Under Bianca's Rule

Chapter Seven : Under Bianca's Rule

The ride to Bianca's mansion was punishment. I sat in the back seat, quietly, my hands clasped tightly together, my stomach twisting in knots. Bianca sat up front, her laughter cutting through the air as she chatted on the phone. Every now and then, she'd glance at me through the rear view, her eyes full of disdain.

When we finally arrived, the mansion loomed before me through the windows of my carriage, a predator ready to pounce. Immense in size, so cold, inhospitable. The towering gates grudgingly creaked open; I was shown inside without any complimentary formalities.

Bianca didn't waste any time. "Follow me," she snarled, the heels clattering loud on marble floor as she took me down a long hall. There were expensive paintings decorating the walls, the floors gleamed, and every corner just seemed to scream wealth. Yet there was no warmth here, only this suffocating atmosphere of dominance.

She halted before a small door and pushed it open. "This is your room," she said tartly.

I stepped inside and felt my chest tighten. The room was small and had no windows, barely any furniture in sight other than a single bed that was pushed against the wall and an old-looking dresser in the corner. Quite the opposite of the whole estate of the mansion.

"Get comfortable," Bianca said mockingly. "You'll be staying here for a long time."

I nodded wordlessly; my throat was too tight to utter a word. She lingered for a moment, her gaze sharp, it seemed, daring me to complain. When I didn't, she pivoted and walked away, leaving me alone with the smothering silence.

The following morning Bianca did not waste any time making my life a living hell. She burst into my room before dawn, her voice razor-sharp, commanding. "Get up. You've got work to do.

I scrambled out of bed, half asleep, as she handed me a very long list of chores: cleaning, polishing, scrubbing-the demands were endless. And whatever I did, it was good enough for nobody.

"Is this how you clean?" she sneered, indicating a speck of dust I hadn't noticed on the table. "Pathetic."

I bit my lip as tears welled. I refused to let her have the satisfaction of knowing just how much she hurt my feelings. I started over, nodding a bit, because I was not going to allow her to get the better of me.

Time lost its significance in the exhaustion and humiliation vacuum. Bianca always found ways of tormenting me anew each day. She spilled wine on floors that I had just cleaned, would criticize the meal I prepared, and made it sure I did not forget my place.

"You should be grateful I even let you stay here," she said one evening, her words dripping with contempt. "Without me, you'd be nothing.

I wanted to scream, to tell her how wrong she was. But instead, I kept my head down and continued cleaning the dishes while my hands were shaking due to suppressed anger.

It wasn't until well into the night that I allowed myself to breathe, the house hushed and finally asleep. I sat on the floor of my small room, knees tucked against my chest, and let the tears fall. It was all too much-the cruelty of Bianca, the betrayal of Damian, the helplessness of it all-threatening to steal my breath until it felt as if I couldn't breathe.

I thought of Damian often in those quiet times, wondered if he cared at all if these things happened to me. Whether he regretted sending me here or I was just another one of his pawns. It'd cause my chest to ache to think that, but I brushed it aside. No use dwelling on what I couldn't change.

Afternoon, as I was scrubbing the floor in the living room, the front door opened. My heart hit the pit of my stomach as I saw Damian enter. As always, he was self-contained. His face impassive, his eyes scanned the space.

In an instant, Bianca was on him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Darling, what a surprise!" she exclaimed, her voice sickeningly sweet.

I quickly turned away, my eyes falling to the floor in front of me. I wouldn't let him see the tears threatening to spill.

"She's been settling in great," Bianca said, the sarcasm in her voice thicker than concrete as she threw me a sideways look. "I've been keeping her busy."

Damian's gaze flickered on to me for a moment, and in that instant, I could've sworn I saw something in those eyes-guilt or even regret-but it was gone in an instant, buried once more beneath that granite mask of his.

But Bianca wasn't done. She turned to him then, a sly smile playing on her lips. "You don't have to worry about her anymore. She's nicely subdued."

My hands curled into fists, my fingernails digging into my palms. I wanted to scream, to tell him how mean Bianca had been, but I knew it wouldn't make a difference. He'd made his choice.

That evening, I overheard them arguing in the study. Damian's voice was low but angry. "You've gone too far, Bianca. She doesn't deserve this."

Bianca laughed-the sound cold, hollow. "Oh, please. Don't pretend you care about her. If you did, you wouldn't have sent her here in the first place."

There was a long silence, thick with tension.

"If you really don't care," Bianca added, a sharp edge to her tone unmistakable, "prove it. Let her stay here. Or are you afraid of what that might mean?"

 

My heart hurt with her words. Did he care? Or was I just a playing piece in their twisted games?

 

The silence stretched, until I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. I pressed my mouth into my hands to smother the sound of my sobs.

That night, lying on my hard mattress in my small room, something inside me just snapped. I couldn't do this anymore. I could not take Bianca's cruelty nor take Damian's indifference.

I did not know where I would go or how I would survive, but there was one thing of which I was certain: I could not stay here.

I woke up at the crack of dawn, staring at the ceiling as the weight of my heart carried a mix of fear and determination. What was next, I would face. I had no other choice.