Bianca's POV
My alarm rang before the sun came up, waking me from my hard earned sleep. I lay there for a bit, looking up, thinking if last night was just some weird dream. A butler at my place telling me I was part of the richest families out there? Yeah, right.
But those pictures, the birth certificate, and how Cyril talked—it seemed too true to just think of as some horrible mistake or well thought of prank.
I got out of bed, headed to my bathroom to brush my teeth, and was spitting out water when the doorbell rang.
"Great. I knew who would come by so early." I said to myself as I dragged my feet to the answer the door.
When I swung the door open, Cyril was there. He looked just like he did last night—sharp suit, looking like he just stepped out of a magazine for sugar-daddies. In contrast, I was a mess, like I'd battled against a rhinoceros, my hair disheveled like I just got exorcised.
"You're here early," I noted, leaning against the door. "Is there some rich guy's secret schedule you follow that we don't know about?"
A small smile showed on his face. "Sorry if I woke you."
I let him in with a casual shrug. "No worries. It's just, I'm not used to having guests. Or folks popping by to say I'm supposedly linked to some big family. Want some coffee?"
"No need to trouble yourself."
"Too late," I said, on my way to the kitchen. "If I'm going to walk into a big house with folks who say they're my kin, I need my coffee."
We sat down to scrambled eggs and toast—cheap, easy, the normal stuff. Cyril ate it as if it was a grand meal, and for some reason, that made me warm up to him a bit more.
When I went to switch clothes, I picked a plain dress. Not showy, just tidy. Good enough so no one could say I didn't care, but also not so different that I'd feel fake.
"Ready?" Cyril asked as I came back.
"As I'll ever be," I said low, taking my bag.
The car waiting outside was smooth, black, and too shiny for my area. I slid into the back seat with Cyril and saw another man driving. He was quiet, a pro. The drive lasted almost an hour along quiet streets, my mind racing, until we slowed down.
When I looked out the window, I gasped.
Ahead stood the Montgomery mansion, like a scene from a fancy mag. Big green lawns, tall stone walls, water fountains shooting up like glass. My heart squeezed. This was a place folks talked about in low voices, a house that got in the news.
I swallowed hard. "This can't be real," I murmured. "People don't actually live in places like this. They film movies here."
Cyril didn't comment. The driver pulled up to the front steps, and I followed Cyril out, my nerves buzzing like electricity.
Inside, I expected chaos—stylists, wedding planners, a small army preparing for one of the biggest events of the year. Instead, the house was calm. Almost too calm.
And then I saw her.
Chloe Montgomery.
She wasn't surrounded by a team of assistants. She wasn't dripping in diamonds. She was in a simple dress, hair pulled back, setting the dining table like an ordinary woman.
When she saw us, her face lit up. "Cyril! You found her!"
Her eyes landed on me. Genuine warmth filled them. "You must be Bianca."
I nodded stiffly. "That's me. Thanks for not having security throw me out."
Chloe laughed softly. "I'm so glad you're here."
I wasn't sure how to take that. "Yeah... look, I still can't shake the feeling that I'm in a TV show. So, could you start over? Slow."
And she did. She went over everything Cyril had said last night—the love, the split-up, when I was born, the noise around it. She spoke easy, her eyes fixed, but each word made me doubt even more.
After she stopped, I put my arms over my chest. "So you're saying my whole life is like a big news story? Sorry if I can't just... take that."
"I get it's a lot," Chloe spoke quietly. "You don't have to take it all now. Give it some time."
"Good, because I plan to." I stepped back toward the door. "Thanks for the tea party invite, but I think I'll head home now before my brain explodes."
"Wait, please." Chloe's tone shifted—gentle but urgent. "At least stay until after the wedding. Just a few days. Please. I also want you to meet my fiancé… today."
I hesitated, my hand on my bag, as millions of thoughts ran through my mind. Finally, I exhaled. "Fine. I'll meet him. But if he's sixty with a golf addiction, I'm out."
"Trust me he is not." Chloe said and as if on cue the sound of footsteps came from behind me.
"Babe!" She screamed like a little kid.
I turned, expecting some polished businessman or maybe a famous actor or musician.
But it was neither of those things.
It was him.
The big fish.
The man from last night.
The one-night stand.
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
"You."