Blanche's POV
My feet touched solid ground, and relief washed over me.
I brushed away my tears, shaking my head. "I'm okay. Just... rattled, that's all."
"You sure?" he asked, concern creasing his brow.
"Yeah, positive." I nodded but kept my eyes down.
Vincent paused, then ventured carefully, "Are you thinking about Zain again?"
I rolled my eyes, snapping back, "Why the hell would I be?"
My sharp reaction made him raise an eyebrow. I could practically see him thinking, 'She's only getting defensive because he's still messing with her head.'
But he dropped it—smart move.
Vincent drove us to the old town, and by the time we arrived, it was late into the night. The place was still alive and buzzing.
Crowds filled the streets, and tons of girls strutted around in retro outfits.
Vendors packed both sides of the walkway, their booths overflowing with handcrafted items—artisan jewelry, weird little trinkets, decorative art pieces, and mouth-watering street food.
