Watching You Burn In Regret novel Chapter 22

This wasn't the first time Seren and Lennon had sat together in a car, but for some reason, the space felt stiflingly close this time.

The deep, woody scent that clung to Lennon seemed to fill every corner, slipping into her senses and making it hard to breathe.

Every inhalation was thick with the trace of him, and Seren found herself almost short of breath.

"What's wrong? Are you feeling okay?"

Lennon's low voice washed over her like a gentle breeze, and then she felt his large, warm palm come to rest on her forehead.

Her skin was cool, but his touch burned hot—a tingling spark seemed to pass through her where his hand met her skin.

Seren dropped her gaze, unsettled and unsure of herself.

"No fever. Maybe it's just too stuffy in here?"

Lennon withdrew his hand and asked gently.

"Probably."

"Let me roll down a window."

His voice was soft, a hint of a smile warming his words.

As Lennon turned his head to open the window, Seren looked up.

She caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror—her cheeks were tinged with a soft blush, delicate as the first pink blossoms of spring.

On instinct, she covered her face, trying to hide her burning cheeks.

She couldn't understand it. She'd never been the shy, easily embarrassed type. Since when had her skin grown so thin—just because of Lennon?

When they reached city hall and the car came to a stop, Seren's phone rang.

The caller was an unfamiliar number from Seaside City.

She didn't want to answer, but the phone kept buzzing insistently until she relented and picked up.

She expected it might be Sheridan, but instead, Diana Yates' voice came through the line.

"Seren, why haven't you come back to The Golden Age yet? Aggy told me Sheridan's been in a terrible mood these past few days."

Seren's heart skipped a beat.

"I mind that you endured so much, and no one ever stood up for you." he added.

The unexpected words left her stunned, a complicated, unfamiliar emotion swelling in her chest.

No one had ever said something like that to her before. It was as if a single stone had been dropped into the calm surface of her heart, sending waves crashing through her.

After they left city hall, marriage certificate in hand, it still didn't feel quite real to Seren.

Her phone buzzed again—this time, a message from Shirley.

"Your painting, 'The Shadowed Oak,' is truly beautiful. Keep at it. And if you run into any blocks, my door is always open."

Seren stared at the screen, dazed.

She'd spent three years living with Diana Yates, who knew she could paint and had seen her work, but never showed any interest—never outright forbidding her, the way Zena had, but always with a biting remark whenever Seren picked up a brush:

"Why waste your time on these pointless hobbies? You'd do better to focus on Sheridan—learn what he likes and dislikes."