The Plane Tickets He Hoarded The Wife He Hid novel Chapter 271

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Answers

Blanche’s POVO

Zain stayed hunched over me, his eyes boring into mine. I could tell he saw right through my act—I was anything but calm, and he knew it. A low chuckle escaped him. “What’s the matter? Scared of me?”

In all our years together, Zain had never caught even a glimpse of fear in my expression.

Tonight was different.

I watched something shift in his face–like he was seeing a stranger. For a heartbeat, confusion flickered

across his features.

Zain had dealt with plenty of women over the years. Most threw themselves at him, desperate to win his favor through endless flattery and submission.

I used to be just like them—always making myself smaller, never daring to meet him as an equal.

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When he spoke, I slowly faced him again, meeting his stare without wavering.

Looking directly at him, I kept my voice steady. “I’m not afraid of you, Zain. I just don’t see why we need to complicate things.”

His eyes sharpened, interest sparking. “And why’s that?”

I studied him–this man who felt like a complete stranger now.

After a moment’s hesitation, I said, “Zain, I want you to keep treating me the way you always have.”

I couldn’t see any point in changing our dynamic.

Zain’s brow furrowed slightly. “You don’t want me being a little friendlier?”

I shut him down immediately. “No.”

Something dimmed in Zain’s expression, and he went quiet. But when his attention drifted to my lips, I caught the hunger that flashed in his eyes—a barely restrained impulse to close the gap between us.

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The thought had barely formed before his body acted, moving closer without conscious thought.

Zain leaned in, hovering just inches from my face, ready to capture my mouth.

I sensed what Zain was planning, and just before he could act, I said, “We should head to the hospital. Carry’s probably in tears by now.”

My words stopped him cold.

He stayed frozen there, studying my face in the dim light with intense curiosity.

When he remained silent and didn’t pull back, I couldn’t help but smirk. “Does Joanna have any clue what you’re doing in here with me?”

That finally got Zain moving–he shifted back slightly, though he still blocked the outside light, keeping me trapped in his shadow.

He gazed down at me, my features barely visible in the darkness, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “Joanna doesn’t need to hear about any of this.”

I let out a dismissive snort.

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Zain tilted his head, puzzled. “What’s so amusing?”

I raised my chin, holding his gaze. “Men really are all

cut from the same cloth.”

Zain actually laughed. “Really? And how many guys have you been with to make that judgment?”

I realized my comment had probably crossed a line–I could see how it might set him off.

Fortunately, Zain didn’t seem angry at all.

Not wanting to dig myself deeper, I stayed quiet.

When I offered nothing more, Zain slowly straightened up, shut the car door with a gentle click, and walked around to the driver’s side.

The moment the car pulled away, a long shadow stretched beneath the streetlights–Vincent had returned.

Despite his anger toward Blanche, worry had eaten at him. The thought of Zain giving her trouble had driven

him back.

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But the instant he arrived, he spotted Zain and Blanche standing impossibly close by the passenger door. The tension between them was unmistakably intimate.

Blanche hadn’t resisted Zain at all–no pushing, no sharp words, not even a frown.

Witnessing this, Vincent’s fury boiled over. He actually slapped himself across the face.

When that didn’t help, he shouted at himself, “Vincent, you pathetic fool.”

The self–punishment only made his frustration worse.

Everything around him seemed to mock his misery- nothing looked right, nothing brought him comfort.

Even a stray cat wandering by became a target for his rage. “What are you staring at? Go find somewhere else to lurk!”

The cat darted away instantly.

Vincent stalked back to his car, slamming the door hard enough to echo through the empty street. He threw himself into the driver’s seat, seething in

<

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silence.

His phone chimed with a WhatsApp notification.

Vincent snatched up his device, and there it was—a message from Blanche.

Seeing her name made all his anger and frustration evaporate instantly.

But reading her message brought every dark cloud rushing back.

Blanche had written: “Tell Amara I went home to grab something. I’ll come see her tomorrow.”

Not one word about Vincent. Not the slightest hint that she cared about his feelings.

Vincent didn’t respond. Instead, he opened Blanche’s contact info, his finger hovering over “Delete Contact.”

For a moment, his rage burned so fierce he almost erased her from his life completely.

But he couldn’t follow through. No matter how furious he felt, he couldn’t bring himself to let her go.

What if he deleted her and she never reached out

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again?

Out of sight, out of mind–Vincent gave up, locked his screen, and tossed his phone onto the passenger seat.

While Zain drove, I took the chance to text Vincent.

After sending the message, I kept glancing at my phone, hoping for his reply.

I waited and waited, but Vincent never responded.

Anxiety knotted in my stomach.

He’s definitely angry with me, I thought.

I’d wanted to send Vincent a proper explanation, but just then the car stopped at a red light.

The moment we halted, Zain glanced over. I looked distracted, and I caught him trying to peek at my phone screen.

Fortunately, my screen went dark at exactly the right

moment.

Still, Zain asked casually, “Who are you messaging?”

I snapped back to attention, flipped my phone face–down on my lap, then answered, “Just Amara.”

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Zain arched an eyebrow. “I heard she ran into some problems. What happened?”

“Who told you that?” I felt startled–barely anyone was supposed to know about Amara’s situation.

Zain gave me a cryptic smile. “Secrets never stay buried forever.”

I didn’t want to hear his riddles. I pressed him, urgency creeping into my voice. “Zain, who exactly told you?”

Seeing my distress, Zain just shrugged. “Why should I tell you?”

I glared at him, a string of curses ready to spill out.

But I held back.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to bite my tongue.

After that, I went silent, refusing to ask him anything else.

Seeing me shut down, Zain softened his tone. “If you want answers, I have one condition.”

Relief flooded through me—finally, he was willing to

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negotiate. “Name it. If it’s something I can handle, I’ll

do it.”

Zain kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting against the window. He turned to look at me, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “Come home with me.”

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