"Bianca, we need to talk," Imelda began, stepping into the room uninvited. "I know what happened at the company picnic."
Bianca froze. Her heart raced as she replayed the events of that day. "Y-you do?" she managed to say.
Imelda nodded, her red lips pursing slightly. "Yes, Robert told me all about the conversation the two of you had."
Bianca's jaw dropped. "Wait, Robert? What did he say?"
"Well," Imelda said, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe, "he didn't give me the full details, but he made it clear there was some tension. Don't worry. I told him he was out of line. He won't bother you like that again."
Bianca blinked. "Imelda, I can handle Robert on my own," she said, trying to sound firm.
Imelda stepped closer, placing a manicured hand on Bianca's arm. "Of course you can, dear. But now that that unpleasantness is out of the way, I'd like to talk about why I'm really here."
Bianca sighed inwardly. Imelda's tone was sweet, but her eyes held a calculating glint. Whatever this was, it wouldn't be good.
Bianca crossed her arms, wary. "Which is?"
Imelda tilted her head, her tone softening. "I need your help. There's an important charity gala this weekend, and I'll never be ready in time without an assistant. My usual assistant is on maternity leave—so irresponsible, really—and Ken said you'd be available."
"Ken said that?" Bianca asked, her brow furrowing.
"Yes, he's spending the day with the boys and said it was fine for you to join me," Imelda replied breezily, holding out a sleek business card. "Here's the address. Meet me there in an hour."
Bianca hesitated but finally nodded. "Okay. See you then."
Imelda gave a bright smile. "I knew you were a team player!" She leaned in, planting a quick air kiss near Bianca's cheek before walking away.
Bianca sighed, staring at the business card. "A full day with Imelda. Great..."
Before she could gather her thoughts, another knock came at her door. Expecting Imelda to have forgotten something, she opened it cautiously—only to see Ken peeking in with a grin.
"Is it safe to come in?" he asked playfully.
Bianca shook her head, smiling despite herself. "Ken, you're sneaking around your own fiancée. Do you realize how ridiculous that is?"
Ken stepped inside, still grinning. "I'd call it strategic planning. But seriously, I'm sorry she ambushed you like that. I owe you big time."
Bianca raised an eyebrow. "Good. I know exactly what I want."
Ken leaned in closer, intrigued. "Oh? What's that?"
Bianca smirked. "A weekend in the penthouse. Just the two of us. No kids, no interruptions."
Ken's playful grin faltered as his gaze softened. "That sounds...dangerous."
"That's the point," Bianca teased, enjoying his reaction.
Ken shook his head, stepping back with a laugh. "You're trouble."
"And yet, you're still here," Bianca quipped, her smile widening.
Ken chuckled before heading to the kitchen, leaving Bianca to get ready.
---
As the day unfolded, Bianca found herself swept into Imelda's world—a whirlwind of appointments, fittings, and preparations for the upcoming charity gala. At every turn, Imelda exuded confidence and control, barking orders to store clerks and assistants alike.
At one upscale salon, Bianca found herself seated in a plush chair, balancing a stack of flashcards Imelda had handed her. "These are topics for small talk," Imelda explained, reclining as a technician meticulously applied individual lashes to her already voluminous ones.
Bianca glanced down at the cards, feeling absurd. She shifted in her seat, her casual outfit—a simple blouse and jeans—feeling woefully out of place against the backdrop of marble floors and chandeliers. Meanwhile, Imelda was the picture of sophistication, draped in a lavender blouse tucked into a high-waisted pencil skirt, her designer heels clicking sharply with every step she took earlier.
A middle-aged woman in a sharp black uniform approached, her dark hair pulled into a bun. She began working on Imelda's lashes with the precision of a surgeon. Bianca watched, half-fascinated, as Imelda barely blinked.
The salon was quiet, save for the gentle hum of hairdryers and the occasional murmur of conversation. Bianca sat on a sleek white stool, watching as Imelda lay reclined, her face calm while the technician meticulously worked on her eyelashes. The air was rich with the scent of lavender and citrus oils, making it feel more like a spa than a salon.
"Okay," Bianca said, reading from one of the cards. "A potential investor just walked up and asked about Schuyler Enterprises. What do you say?"
Imelda didn't miss a beat, her tone smooth and practiced. "My husband is the CEO of the third-largest biotech company in the world. We're here because we're dedicated to resolving healthcare complications with innovative technology and sustainable practices. How was that?"
"It was perfect," Bianca said, her tone thoughtful as she eyed Imelda. "Maybe too perfect. You should try to be more expressive with your face so the investor can read your emotions. Well...not right now, with your lashes and everything...but later, at the gala."
Imelda cracked an amused smile without opening her eyes. "More expressive. Got it."
Soon, the two found themselves in an upscale boutique, surrounded by racks of gowns, glittering jewelry, and towering high heels. Imelda skimmed through the racks with ease, her manicured fingers brushing over silks and satins. Bianca, clipboard in hand, continued to quiz her on the guest list.
"Okay, who's this guy?" Bianca held up a picture of a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and piercing eyes.
Imelda barely glanced at it. "Mark Spencer. Entrepreneur, tech mogul. Vegan, meditation enthusiast, despises pollution and irresponsible spending. Next."
Bianca raised an eyebrow, impressed. She flipped to another picture. "Alright, how about this one?"
"Beatrice d'Torte," Imelda answered, plucking a sequined gown off a hanger. "Heiress, philanthropist, degree in philosophy. Made a bad investment in Medishade Corp before they went bankrupt."
Bianca couldn't help but marvel. Imelda didn't miss a beat, answering each question with precision.
"Damn," Bianca muttered under her breath. "You really know your stuff."
Imelda smirked, pulling a sleek black dress from the rack. "Of course I do. If you want success, you have to be prepared. You might learn something if you pay attention."
Bianca hesitated, then spoke up. "I have to admit, I admire you. You're so dedicated to making sure Ken's company succeeds."
Imelda's face softened, and she stood a little taller. "Naturally. Once Ken and I are married, his success will be my success. And, Bianca, I could be a good role model for you if you're open to it."
Bianca blinked, staring at Imelda. For a moment, she wasn't sure she'd heard right.
'Oh my God. Is this her trying to be nice?' Bianca thought to herself, feeling more baffled than flattered.
"Uh, thanks...but I'm good. I don't really need a role model," Bianca said as politely as she could.
Imelda shrugged, clearly unbothered. "Fair enough. But when you realize you do, you know where to find me."
Bianca sighed internally and bit her tongue. She figured silence was her best bet for surviving the afternoon.
Imelda held up a shimmering silver dress. The fabric caught the light, creating a subtle sparkle. "What do you think? Won't this bring out my eyes?"
Bianca forced a smile. "Sure."
Imelda narrowed her eyes, clearly catching Bianca's lack of enthusiasm. "Am I wearing you out already? How do you keep up with the boys if you're this tired? I know! You should start coming to the gym with me to build some stamina."
Bianca smirked, her sarcasm slipping out. "I didn't know being tortured increased stamina."
Imelda ignored the jab and headed for the fitting rooms. "One more stop, and then I'll have to drop you off at the penthouse. I have a coffee date."
Bianca perked up. "A coffee date? Are Ken and the kids meeting you?"
"Oh, no. It's business. Ken has no part in this," Imelda replied airily. "Now, keep up."
---
Bianca found herself perched on a velvet couch in Imelda's private dressing room. The room was luxurious, with cream walls, a plush carpet, and a large chandelier casting a soft glow. Gowns of every color hung on racks, each more extravagant than the last. Imelda stood before the full-length mirror, sorting through her 'maybe' pile.
"What do you think? Won't Ken love me in this?" Imelda asked, pulling a garment bag off the rack and giving Bianca a glimpse inside.
Bianca looked up briefly and shrugged. "I can't really tell with it still in the bag."
Imelda scoffed. "Use your imagination, Bianca. You do have one of those, right?"
Bianca sighed, her patience thinning. "Yes, and I think you'll look gorgeous as always."
Imelda beamed, clearly taking the compliment at face value. "I do look good in anything, don't I?"
She stepped into a figure-hugging gown, the fabric clinging to her model-like curves. Her flawless skin and confident posture made her look like she belonged on a runway.
"Why don't you zip me up?" Imelda called over her shoulder, motioning for Bianca to help.
Bianca hesitated but walked over. As she grabbed the zipper, Imelda glanced at her in the mirror, a sly smile playing on her lips.
"Of course, Ken will be the one zipping me up on the big night...and for the rest of my life," Imelda said lightly. "But for now, you'll have to play the role of Ken. Just like you sometimes play the role of me."
Bianca froze, her hand on the zipper. "W-what do you mean?"
"Oh, I think you know," Imelda replied, fluffing her hair as if she hadn't just dropped a bombshell.
"I really don't," Bianca said, her voice shaky.
Imelda turned, her smile widening. "I know all about your little crush on Ken."
Bianca's heart skipped a beat. "What crush? Ken and I are just—"
"Relax. It's cute," Imelda interrupted. "If I were threatened by every woman who admired Ken, I'd never sleep."
Bianca clenched her fists, trying to keep her composure.
"You're blowing this way out of proportion," she said tightly.
"Am I?" Imelda arched an eyebrow, her voice dripping with condescension. "It's easy to confuse admiration for something deeper. But let me give you some advice—know your place. Ken and I are in a league of our own, and it's best you accept that."
Bianca took a deep breath, swallowing her anger. She refused to give Imelda the satisfaction of a reaction.
---
Finally, the night of the gala arrived. Bianca, left at the penthouse to babysit, tried to distract herself. A pizza was on the way, and she'd queued up a new movie to watch with the boys.
When a knock sounded at her door, she assumed it was Jason or Mason. Smiling, she opened it.
"Are you boys ready to have fu—" She stopped mid-sentence, her breath catching. Ken stood there in a sharp black suit, his silver tie perfectly knotted. His dark hair was slicked back, and his smile made her stomach flip.
"Ken...you look amazing," Bianca whispered, reaching out to adjust his lapels. Her fingers lingered for a moment, smoothing down the fabric over his chest. "There. Now you're perfect."
Ken chuckled softly, his blue eyes locking with hers. "What would I do without you?"
Bianca grinned. "Walk around with a wrinkled lapel, I expect."
Ken laughed, then took a deep breath. "Bianca, I know this is short notice, but...would you be my date to the gala?"
*All it takes is one night for everything to change...Are you as eager as I am to know what happens next?*