The Fiancee

The woman stepped inside without hesitation, her sharp gaze scanning the penthouse. "I'm Imelda Salvador," she said, her voice smooth and commanding. "Salvador Industries. I assume you're the maid? You'll probably be seeing me here often now."

Bianca's cheeks burned. She straightened, clutching the coat tightly. "Actually, I'm not the maid. I'm Bianca Martins, the boys' nanny."

Imelda paused, her perfectly arched brow lifting ever so slightly. "Oh. Well, in any case..." She trailed off, giving Bianca a once-over that felt more like an assessment than a casual glance.

Bianca forced a tight smile. "Uh, let me take you to Ken and the boys. We were just having a small birthday dinner for him."

Imelda's red lips curved into an almost-smile. "How sweet. I hope they didn't destroy the kitchen."

Bianca's irritation simmered, but she kept her tone polite. "Actually, they did a great job. And we even have leftovers, if you'd like to try some."

Imelda waved a manicured hand dismissively. "Oh, no, thank you. I have a strict diet."

Before Bianca could respond, Imelda breezed past her, heading straight toward the dining room as though she owned the place.

---

"Imelda?" Ken's surprised voice filled the air as he stood up from the table.

"Happy birthday, darling!" Imelda cooed, striding over to him. She kissed him on the cheek, leaving a faint mark of red lipstick. Then she produced a small velvet box from her handbag and handed it to him with a flourish.

Ken opened it, revealing a pair of sleek platinum cufflinks. "Thank you, Imelda. These are… wonderful."

Bianca stood near the doorway, biting her lip. Wonderful? More like generic. Doesn't he already have a million of those?

"Only the best for my boo-bear," Imelda said, her tone dripping with affection. She turned her attention to the boys, reaching out to tousle Jason's hair. "And look at you two! Mason, you and your brother have grown so much since I last saw you."

Jason flinched, his discomfort clear. "Uh, I'm Jason," he corrected, frowning.

Imelda laughed lightly. "That's what I said. And I brought you both gifts!" She reached into her handbag again, pulling out two sleek black boxes. "Matching Armani watches—one for each of you."

Mason hesitated before accepting his box, his expression neutral. "Thanks."

"Yes, thank you," Jason added, though his voice lacked enthusiasm.

"You have great taste," Imelda said with a satisfied smile. "A sense of style should start young."

Ken cleared his throat, his smile strained. "That's very thoughtful, Imelda. Though Armani might be a bit much for boys their age."

"You're never too young to become a style icon," she countered breezily, taking a seat at the table—directly in Bianca's chair.

Bianca blinked, unsure if Imelda had noticed or simply didn't care. "Um, that's my seat."

Imelda looked up at her, unfazed. "Well? Aren't you going to clean up the dishes?"

Bianca's patience snapped. She crossed her arms, her voice firm. "Like I said before, I'm not the maid. And even if I was, that's no way to talk to someone."

Imelda shrugged, her tone dismissive. "Semantics. If you're not cleaning, you're dismissed."

"Imelda, you can't—" Ken began, but she interrupted him with a bright laugh.

"Oooh, Ken, you'll never believe who I saw in first class on my flight here!" she gushed, turning her attention fully to him. "Jennifer Teigen! Now she is a real style icon..."

Ken shot Bianca an apologetic look, mouthing, "I'm sorry."

Bianca clenched her jaw, her hands curling into fists. She didn't trust herself to speak without saying something she'd regret. Instead, she forced a smile. "Goodnight, everyone."

She turned and walked away, her heart pounding with a mix of anger and frustration.

---

Bianca slammed the door to her room and collapsed onto her bed, pulling out her phone. She needed to vent.

"OMG. Imelda is here," she texted her best friend, Roselyn.

The reply came almost instantly. "WAT!!!"

"She showed up unannounced during Ken's birthday dinner. And she's… a LOT. You should've seen the way she treated everyone. She literally called me 'the help.'"

"Gross. What did Ken say?"

"Nothing."

"EXCUUUUSE ME?! He just let her?"

"He tried. But she talked over him the entire time. Honestly, I think he was too shocked to say much."

"He better be, or WTF."

A knock on the door interrupted her rant. Bianca groaned, tossing her phone aside. "If that's Imelda asking me to press her clothes, I swear..."

She opened the door—and froze.

---

Ken stood in the doorway, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his hair slightly tousled. He looked exhausted, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that made Bianca's breath catch.

"Bianca," he said softly, his voice almost pleading.

"Ken," she replied, her tone guarded. "Is everything okay?"

"I…" He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "I need to apologize for what happened earlier."

Bianca folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "For what part? Letting her insult me? Or sitting back while she made the boys uncomfortable?"

Ken winced, guilt flashing across his face. "All of it," he admitted. "Imelda…she's not always like that. But tonight, I should've said something. I'm sorry, Bianca. You didn't deserve that."

Bianca's heart softened, though her frustration lingered. "Ken, this isn't just about me. The boys weren't happy, either. They worked so hard to make tonight special, and she barely acknowledged it."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know. I'm trying to figure out how to handle this."

"Handle it how?" she asked, her voice quieter now.

Ken looked at her, his gaze steady. "I don't know yet. But I want to talk this through with you. Please."

Bianca hesitated, torn between the anger still simmering in her chest and the raw sincerity in his eyes. Finally, she stepped aside, letting him into her room.