Watching You Burn In Regret novel Chapter 50

"Your husband isn't even home tonight. There's no point in rushing back so early—why not keep me company at the hotel? It's awfully dark out, and I get a little nervous walking back alone."

Willa was never one to play the damsel, but perhaps that was exactly why, when she let her vulnerability show, Sheridan found himself unable to refuse her.

He slipped off his jacket and draped it gently over her shoulders, his voice low and rough from too much whiskey. "Alright. Let's go."

Willa's lips curled into a small, satisfied smile, her eyes gleaming with quiet determination.

Three years ago, she'd left because Sheridan was paralyzed from the waist down. The doctors had been blunt—his spinal injury meant he'd never walk again.

Willa wasn't naïve; she couldn't imagine tying herself forever to a man who would never stand on his own two feet. So she'd claimed she was off to study at the Meridia Conservatory of Music, packed her bags, and disappeared from Riverbend City.

No one could have predicted that, three years later, Sheridan's legs would be as strong as ever, thanks to Seren's careful care.

Willa's reputation among Riverbend City's social elite was already shaky, her private life the subject of endless rumors. Her heartless exit from Sheridan had only fueled the gossip, making her persona non grata in every respectable home.

No family would have her. Sheridan was her only shot.

She understood better than anyone—there weren't many men with Sheridan's pedigree, looks, and unwavering devotion to her. There was no way she'd let another woman walk away with everything that should have been hers.

That was why, the moment she heard Sheridan had made a miraculous recovery, she'd returned to Riverbend without a second thought.

*

After dinner, Seren and Lennon returned to Rippling Gardens. They parted ways in the foyer, heading to their own rooms.

Last night they'd arrived late, exhausted and in no mood to explore. But tonight, with time to spare and a clear mind, Seren finally took the chance to wander through her so-called "new room."

She was surprised by how spacious it was. There was a small gym, a study—nice enough, but not the real highlight.

In the heart of the sunlit study stood an antique oak drafting table. The surface was neatly arranged with a full set of art supplies. Seren recognized some of them instantly—vintage, rare, and so expensive they were nearly impossible to find anymore.

"Work is important," Lennon replied seriously, "but so is Mrs. Crestwell."

His gaze was warm, sincere. "You're the lady of this house, Seren. You should get used to being important here."

Seren found herself suddenly caught in the softness of his eyes, her heart pounding, her face flushed.

"Is there anything else, Mrs. Crestwell?" Lennon asked, his voice calm and unhurried.

She snapped back to herself. "No, that's all. I just wanted to ask. I'll let you get back to your evening."

She had her answer, and she had no intention of lingering—not when a single extra second in his gentle presence threatened to sweep her off her feet.

In fact, she was so eager to escape that she didn't notice the puddle by the door. As she turned, her foot slipped, and she went tumbling backward—