Watching You Burn In Regret novel Chapter 33

Slater froze, stunned.

Seren's words hit their mark, sharp and unerring, as if she'd stomped right on his last nerve. His handsome face flushed red, the anger from earlier only intensifying, and before he realized it, his hand shot up in a furious reflex.

His palm swung through the air, swift as a whip, straight for Seren's cheek.

Seren saw the blow coming but didn't flinch. Instead, she calmly raised her arm to block it.

The crack rang out, sharp and piercing.

Her forearm stung, but she refused to cry out, merely biting back a faint groan.

"Slater!"

Swain, who had been keeping a watchful eye on them from across the room, saw everything as it unfolded.

He never imagined Slater would lose his temper so completely or actually strike Seren. He shouted in alarm and rushed over, leaving Carla behind.

Slater, still half-crazed with rage, snapped back to himself at the sound of Swain's shout. For a moment, he stood with his hand frozen midair, staring dazedly at Seren.

Seren lifted her arm, the sleeve falling back to reveal a bright red handprint on her pale skin—angry, welted, and unmistakable.

Slater's hand dropped limply to his side. In his fury, he had no idea how much force he'd used; a dull ache throbbed in his palm, and the sight of that mark filled him with a sick, useless regret.

He stared at Seren, searching for words, but when her eyes met his, he found only an impenetrable calm. No anger, no pain, no emotion at all—just a stillness as deep and cold as a frozen lake.

It was the first time Slater had ever seen Seren look at him that way.

Once, her gaze had held awe, even a hint of reverence. Never this—never the indifference of a stranger passing by on the street.

He didn't give her a chance to protest, lifting her arm in his. The moment he touched her, a chill ran through him—her skin was cold, startlingly so.

His mind drifted back: Carla had always been sickly, her hands just as cold, no matter the season. The whole family had fussed over her, trying everything—doctor visits, herbal remedies, countless courses of nutritional supplements—until finally, after months, her chill began to fade.

Yet somehow, he'd never noticed that Seren's hands were just as cold, if not colder. As if she were made of ice.

A pang of guilt struck Swain. All these years, he'd followed the family's lead, showering Carla with attention and neglecting Seren.

"That's enough. I don't need your help."

Seren's voice, devoid of warmth, snapped him from his thoughts. She pulled her hand away, quick and unyielding.

Swain stared at his empty palm, a hollow ache settling in his chest.