Blanche's POV
The bitter winter wind whipped through Kingsley Jim's hair as he stood waiting at the corner, the cold seeping deep into his bones.
Amara Jerry went rigid the moment she spotted him.
Ever since the incident, Kingsley had stuck close to Amara's side, only stepping away when work demanded his presence at the office.
Amara wasn't blind to his devotion; she could feel how deeply he cared.
But her thoughts kept circling back to the same painful question: 'How could someone as damaged as me ever be worthy of someone like Kingsley?'
When Amara and I climbed out of the car, Kingsley finally approached us.
He gave me a courteous nod as he drew near. "Blanche."
I was about to set him straight, but Kingsley had already shifted his attention to Amara. "Where did you go?"
Amara didn't try to sugarcoat it. "I went to see Marquis."
Kingsley's smile flickered, but he kept his tone gentle. "How did it go? Did he say anything?"
