Blanche's POV
After Vincent walked out that night, sleep became impossible. I twisted and turned in bed, wrestling with sheets that felt like they were conspiring against me. Zain's vow to come back? Nothing more than smoke and mirrors now.
The nurse's morning check-in found me still staring at the ceiling, more alert than ever.
I snatched my phone and dove into mindless video scrolling. Wouldn't you know it—Joanna's profile popped up again.
I'd already marked her content as unwanted, but the algorithm seemed hell-bent on shoving it down my throat.
Against my better judgment, I watched the whole damn thing.
Her post was a compilation of brief clips stitched together.
First up: Joanna's tear-stained face in close-up, with some shadowy male figure lurking behind her.
Zain, obviously. Looked like he was working her shoulders.
Second clip: Zain strolling toward the bathroom in nothing but a robe, casual as you please.
