Blanche's POV
Vincent leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window, his coat draped carelessly over his shoulders. His wrinkled shirt clung to the defined lines of his chest and abs.
His long legs stretched out straight, flat against the floor.
When Vincent's gaze found me, accusation burned in his eyes. "Why did you lie to me?" he demanded.
I frowned, genuinely confused. "Vincent, I have no idea what you mean."
Vincent was clearly wasted, barely holding it together.
After hearing my response, he slammed his palm against his own face. "I'm pathetic. So many women out there, and I can't get you out of my damn head."
Real tears streaked down his cheeks as he spoke.
Watching him break down like this made my chest tighten.
I reached for his arm. "Vincent, you're drunk."
The moment Vincent saw my hand move toward him, something dark flashed in his eyes.
He seized my wrist and yanked me against him, crushing me in his arms.
He held me so tight I could barely breathe.
