Blanche's POV
When Quinton pulled up to the Callum Mansion, he caught sight of me standing by the door.
"What the hell happened to your hair?" His voice cut through the evening air, sharp and unforgiving.
Guilt twisted in my stomach as I dropped my gaze. "The wind messed it up."
He saw right through my pathetic lie. "Blanche, I don't give a damn if you're dating someone, but you need boundaries. Pull another stunt like last time, and I won't be so understanding."
His eyes narrowed. "And don't get knocked up because you can't keep your head on straight. You're a woman—you're the one who gets hurt when things go south. Stop throwing yourself at every guy who shows interest."
Without another word, Quinton stalked into the mansion.
I lingered at the entrance, my heart hammering against my ribs, before finally forcing myself to follow him inside.
"It's not what you think, Quinton," I stammered, heat flooding my cheeks.
After a beat, I added quietly, "But whatever you say goes."
