Blanche's POV
Zain performed his distress so convincingly—face contorting, breathing labored—that I found myself frozen, uncertain how to respond.
Watching him appear so tormented, I rushed to support him, sliding my palm beneath his shirt without hesitation.
I was a physician, after all—gender became irrelevant when someone needed medical attention.
Applying gentle pressure to his chest, I furrowed my brow. "Is the pain located here?"
Vincent maintained his suffering charade. "Feels like fire," he groaned.
I moved to another area, questioning, "What about this spot?"
Vincent gazed down at me and responded earnestly, "Yeah, that's agony too."
My frown intensified as I whispered to myself, "This doesn't add up."
I methodically examined his abdomen, asking, "Does this area cause discomfort?"
While I conducted my examination, Vincent monitored Zain and Joanna's movements.
They had spotted Vincent and me the moment they entered.
Yet neither uttered a single word.
