Blanche's POV
I slumped on the steps, clutching my throbbing backside as waves of pain crashed over me.
Every muscle screamed in agony, threatening to overwhelm my senses completely.
But through the haze of discomfort, Vincent's voice cut through crystal clear.
Instinctively, I whipped around and found him standing at the top of the staircase.
He shuffled down in wrinkled pajamas and loose slippers, anxiety etched across his features as he descended each step with careful precision.
I started to speak, confusion clouding my thoughts. "Vincent, you—"
He acted as though my words didn't exist. Instead, he dropped to a crouch directly in front of me, concern flooding his expression as he pressed, "Did you get hurt? Tell me you're okay."
I raised my head, still feeling foggy, but managed to respond, "Nothing serious, just tweaked my wrist a bit."
"Show me," he demanded softly.
His fingers reached out with surprising tenderness to examine my injured hand.
