Bianca couldn't believe it—the day of the engagement party was finally here. With the afternoon off, she met up with her best friend, Roselyn, to shop for the perfect outfit.
Roselyn, always brimming with energy, was already waiting outside their favorite boutique. Her bright red jumpsuit and big hoop earrings made her stand out, as usual.
"Okay, Bianca, I know you've been holding out on me," Roselyn said with a sly grin as they browsed the racks. "Spill! Where did it happen? How long did it last? Is he as good as he looks?"
Bianca's cheeks turned bright red. She frantically shushed Roselyn and glanced around to make sure no one overheard. "Roselyn! Nothing like that happened."
"Yet!" Roselyn laughed. "Don't lie to me! I took two trains and a taxi to get here. You owe me details."
Bianca sighed and lowered her voice. "Fine. But it's not what you think." She explained the close calls, Ken's jealousy, and his upcoming engagement to Imelda.
Roselyn listened, her arms crossed. "Bianca, do you really think Ken wants to marry her? Because from what you just told me, it doesn't sound like it."
"Roselyn…"
"Hold that thought!" Roselyn interrupted, grabbing a stunning blue gown off the rack. "Bianca! This is the one. The prophecy has spoken. You HAVE to try it on!"
Bianca laughed, examining the dress. The lace bodice shimmered under the light, and the thigh-high slit added a touch of drama. "Fine. Hand it over."
A few minutes later, Bianca stepped out of the dressing room.
"That dress is STUNNING!" Roselyn declared. "You'll be the best-dressed person there."
Bianca smiled at her reflection. "I'll take it. No way am I showing up looking like 'the help.' That…would not end well for me."
The pair shopped a little longer, then headed home to get ready.
---
That evening, Bianca arrived at the Grand Marcellus Hotel in a sleek black limo. The hotel's grand entrance sparkled with string lights, and a red carpet led inside. Paparazzi swarmed, cameras flashing as guests arrived.
Bianca stepped out, the blue gown hugging her figure perfectly. Her dark hair was styled in loose waves, and her makeup featured a bold red lip and smoky eyes.
"Whoa. This party's a big deal," she muttered, helping the twins, Mason and Jason, out of the limo. The boys wore matching black tuxedos with bow ties.
"Is this the reason we HAD to dress up again?" Mason whined.
"At least there'll be cake, right? Right, Bianca?" Jason pleaded.
Before she could answer, a young paparazzo approached. He wore a trendy blazer over a graphic tee, his camera slung casually around his neck.
"And who's this gorgeous addition to the Schuyler family? Tell us about yourself, honey," he said, aiming his camera at Bianca.
"Uh, I'm Bianca Martins, the new nanny," she replied awkwardly.
"Did Imelda Salvador approve this development?"
Bianca's brows furrowed. "Pretty sure Ken doesn't need permission to hire someone to look after his kids."
"Ooo, do I sense some tension there? Is Imelda nice to you? Is she happy with Mr. Schuyler? Do they fight?"
"Come on, kids. Let's go inside."
"YES, PLEASE!" Jason said, practically dragging her toward the entrance.
---
The ballroom was breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in golden light, and tables were adorned with white roses and glittering centerpieces. Guests mingled, dressed in elegant gowns and tailored suits.
Bianca's eyes immediately found Ken. He stood near the far end of the room in a sharp blue suit and tie, shaking hands with guests. Beside him was Imelda, radiant in a gold sequined dress that sparkled with every move. Her hair was pulled into an elegant chignon, and her red lips matched the flawless manicure on her fingers.
"Dad!" Mason called, running to him.
Ken grinned and crouched to greet the boys. "Hey, champs!" He stood and turned to Bianca. His gaze softened as it met hers.
"Congratulations on your big night," Bianca said, her voice warm.
Ken started to reply, but Imelda cut in. "Thanks for bringing the boys, Bianca. I know all this glamour and excitement probably isn't your scene."
Bianca forced a smile. "I think I can handle one party, Imelda."
"That's the spirit." Imelda smirked before turning her attention back to the guests.
The party had already begun. Waiters in tailored black vests and crisp white shirts glided gracefully through the room, balancing trays of canapés and cocktails. One waiter, tall and slender, with dark hair neatly slicked back, swung past the twins, lowering a tray of spinach-stuffed olives skewered on elegant silver picks.
The dish itself looked like it belonged in a magazine: vibrant green olives, halved and stuffed with a creamy spinach mixture, garnished with sprigs of dill. The boys' expressions told a different story.
"Do we have to eat that?" Jason asked, scrunching his nose in visible disgust.
"Oh, come on," Imelda interjected, her perfectly manicured hand plucking a skewer from the tray. She crouched down, handing it to Mason. "You need to learn how to eat fine cuisine eventually. It might as well be tonight."
Jason hesitated, frowning, before reluctantly taking a skewer. He nibbled at the edge of the olive, then abruptly spit the piece back onto the tray with a loud, "Pah-tooie!"
"Mason!" Bianca gasped, mortified. She grabbed a napkin from the tray, offering the startled waiter an apologetic smile. "I am so sorry. They're still learning about table manners."
Imelda sighed, straightening. "At least Robert did as he was told. That's more than I expected."
Before Bianca could question the remark, Robert's voice rang out behind them.
"Speak of the devil!" he said, grinning as he approached the group. He wore an ox-blood suit that shimmered subtly under the chandelier light. The jacket was perfectly tailored, with satin lapels and a pocket square folded neatly in place.
"I guess we shouldn't be surprised that you're fashionably late," Bianca teased, crossing her arms.
"Robert, you're not supposed to give your own introduction," Imelda said coolly.
"I've always been a maverick." He smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. "So, drinks, anyone? Just me? Be right back." He waved and sauntered off toward the bar.
"Good to see you too, Robert," Ken muttered dryly, his arms crossed.
Jason tugged on Bianca's elbow. "Uncle Robert left before I could ask for a water."
"I'm thirsty too!" Mason added eagerly.
"I'll go tell him. Two waters, coming up," Bianca said, patting Jason's shoulder before weaving through the crowd.
---
As she crossed the room to grab drinks, Robert intercepted her at the bar.
"Couldn't resist following me, huh?" he teased, adjusting his oxblood suit jacket.
"Actually, the boys wanted water," Bianca said, rolling her eyes. She grabbed two bottles and turned to leave, but Robert stopped her.
He brushed a hand against her cheek. "Look over there," he said softly.
Bianca glanced toward Ken. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked on them.
"Fun, isn't it?" Robert grinned. "I bet if we kissed, he'd explode—"
"Where are the twins?" Bianca interrupted, panic setting in.
"They're probably around here somewhere," Robert said dismissively.
Ignoring him, Bianca rushed off to find them. After a frantic search, she discovered them in the hotel kitchen, giggling over a prank cake.
"What are you doing in here?" she demanded, hands on her hips.
"We wanted to see how much icing flies when Imelda cuts into our balloon cake!" Mason laughed.
Bianca tried to keep a straight face but couldn't help imagining the chaos.
"Fine," she said with a sigh. "Let's do it. But only because Imelda could use a reality check."
The three worked quickly, swapping the prank cake for the real one. The boys giggled as Bianca ushered them back to the ballroom, trying to act casual.
_ _ _
Later in the evening, the crowd began to grow restless. Robert returned to the group, holding a cocktail in one hand.
"Ken, Imelda," he said with a grin, "the crowd's getting antsy. Maybe you should cut the cake or something?"
"Wonderful idea, Robert!" Bianca chimed in before Ken could respond.
Ken gave her an odd look, but before he could ask, Robert herded him and Imelda toward the center of the room. One of the catering staff wheeled out a grand cake stand covered with a silver dome.
Bianca and the boys shared a conspiratorial smile as the prank cake was revealed. It was an elaborate creation: balloons disguised as a cake with layers of buttercream frosting meticulously piped over them.
"Oh my! This cake sure is... different," Imelda said, her voice tinged with skepticism as she examined the dessert.
"But I bet it tastes great," Bianca said convincingly, nudging Jason, who piped up, "I know I'd sure like to try it."
"Cake! Cake! Cake!" Mason chanted excitedly, clapping his hands.
Imelda sighed, rolling her eyes. "If it'll keep you quiet..."
As Imelda picked up the knife, it seemed as if the room held its breath. She leaned close to the cake, carefully slicing into the top tier—
Boom!
Frosting exploded everywhere, splattering Imelda from head to toe. Gasps echoed throughout the room as the stunned crowd tried to process what had just happened. Imelda's face turned crimson as she wiped frosting from her sequined dress.
"What the hell?! Who did this?" she shrieked, glaring daggers at anyone who dared laugh.
"Imelda! You poor thing. Let me help you clean up—" Bianca began, stepping forward.
Imelda shot her a scathing look. "Unless you know how to get buttercream out of Chanel, back off. And why are you still taking pictures?" she snapped at the photographer, who clicked one last shot before retreating.
Ken sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He turned to the twins, who were doing their best to suppress giggles. "Boys. I think it's time for Richard to take you home."
"Yes!" Mason exclaimed, clearly relieved to escape.
"And we'll discuss this tomorrow," Ken added sternly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"No..." Jason groaned, his earlier excitement fading.
"I'll go grab our coats," Bianca said, shooting Ken an apologetic look.
"You can stay, if you want, Bianca," Ken said, his tone softening. "Richard can keep an eye on them, and not everyone's night should be cut short."
Bianca hesitated. "Okay. If you're sure..."
Soon, the twins were ushered out by Richard, their elation at leaving overshadowing their dread of punishment. Imelda, meanwhile, had disappeared to clean herself up, leaving the ballroom abuzz with whispers and scattered laughter.
The band struck up its first song of the evening, a lively tune meant to revive the party's energy. Ken lingered near the dance floor, watching the couples who began to sway. He caught Bianca's eye, giving her a small smile.
Ken walked up to Bianca, his expression unreadable.
"May I have this dance?"
Bianca hesitated, her heart pounding. "Um, sure…"
Ken took her hand, leading her to the dance floor. His touch was firm yet gentle, and she couldn't help but feel butterflies in her stomach.
"You're a good dancer," he said, his voice low.
"You're not so bad yourself," she replied.
They swayed together, the rest of the room fading away.
But then Ken leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear.
"You know how hard it is to resist you," he murmured.
Bianca's heart skipped a beat. "Ken, maybe we shouldn't—"
Before she could finish, a hand tapped her shoulder.
"Bianca," Robert said, his tone serious. "We need to talk. Now."
Robert wrapped an arm around her waist and swept her away from Ken.