Watching You Burn In Regret novel Chapter 37

Before Lennon could even ask, Seren recoiled as if burned, yanking her sleeve down in a rush.

She hid her hand behind her back, her voice barely above a whisper. "It just looks bad—it doesn't hurt at all, really."

"How did this happen? Were you being careless?"

Seren knew she couldn't keep her tangled history with the Bradley family from Lennon forever. So, after a brief hesitation, she told him everything that had happened just moments ago.

She didn't leave anything out. She described how, when Slater raised his hand to strike, she could have dodged—but chose not to. She'd done it on purpose. She knew her skin bruised easily, and Slater's slap, heavy or light, would leave a mark—one she could use as an excuse to send both Slater and Swain away.

When she finished, Seren lowered her head, her eyes cast down like a child confessing to mischief.

She admitted it was calculated, even a little manipulative. It wasn't an admirable tactic.

The Crestwell family was known for its upright values, and Lennon himself was as straightforward and principled as they came—so much so that Seren doubted he would tolerate even the smallest deceit.

But they were married now, and she owed him honesty. Whether she liked it or not, this was who she truly was.

Lennon was silent for a long time.

So long, in fact, that Seren began to fear he might be disgusted by what she'd done, that he might scold her for stooping so low.

But suddenly, Lennon pulled her into his arms.

The embrace caught her off guard, leaving her stiff with surprise. She had never been comfortable with physical affection, especially from a man she'd only known for a few days—Lennon was practically a stranger. Even with Sheridan, it had been the same.

But Lennon's embrace was warm. Her nose pressed against his chest, the subtle scent of cedar filling her senses. She could hear the steady, reassuring beat of his heart, and gradually, she began to relax.

Then Lennon's deep voice cut through the chill of the night, clear and certain.

"My heart aches for how strong you always have to be, Mrs. Crestwell."

Seren always believed she wore armor, that she had no vulnerable side, that she could weather any storm alone.

She thought she was incapable of weakness.

But Lennon's simple words slipped right past her defenses, breaking through the shell she'd built around herself.

She squeezed her hands together, the faint ache in her fingers echoing in her chest, sharp and lingering.

Memories flickered through her mind in dizzying succession.

Three years ago, she'd walked alone through the airport, suitcase in hand. When she turned back, no one was there.

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