The Heiress’s Gambit

Chapter 2

Six Months after the wedding

Bianca stood beside her mother, Monalisa Rogadona, at the cemetery, her gaze fixed blankly ahead as the reverend spoke solemn words she barely heard. Around them, mourners whispered condolences, but Bianca remained numb, unmoved by their presence. Her mother sobbed quietly beside her, occasionally leaning into her daughter for comfort, her grief etched deeply into her delicate face.

The reverend’s voice rose slightly as he invited family members to pay their final respects. Monalisa nudged Bianca gently. Wordlessly, Bianca stepped forward, clutching the single lily in her hand. She let it drop onto the coffin.

“Rest in peace, father,” she whispered under her breath. But even as she said it, a bitter question clawed at her heart: Can a man like Tyoid Rogadona truly rest in peace?

Three days earlier, her father had died of a heart attack — brought on, the doctors claimed, by excessive drinking. But Bianca wasn’t convinced it was just the alcohol. Deep down, she feared that the heated argument they had the night before had something to do with it. The weight of guilt gnawed at her.

And to make matters worse, he had left them with insurmountable debt both from the FLANTEE Corporation, the family business passed down for generations, and from the estate itself. Bianca still couldn’t wrap her head around how her parents had kept everything afloat for so long. It was as if her father’s gambling ambition had quietly drained the life out of everything they once held dear.

As sand poured over the polished casket, filling the grave, Bianca stared down at it with clenched fists. A part of her was angry enough to wish he’d rot in hell. Another part of the wounded daughter in her still wished he could somehow come back, fix everything, and be the father she once believed he could be.

The drive home was a quiet one. Bruno, their loyal housekeeper, opened the door for them and chauffeured them back to the family estate. As they arrived, Bianca took it upon herself to welcome the guests who had come to pay their respects. She flitted between rooms, accepting condolences with tight smiles, checking in on her mother, and giving instructions to the household staff. It was easier to stay busy than to face the truth.

That night, Bianca couldn’t sleep. Her mind drifted to the moment she received the news. The fight. The regret. The sterile hospital room. The pale, lifeless face of her father on the bed. She remembered rushing in, the disbelief, her mother’s uncontrollable sobs, and then... a strange, muffled, trembling until she realized it was her own cry breaking through the silence.

She had wept not just for the man her father was, but for the father he had failed to be the protector she never had, the listener she desperately needed.

But even now, as she tried to move on, something lingered in the shadows.

Unbeknownst to Bianca, a man had been watching her from the cemetery that day. Tall, poised, and completely inconspicuous, he remained at a respectful distance, never approaching, never speaking. But his eyes had never left her.

He left with the last of the mourners, stepping into a sleek black car just as the sun dipped below the horizon. His driver opened the door, and as he got in, he pulled out a phone and murmured a simple instruction:

“Keep watching her.”

Two days later, Bianca remained at the estate, mostly to care for her mother, though she longed to return to her apartment and the rhythm of her own life. Still, she couldn't leave Monalisa alone — not yet.

When the family lawyer, Mr. Thompson, arrived that morning, Bianca offered him tea, which he politely declined. He greeted them with a solemn nod and opened his briefcase.

“My deepest condolences, Mrs. Rogadona, Miss Rogadona,” he began. “Your husband was a good man.”

Bianca bit her tongue.

He pulled out an envelope and a stack of papers. “I have with me the last will and testament of Tyoid Rogadona, which he prepared in sound mind and not under duress.”

Bianca straightened. Her mother gripped her hand.

“To my beloved wife, Monalisa Rogadona,” Mr. Thompson read, “I leave the town house, the estate, and the family cars. I know how much this home means to you.”

Monalisa’s eyes shimmered with fresh tears.

“To my daughter, Bianca Rogadona,” he continued, “I leave my legacy FLANTEE.”

Bianca’s breath caught.

“Your vision for the company gave me hope,” the will stated. “Perhaps you can do what I could not. I trust you’ll know what to do even with what I’m about to burden you with.”

Bianca sat in stunned silence as Mr. Thompson moved through the rest of the will. Her mind reeled. He left me FLANTEE? The very company he never took her seriously about? The one he ran into the ground while dismissing every suggestion she had made?

“Miss Rogadona?” the lawyer called softly, breaking her trance. Her mother gave her a gentle nudge.

“I… sorry. I was lost in thought,” Bianca murmured.

“No need to apologize,” Mr. Thompson said, sliding the documents toward her. “Here is the official will. Please sign here to acknowledge receipt.”

Bianca signed numbly.

“I must warn you,” Mr. Thompson said carefully, “the company is in serious debt. There are several potential buyers. I would strongly advise you to consider selling.”

“What?” Bianca blinked. “Just like that?”

He handed her his card. “When you’re ready to discuss options, please call me.”

And with that, he rose and let himself out.

Bianca stared at the papers in her hand. Her father, that cheeky bastard, had passed the burden on to her like it was some kind of gift.

But Bianca knew better. This wasn’t a gift.

It was a war.

And in the quiet of her father’s study, filled with the echoes of a broken legacy, she made a silent vow:

I will not sell FLANTEE. I will rebuild it. And I will do it on my terms.