Blanche's POV
I racked my brain, genuinely drawing a blank—I couldn't recall making Vincent any sort of promise.
Vincent watched me, clearly amused rather than irritated. He leaned in with a mischievous grin and said, "Doesn't matter whether you remember. I do, and that's what counts."
I studied his face, sensing he wasn't bluffing. But I furrowed my brow in bewilderment and pressed, "Vincent, I honestly can't remember any of that. What if you've mistaken me for someone else?"
Vincent moved even closer, his forehead nearly touching mine as he murmured, "Then let's pretend. You're the only one I want anyway."
His warm breath caressed my skin as he spoke.
I stood frozen, my vision blurring as I gazed at Vincent's face.
He was so near that his features became indistinct before my eyes.
His face turned into a soft blur in my sight, and suddenly, that strange sense of familiarity welled up from deep within.
But where could I have possibly encountered him before?
