadn't even been a month since Aitana's death, and they were already positioning her as a simple replacement—a substitute to fill a void, to settle an account. Panic washed over her. Her body shook uncontrollably, and her nerves flared. She shook her head, over and over.

"I can't marry Eric," the words barely made it out. "Why would I marry Aitana's fiancé? I won't do that!"

Vivian glared at her menacingly, her eyes bloodshot with rage.

"Now you're worried that he was your sister's fiancé?" Vivian snapped, her voice like a whip. "Do you think I don't know you've always liked Eric? You've always looked at him with those doe eyes, haven't you?"

A tense silence filled the room. Bruno cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to regain control of the conversation.

"Daughter, this is for everyone's good. The family business can no longer be saved with our own strength. But at least I can recover some of what we've lost if you marry Eric. Please do it. It's our last hope."

Vivian snorted, impatient, dismissive.

"Stop asking her nicely, Bruno. After all, it's the least she can do to repair the damage she's caused us," she accused, her gaze fixing on the trembling, nervous Bianca. "And stop playing dumb. You should be happy to get what you've always wanted. Or are you going to deny me that the Harrington name wasn't your secret ambition?"

Perhaps her mother, always so observant despite her coldness, always so perceptive of her true intentions, had figured out her daughter's hidden feelings for Aitana's fiancé—a truth Bianca had jeously guarded in the depths of her heart.

Bianca clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. The idea of marrying Eric was unbearable. It didn't matter that her own sister had admitted to her in life that she didn't feel anything for that man, that the engagement to Eric was nothing more than a business arrangement—a love she couldn't reciprocate. Even so, Bianca felt terribly guilty about having to take her place, about becoming Aitana's shadow.

"I won't be that man's wife," she blurted out, trying to sound firm, though her voice was barely a thread.

What she didn't expect was the slap. The sound echoed through the room. The sudden jerk of her face didn't hurt nearly as much as her mother's look, charged with anger, disappointment, and absolute contempt.

"Marry him if you don't want to see us begging," Vivian hissed, her voice low but lethal. "If you don't want to see yourself turned into a nobody, an outcast."

Cornered, overwhelmed by the guilt she felt and the pain consuming her, Bianca was forced to utter a "yes." A "yes" that wasn't acceptance, but resignation. A "yes" that condemned her to her own personal hell: living in her sister's shadow and under the name of Eric Harrington, the man who hated her.

When George Harrington sat across from his son Eric in the imposing study of their mansion, tension filled the air.

Jackeline watched in silence, her expression grave. The proposal to marry Bianca Bellerose, barely weeks after Aitana's death, ignited Eric's fury.

"Are you out of your minds?" Eric roared, slamming his fist against the mahogany table. His blue eyes, usually cold, burned with a mix of pain and absolute disbelief. "Marry Bianca? The one to blame for Aitana's death?! Never!"

George let him rant, his expression stone-faced. When the echo of Eric's voice faded, the patriarch spoke, his voice deep and resonant, every word loaded with unshakable weight.

"If you don't marry Bianca, Eric, the Harrington family's reputation will be irreparably stained. The engagement to Aitana wasn't just a business deal; it was a public alliance, announced in all social and financial circles, a step that secured our position as the most influential family. People expected that union. Interrupting this marriage so abruptly after the tragedy would raise suspicions and fuel rumors. People would say the Harrington family is unstable, that we don't honor our commitments."

"Father, I am not going to marry her."

"Eric, that young woman is not to blame for Aitana's death; it was an accident. Stop refusing and accept the marriage."

"Do it, son," his mother insisted.

George leaned forward slightly, his gaze penetrating.

"People will speculate about what happened to Aitana, and our family's good name will be dragged through the mud. We cannot allow our honor, built over generations, to be called into question for mere sentimentality, Eric. This marriage is a matter of honor and image. It will show the world that despite the tragedy, the Harrington family is unbreakable, that we honor our pacts, and that we maintain stability. It's the only way to silence the gossips and protect our legacy."

Eric listened to every word, the weight of lineage and reputation crushing him. Fury still bubbled inside him, but beneath the icy control his last name had drilled into him, anger transformed into bitter resignation.

With a tense jaw and fists clenched beneath the table, Eric nodded slowly.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice barely a hoarse whisper. It wasn't an acceptance of Bianca, but a surrender to duty.

George and Jackeline visibly relaxed, a millennium-old tension leaving their shoulders. The decision was made. Bianca Bellerose's fate and the future of the Harringtons were sealed.