Blanche's POV
I was pressing a tissue against Vincent's wound when his question hit me. My hand froze for just a heartbeat—barely noticeable.
After a moment of silence, I finally spoke. "We're from two different worlds."
I kept my head down, letting my lashes hide my face. No smile crossed my lips—I meant every word.
Vincent made a pained sound. His voice dropped, heavy with hurt. "Blanche, I've been reaching out to you, taking step after step in your direction. Why won't you take even one step toward me? Why is it always just me?"
I continued dabbing at Vincent's fingers with the tissue, then lifted my eyes to meet his. The second our gazes locked, I saw nothing but raw anger and pain burning in his stare.
I spaced out for a second, but then that image from the other night crashed back—Vincent kissing Joanna—hitting me out of nowhere.
My expression went cold, and my tone turned to ice. "You have your life, and I have mine."
