Blanche turned her head away, dodging Eddy's kiss as his lips found her neck.
His familiar scent enveloped her, once intoxicating, now suffocating. She recoiled, writhing in his grasp, desperate to keep him at bay.
Her resistance only ignited his anger.
Eddy yanked up her dress, his hand sliding beneath the fabric. His mouth trailed from her collarbone down to her chest.
The realization of his intentions struck Blanche like ice water. She struggled harder, unable to bear his roughness any longer. "Eddy, let me go!" she cried, her voice raw and desperate.
At the sound of her anguished plea, Eddy paused. His eyes, bloodshot and twisted with rage, met hers. When he saw tears slip down her cheeks, something inside him faltered. He wiped them away with clumsy tenderness, murmuring, "Honey, it's not your fault."
"It's him—he shouldn't have tempted you."
"You love me. You'd never even look at another man, would you?"
Every word landed with chilling clarity.
Other men had confessed to Blanche before, but she had always brushed them off with a smile, never letting it touch her heart.
But tonight, she had hesitated. Been caught off guard.
The pain and vulnerability in Eddy's dark eyes struck a chord in her. For the first time, he tasted what betrayal felt like.
Yet she hadn't betrayed him—not really. All it took was another man's admiration, a hint of desire, and Eddy unraveled.
Did he ever consider her pain when he was off with Jeannette, sneaking around behind her back?
Blanche shoved Eddy away with all her strength and fled the study, rushing to the master bedroom.
She stumbled into the bathroom, stripped off her clothes, and stepped beneath the shower's relentless spray. She scrubbed her skin with a loofah until it stung, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't wash away the marks Eddy had left on her.
They were etched deeper than skin—branded into her very bones.
A knock sounded at the door. "Ma'am, the gown and stylist have arrived."
"Sir requests that you change and prepare yourself for the Anderson family engagement party."
Blanche froze, then sank into the bathtub, her face ashen, refusing to answer.
Vesta's voice came again, hesitant. "I heard Novandria's newest celebrity, Professor Reese, will be there with his son. Sir asks that you accompany him and make things clear."
Blanche grabbed the nearest bottle of body wash and hurled it at the frosted glass door. It crashed with a violent thud, startling Vesta into retreat—but the door didn't move an inch.
Just like Eddy's grip on her: unyielding, impossible to break.
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