Watching You Burn In Regret novel Chapter 135

Seren saw Swain and Slater's calls coming in—she just didn't want to answer.

With a few taps, she blocked both of their numbers, then did the same on WhatsApp, making sure every Bradley family contact was erased from her phone. If she was going to cut ties with the Bradleys, she'd do it cleanly—no more lingering connections.

Dinner arrived through room service, delivered right to her door.

In addition to the meal, there was a steaming mug of ginger tea.

Lennon slid the mug across the table to her.

"You were out in the wind for so long," he said, his tone gentle and warm. "Drink some ginger tea, or you'll catch a chill."

Only then did Seren realize: when Lennon had gone down to talk to the front desk earlier, it was probably to ask them to bring her something to ward off the cold. Her heart gave a little flutter.

She looked up, and for a moment, her eyes met Lennon's—dark as midnight, clear and soft, with a kind of warmth that seemed to radiate right through her. His gaze was so deep and inviting, it felt like she could fall right in and never find her way out.

Flustered, Seren quickly looked away, lowering her eyes as she picked up the mug and took a sip, pretending nothing had happened. The ginger tea was sweet with a subtle heat, sending a wave of warmth through her chest.

For the first time all day, she felt truly comforted.

After dinner, Lennon set up his workspace outside in the main suite. He rolled out his drawing mat and unwrapped a fresh sheet of paper, preparing pigments and dipping his brush, practicing the careful, methodical strokes of his craft.

When Lennon eventually came back in, he glanced around and noticed that the curtains by the big window were half open. Night had fallen outside, the moonlight painting the sea silver as the tide crept up the sand. Waves crashed gently on the shore, their steady rhythm filtering into the room.

Inside, the light was soft and golden. Seren sat in quiet concentration, her delicate features calm and serene, as if she'd stepped straight out of a painting. Her brush swept gracefully over the page, building the outline of oak—sharp, elegant, and full of spirit.

Lennon remembered how much she loved painting oak. The stems she drew were always slender and upright, as proud and unyielding as she was. It was that quiet strength that had first caught his attention when they were young—what drew him in, first with his eyes, then with his heart.

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