I stood at the door, waiting. Once Garrett finished changing, I followed him back to Bianca’s room.
“She needs to stay on the IV and get another anti-inflammatory injection,” Garrett said as he unwrapped the bandages on Bianca’s wound to check its condition. “Thank God, it’s not as bad as it could be.”
“Rest assured, she’s relatively healthy,” he added.
Garrett’s reassurance didn’t ease my worry much. “But she shows no signs of waking up.”
“I’m a professional doctor. Trust me,” Garrett replied. “Sleep is the best medicine. Don’t disturb her.”
“I’ll prescribe more nutrients for her IV to give her the energy she needs to fight off the illness.”
Other than following the doctor’s instructions, there seemed to be nothing else I could do to help Bianca recover faster.
Garrett left after breakfast. Mae tidied up the kitchen, grabbed her shopping basket, and headed to the nearby supermarket for supplies.
Once Garrett and Mae were gone, the villa fell into complete silence.
The kind of silence that leaves an empty feeling in your chest.
I glanced at my phone’s schedule, confirming I had no pressing work outside the house today. Grabbing my laptop, I went to the study.
I have a tendency to get lost in work, losing track of time.
To counter this, I set multiple alarms to go off every two hours, reminding me to check on Bianca in the next room.
She slept the entire time, only stirring once or twice to mumble about being thirsty. I gave her water, and for a moment, her amber eyes opened, focusing on me as if she wanted to say something.
But then, Bianca closed her eyes again and drifted back into a deep sleep.
I sighed and sat by her bed for about ten minutes, waiting to see if she’d wake up. When it became clear she wouldn’t, I returned to the study to continue working.
My assistant called while I was reviewing the Barnes project.
“The head of the Barnes project wants to schedule a meeting with you,” she said.
Considering the importance of this upcoming collaboration with the Barnes Group, I didn’t decline. “Have you confirmed a time?”
“Tomorrow at noon, at a French restaurant chosen by the Barnes representative. Does that work for you?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Send me the exact address.”
“Understood.”
I soon received an email from my assistant. The restaurant was located in one of the busiest streets in the heart of Mexico City, surrounded by luxury apartments and extravagant mansions.
The reviews for the restaurant were glowing, filled with words like “exclusive” and “luxurious.” I’d heard that only members could dine there, and reservations required at least three days’ notice.
The Barnes representative handling this collaboration wasn’t a member of the Barnes family. His background didn’t suggest he had the connections to secure a membership at such an exclusive place.
Frowning, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that this might be a trap set by Joela.
Still, the Barnes collaboration was essential. It could determine whether my company could break into the Mexican market before Easter. I had every reason to attend the meeting.
As for Bianca, she slept through the entire day.
The next morning, Garrett called to inform me that he couldn’t come to treat Bianca as planned due to an emergency surgery. “Take her temperature and perform some simple checks for now,” he instructed over the phone.
The thermometer soon showed that Bianca’s fever had broken.
“That’s great news,” Garrett said, sounding relieved. “She’s beaten the infection. I think she’ll wake up soon.”
In the background, I could hear Garrett’s colleague urging him to prepare for surgery.
“I’ll be there soon,” Garrett said to them, before returning to me. “After my surgery, I’ll come check on Bianca’s wound. If I finish before noon, I’ll be there by two in the afternoon.”
By then, I’d likely still be in my meeting.
But it didn’t matter. Mae would be home to wait for Garrett. Hopefully, Bianca would be fully awake by then.
I stuck to my routine from the day before, checking on Bianca every two hours.
Her condition seemed good. Just as Garrett had said, she was recovering well.
At ten o’clock, my alarm went off. I set aside the document I’d been reading and headed to Bianca’s room.
I had imagined walking in to find her awake. But I didn’t expect the first thing she’d do after waking up was throw a vase at me.
Thankfully, I reacted quickly, shutting the door in time to avoid getting hit.
Bianca, however, seemed on edge. She climbed onto the cabinet where the vase had been, glaring at me with wide, amber eyes that resembled those of a frightened, cornered cat.
But no matter how cat-like she seemed, a healthy young woman couldn’t match a cat’s agility. The cabinet groaned under her weight, threatening to collapse.
She was going to fall.
Yet Bianca appeared oblivious to the danger, glaring at me fiercely before turning her attention to the nearby wardrobe.
A horrible realization struck me-Bianca was planning to jump onto the wardrobe!
The composure I had been struggling to maintain vanished. I strode forward and called out firmly, “Miss Luciano, get down!”
My tone must have been too stern, as Bianca, still caught in her heightened state of alertness, visibly flinched.
“Fine, I’ll come down,” she said, feigning calm.
She attempted to jump directly off the cabinet.
I was horrified. Didn’t she realize how dangerous that was? Her wound was still at risk of reopening at any moment.
Without thinking further, I rushed forward and caught her by the waist, lifting her down from the cabinet.
Despite my care, her wound began to bleed again. The blood seeped through the bandages, staining her pajamas.
I couldn’t help but think of the nearly 30 hours I’d spent tending to her recovery, only to see her recklessness threaten to undo it all.
I should have been angry. But more than anything, I felt a deep sense of worry that overpowered any other emotion.
Taking a deep breath, I silently fetched the first aid kit and changed her bandages.
It was clear we’d need Garrett’s professional help again.
Bianca, trained as a mafia princess, was remarkably tough and unyielding.
Especially when fully conscious.
She didn’t flinch as I dressed her wound. Instead, she treated her pain as a joke, a tool to mock me. Then, with cold indifference, she announced that she had to leave, injuries be damned-she had a competition to attend.
Her disregard for her own body left me with a ridiculous thought:
I cared more about Bianca’s health than she did.