The sharp corner of the glass table felt like a knife buried in Bianca's side. The pain radiated through her abdomen, making her ears ring. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white, refusing to let her knees hit the floor again.

She lifted her head. Kahlil was staring at her, his hand still half-raised from where he had pushed her. A flicker of panic crossed his dark eyes as he saw her face turn the color of chalk.

But behind him, Cassandra peeked out. Her tears were still flowing, but her eyes held a glint of pure, malicious victory.

Bianca let out a laugh. It was a short, sharp sound that scraped against her throat.

"Madwoman..." Bianca whispered. She pushed herself fully upright. Her legs trembled, but she locked her knees. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe I am crazy to think I could ever make you see the truth."

She took a slow, agonizing step forward. Kahlil tensed, but Bianca walked right past him. She stopped directly in front of Cassandra's wheelchair. She leaned down, her face inches from Cassandra's.

Cassandra shrank back, her hands gripping the armrests.

"You're good at this, aren't you?" Bianca's voice was a deadly, quiet hiss. "The tears. The trembling. But I know what you really are, Cassandra. A snake in the grass. And snakes... always get crushed eventually."

Cassandra's breath hitched. Genuine fear flashed in her eyes. She reached out and grabbed Kahlil's sleeve. "Kahlil... she threatened me... She said she'd crush me..."

Kahlil's jaw tightened. He reached out and grabbed Bianca's upper arm, pulling her away from the wheelchair. "Apologize to her. Now."

Bianca ripped her arm out of his grip. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of nausea through her, but the adrenaline kept her standing. She looked at Kahlil, her eyes completely dead.

"Apologize?" Bianca sneered. "For what? For telling the truth? Or for not being the perfect little victim you want me to be?"

She took a step back, putting distance between herself and the two of them.

"You want an apology? Fine." Bianca's lips curled into a cruel smile. "I'm sorry, Cassandra. I'm sorry you have to resort to such pathetic schemes because you're too weak to fight for anything honestly. I'm sorry you're so insecure that you need to cling to a man who doesn't even want you as a woman."

Cassandra gasped. The color drained from her face, leaving her looking sickly. Bianca's words had hit the exact, bleeding center of her insecurities. She began to shake violently.

Kahlil's face turned thunderous. He stepped toward Bianca. "How dare you! You... you vicious..."

"Vicious? Me?" Bianca cut him off, her voice ringing loud and clear in the silent room. "Look at her, Kahlil. Look at how she's acting. That's not grief or fear. That's performance. And you are her audience."

Bianca pointed a finger straight at Cassandra's chest. "Look at her clothes! That sheer top, the low neckline. Is that what a grieving, scared 'sister' wears at midnight? Or is it bait?"

Cassandra was wearing a thin, cream-colored knit top. The fabric clung to her, the neckline dipping low enough to show the curve of her breasts. At Bianca's words, Cassandra let out a panicked squeak and quickly crossed her arms over her chest.

Kahlil's eyes automatically dropped to Cassandra's clothes. He blinked. A sudden, uncomfortable realization hit him. He quickly looked away, but the seed of doubt had been planted deep in his mind.

Bianca didn't miss his reaction. Her voice dropped to a cold, business-like tone.

"I'm setting a boundary, Kahlil. Cassandra stays out of my way. And you stay out of my business. If you want a divorce so badly, then give me one. Walk away with nothing, or cooperate with the heir plan. Your choice."

She turned her back on them. She walked toward the stairs. Every step sent a shockwave of pain through her stomach, but she kept her spine perfectly straight. She didn't look back once.

The living room fell into a suffocating silence. Cassandra sat frozen in her wheelchair, her chest heaving, terrified that her mask had slipped too far.

Kahlil stood rooted to the spot. Bianca's words echoed in his skull. Walk away with nothing... cooperate with the heir plan.

He looked at the empty staircase. Then, he slowly turned his head to look at Cassandra. He noticed the sheer fabric. He noticed the lack of real tears on her cheeks. His stomach tightened with a sudden, ugly feeling.

He reached up and yanked his tie loose. "Go back to your room. Now." His voice was flat, devoid of the protective warmth he had shown minutes ago.

Cassandra's eyes widened in horror. "Kahlil... you believe her? You think I'm..."

Kahlil didn't look at her. He stared at the floor. "Go to your room, Cassandra. And stay there until I say otherwise."

Bianca stumbled into her bedroom. The moment the heavy wooden door clicked shut behind her, the invisible string holding her together snapped.

Her knees hit the thick carpet with a dull thud. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, curling her body into a tight, trembling ball. The pain was no longer just a cramp; it was a tearing, burning agony that stole the oxygen from her lungs. She opened her mouth to gasp for air, but only a dry, broken sob came out.

Mrs. Gable burst through the door a second later. She dropped to her knees beside Bianca, her hands hovering in a panic. "Madam! Madam, what's wrong? I'm calling 911!"

Bianca squeezed her eyes shut. She shook her head frantically. "No... no hospital... Kahlil will..." She couldn't finish the sentence. The thought of Kahlil looking down at her, seeing her this weak, this broken, made her stomach twist even harder.

Mrs. Gable ignored her. She scrambled for the phone on the nightstand.

The bedroom door was shoved open violently. Kahlil stood in the doorway. He had come upstairs to demand answers, to yell, to regain control.

But the words died in his throat.

He saw Bianca curled on the floor, her face buried in the carpet, her body shaking with violent tremors. Her skin was a terrifying, translucent white.

A cold spike of pure panic drove straight through Kahlil's chest. His heart slammed against his ribs. He crossed the room in two massive strides and dropped to his knees beside her.

"Bianca?" His voice cracked. It wasn't a demand; it was a plea. "What happened?"

Bianca slowly opened her eyes. She saw his face hovering over hers. The anger was gone, replaced by a raw, frantic fear. For a split second, a pathetic, desperate hope flared in her chest. He cares. But the memory of him shielding Cassandra crushed it instantly.

She turned her face away, pressing her cheek into the carpet. "Go away," she wheezed. "I don't need your fake concern."

Kahlil's jaw clenched. He reached out, his large hand hovering over her shoulder, terrified to touch her and cause more pain. He dragged his hand through his hair, gripping the strands tightly.

"You're clearly in pain! Stop being stubborn!" he yelled, his voice rough with anxiety.

Mrs. Gable held the phone to her ear. "Sir, Madam's stomach... she's been like this since she came home..."

Kahlil's eyes darted to Bianca's abdomen. He remembered the way she had clutched her stomach after he shoved her against the table. Guilt, sharp and toxic, flooded his veins.

He didn't hesitate. He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. He lifted her off the floor. She felt too light. Her head rolled against his chest, her shallow breaths ghosting over his collarbone.

Bianca tried to push against his chest, but her arms were like lead. She squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear escaping and soaking into Kahlil's expensive shirt.

He laid her gently on the center of the massive bed. He turned to Mrs. Gable. "Call the family doctor. Now. Tell him it's an emergency."

Twenty agonizing minutes later, Dr. Evans packed his stethoscope into his bag. "Acute stomach spasms, likely triggered by severe stress and alcohol on an empty stomach. She needs rest, hydration, and these muscle relaxants."

Kahlil stood by the window, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He nodded once.

When the doctor left, Kahlil walked to the nightstand. He poured a glass of water from the crystal pitcher. He popped a white pill from the blister pack. He held them out to Bianca.

Bianca stared at his hand. She didn't move. Her eyes were flat and cold. "I can do it myself."

Kahlil's hand froze in mid-air. The muscle in his jaw ticked. He slowly placed the glass and the pill on the nightstand. He stood up straight, his face hardening back into its usual unreadable mask.

"Fine. Have it your way."

He turned and walked toward the door. He walked toward the door, Bianca's accusations echoing in his mind. The sheer top. The perfectly timed tears. A cold, ugly suspicion coiled in his gut. He stopped with his hand on the brass knob. He didn't look back.

"Cassandra will move to the guest house tomorrow."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Bianca lay perfectly still. She stared at the closed door. The pain in her stomach was still a dull roar, but her chest felt strangely tight. He was kicking Cassandra out of the main house. Why? Was it guilt? Or did he finally see the truth?