CHAPTER 05

News of Bianca's pregnancy spread like wildfire, reaching Vivian first. It wasn't long before the door of the luxury apartment flew open, revealing Vivian's furious figure, with Bruno hot on her heels wearing an expression of anguish. Bianca was standing in the living room, fear a cold knot in her stomach, when Vivian spotted her.

"You! Utter disgrace!" Vivian screamed, and before Bianca could react, a slap rang through the silence of the apartment. The impact jerked Bianca's head to the side, the sting on her cheek paling against the burning humiliation. "Whore! Slut! Ruining what little dignity we had left!"

Right at that moment, as if fate took pleasure in the drama, the doorbell rang insistently. The door swung open, and George and Jackeline Harrington walked in, their faces impassive, though their eyes held a cold expectation. Eric must have informed them. They had come to corroborate the humiliating truth.

Shame burned through Bianca, mixing with impotent rage. How could they judge her like this, without knowing anything, without wanting to listen? With tears streaming down her cheeks, she slowly sank to her knees.

"I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry," she murmured, her words choked by sobs. She looked pathetic, groveling for a forgiveness she knew would never come.

Eric, who had watched the scene with disturbing coldness, finally spoke, his voice glacial.

"Enough of this circus." He turned to his parents, his voice clear and sharp. "I don't want to see her again. Whatever she did doesn't affect me emotionally, since I never loved her—you know that. But if this gets out, it will stain my name and the family's."

Vivian and Bruno, their faces wrecked, tried to intercede, desperate not to lose the financial support the Harringtons had extended through that forced marriage.

"George, please..." Vivian pleaded, tears welling in her own eyes. "We can't lose your support. Aitana... she would have wanted—"

George Harrington raised a hand, silencing them.

"The debt will be settled, Bruno. That was our word. But the house you were given, and any future benefits, are canceled. You no longer have ties to this family beyond that fulfilled agreement. You must leave the property."

George's words hit Vivian and Bruno hard. Her parents' faces twisted with desperation and disbelief. In the middle of that disaster, Bianca remained on the floor, silent, as if every accusation, every judgment, were irrefutable proof of her guilt.

Suddenly, Eric grabbed her arm with a roughness that made her gasp. He hauled her up from the floor and dragged her toward the bedroom, paying no mind to her parents' presence or the looks from his own.

"Pack your bags," he ordered, his voice low and loaded with controlled anger. "The sooner, the better. I don't want you in this apartment another minute."

Pain pierced her—a dagger twisting in her heart. Without a word, Bianca headed to the closet. Her hands shook as she tossed a few clothes into a small suitcase. There wasn't much she could take. More than possessions, she only accumulated burdens and sorrow.

Eric watched her from the doorway, his blue eyes like shards of ice. She didn't know where to go or how she would survive on her own. Yet leaving this hell to face something worse was a desolate uncertainty, seemingly her only destination. There would be no one to save her.

Not even her ruined family, who had now completely banished her.

Before she left, Eric gripped her wrist. She turned to look at him and sighed.

"Why lie when you know it's pathetic? You're ruined."

"I never lied to you, Eric," she whispered in a broken voice before pulling away and walking out. She ran into them still in the living room and spoke up. "Mom, Dad, I hope one day you can understand that I'm not what you think I am right now. The same goes for you, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. I'm not a liar, nor have I done anything wrong."

In the end, they stood stunned, believing she was merely being cynical and mocking.

And on her first night out, while Eric remained in his luxury apartment, she walked aimlessly until she ran into him—almost like a destined coincidence.

"Bianca, where are you going with that suitcase?"

The green-eyed man with dark hair was Steven; he looked thinner than the last time she had seen him. It was obvious Aitana's death had hit him hard.

"I... this isn't a good time, Steven."

"I heard you got married. Are you okay?"

She sobbed and shook her head. Steven read in her expression that the sister of the love of his life was in trouble. So he pulled her into a hug. Right then, she broke down crying, whispering that she didn't know what to do, that she felt rudderless, lost in a reality that was crushing her.

At that exact moment, men hired by Eric snapped photographs of that casual encounter, the embrace, the interaction—images that, upon reaching Eric, confirmed, albeit erroneously, that she had lied all along.

"Steven, I don't know where to go, plus I don't have any money, and—" Before she could say another word, her stomach growled, and he smiled.

"Do you want to come to my apartment? You can spend the night there, and I'll make you something to eat."

"Really?"

"Yes, truly."

She smiled fleetingly, and he took charge of her suitcase. One more shot was sent to Eric, causing the millionaire to throw his phone against the wall, furious at the woman's audacity.

That was her lover! The father of that baby!

"Why did you think you could make an idiot out of me? Damn it!" he roared, emboldened and alone in his massive bedroom, though for some strange reason, the walls seemed to be closing in on him.