Swapping a Broken Heart for a New Start novel Chapter 828

This place was too exposed, too mortifying. The cramped space made her deeply uncomfortable. She didn’t realize how devastatingly alluring she looked in that moment. Dennis felt another surge of raw desire crash through him, threatening to burn him alive.

He pressed a firm kiss to her shoulder, and hearing her desperate plea, his reason finally won out.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “I’m sorry I put you through this.”

He carefully adjusted her, then stood, wrapping his suit jacket around her bare shoulders to cover her. After a quick check to make sure she was secure, he scooped her into his arms and stepped out of the car.

The garage was empty, the driver long gone. Outside, a light rain had begun to fall. The wind had picked up, howling through the trees and making their shadows dance like mountain specters. The air had turned cold; winter had arrived.

Inside the bedroom, however, there was no trace of the chill. Dennis carried her in, and the cold was instantly dispelled, replaced by a warmth that soon intensified into an all-consuming fire. This time, there were no reservations, no holding back. Passion consumed them both.

As the night deepened, the rain outside grew heavier, the gentle patter escalating into a torrential downpour. The ancient ginkgo tree in the courtyard bent and swayed in the storm, its branches thrashing back and forth. Rain hammered against its leaves, creating a deafening rhythm, while its slender branches scraped against one another, their sound mingling with the mournful howl of the wind—a sound that was at once a soft cry and a cry of joyous release.

The rustling never ceased, a night of endless wind and rain.

It wasn't until the first light of dawn began to break that the storm finally subsided.

As the morning sun cast its first rays, Camila was lost in a deep, exhaustive sleep, too tired to even stir.

When she finally opened her eyes again, her thoughts were scattered and hazy. She felt like a quadriplegic, her mind foggy, completely unaware of what day or time it was. She wiggled her fingers, attempting to reach for the phone on her nightstand. The moment she moved, a deep, satisfying soreness shot through her limbs. Her fingers fumbled, and the phone slipped, smacking her squarely in the face.

She let out a muffled groan. The dull throb of pain finally jolted her back to full consciousness, and the memories of the previous night came flooding back.

Her face exploded in a blush so intense she felt like she might spontaneously combust. No one had ever told her that a cool, ascetic man who seemed uninterested in women could be so terrifyingly voracious once he got a taste. She didn’t dare recall the details of the night, because the consequences were painfully obvious. She wouldn’t be getting out of bed—or leaving this room—all day.

Camila stared at the time on her phone in disbelief. It was already the evening of the next day. Her original plan had been to be back at her parents’ house by now.

The investigation team had also sent a notice, asking her to return to work. Below that was a message requesting sick leave.

Master Morris had sent a message as well: *Why didn’t you return to the institute today? Are you holding a grudge?*

The reply: *Drank too much last night, not feeling well today. Have to rest at home. Will definitely be back tomorrow.*

Another message from her master read: *Young people… no self-control.*

Though he hadn’t meant anything by it, the comment made Camila’s cheeks burn with guilt.

Finally, there was a message from Jarvis Peters, updating her on Jordan Smith’s condition from the other night. *I checked him over thoroughly. He’s fine, nothing serious. I left him some ointment for bruises, so you don’t have to worry about him trying to extort you.*