"If there's ever anything I do that makes you uncomfortable, Mrs. Crestwell, I hope you'll tell me right away."
"I can wait until the day you truly accept me, Mrs. Crestwell."
The warmth of his palm against hers jolted Seren back to the present.
Her mind drifted to those three years when Sheridan's legs were paralyzed, when he needed constant help with his physical therapy.
Any time physical contact was required, she'd ask one of the staff at The Golden Age to help instead. Partly, it was because she was so much smaller than Sheridan—she simply didn't have the strength to support him. But there was another reason—
Deep down, Seren knew she instinctively recoiled from being too close to Sheridan. Even a casual brush of his hand would trigger a wave of revulsion she couldn't control. It wasn't just Sheridan, either—it was the same with anyone who got too close.
But with Lennon, his touch didn't make her want to pull away. She didn't flinch or feel sick at the contact.
Realizing this, Seren's lashes fluttered.
Finally, she whispered, "Alright."
"Goodnight, Mrs. Crestwell."
She looked up, catching the warmth in Lennon's gentle eyes. But she couldn't see the storm of emotions he was holding back.
People always said Seren was wild and unmanageable, arrogant, impossible to control. Only Lennon understood that her pride and defiance were the shields she used to protect herself.
She was like a butterfly, spinning a thick cocoon to keep the world out—fragile and soft beneath all that armor.
And only he knew. He had waited years for his butterfly to break free.
He'd almost lost her while he waited.
Seren returned to her room.

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