Blanche's POV
The following day, once my shift wrapped up at noon, I made my way to a restaurant nearby.
I'd grown accustomed to solitude; doing things alone had become second nature. The moment I stepped inside, a server approached me. "Just yourself today, Miss?"
I gave a quick nod. "Could I get something by the window?"
The words had barely left my lips when I glanced toward the window seating—and froze. There was Dean Fisher, rising from a window-side table.
Someone else occupied that same table. Even seeing just his silhouette, I knew immediately—it was Demetrius.
Whatever conversation they'd been having, Fisher departed without so much as a trace of warmth on his expression.
I stayed back, avoiding Fisher's notice. Only after he'd exited completely did I gesture toward Demetrius's table. "That one, please."
Without hesitation, I strode directly to where Demetrius sat.
