The night was deep and dark, but nothing could diminish his presence. Lennon didn't have to say a word—his quiet authority filled the space, impossible to ignore.
Seren tried her best not to look at him, to pretend he wasn't there, but her gaze kept drifting back all the same.
"Give me your left hand."
Lennon's words were calm and unhurried, his voice low and magnetic, almost impossibly soothing. Even before her mind could catch up, Seren found herself offering her left hand, her body betraying her nerves.
As realization dawned, she panicked, pulling back instinctively—she didn't want Lennon to see the purplish bruise marring her skin. But it was too late. He had already taken her hand, his palm large and warm, enveloping hers completely.
Lennon bowed his head, lashes low, and with exquisite care, slipped a ring onto her fourth finger.
Under the dim glow of the streetlights outside the car window, his expression was intent and solemn, as if he were performing the most important task of his life. Every movement was precise and gentle, as though he were handling the rarest of treasures.
Seren lowered her eyes.
A stray beam of light slipped in through the window, spilling across her hand. The diamond ring fit perfectly, encircling her slender finger, the tiny stones sparkling like the clearest summer night sky. It was dazzling—like the brightest star in the heavens, so pure and brilliant that even Seren felt a little dim next to it.
She couldn't hide her astonishment; awe flickered in her eyes.
Just as quickly, the streetlight zipped past, plunging the car back into shadows.
Lennon pressed his lips into a thin line, his dark eyes glinting with restrained excitement. Still, his voice was even and measured as he said, "It suits you, Mrs. Crestwell."
And it did. The ring's style and size were a flawless match, as if it had been crafted just for her.
Seren remembered the ring's name—Seren's Star.
After a moment's hesitation, she said softly, "It fits perfectly. What a coincidence."
Seren had faced crowds, competitions, and pressure her whole life—and never once had she felt this nervous. Her mind went blank, and she instinctively slid the ring onto the nearest finger she could find.
Lennon's eyes softened as he caught her mistake, a gentle smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Mrs. Crestwell, the wedding ring goes on the ring finger."
Mortified, Seren realized she'd put the band on his middle finger. Her cheeks burned as she hurried to correct herself, sliding it onto the proper finger this time.
She couldn't bring herself to look up at him—her face was hot, her pulse racing, her nerves frayed to the edge. As soon as it was done, she turned away, pressing her forehead to the cool window, watching neon lights and shadows blur past.
But even then, she could feel Lennon's gaze, burning against her profile.
Her heart was still thundering when Lennon suddenly reached for her left hand.
Only then did Seren notice her sleeve had slipped up, exposing the bruise for him to see. The purplish mark stood out starkly in the dim light, unmistakable in Lennon's dark, searching eyes.

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