Watching You Burn In Regret novel Chapter 284

Her boots sank into the snow, leaving a trail of deep footprints.

They walked back along the shore of the lake. When they reached higher ground, they stopped to look out at the vista. "It's like a classical winter landscape painting come to life," Seren breathed in awe.

"Do you like it?" Lennon's warm voice was soft in her ear. "If you do, we can come back every year."

Seren nodded, her eyes curving into a smile. "Okay."

*Every year.* His words were an answer to the characters she had inscribed on her own painting—a promise to be with him, day after day, year after year.

It wasn't just her who wanted a lifetime together; he felt the same way.

The snow began to fall even harder as the night grew deeper, and they started their slow walk back.

Once inside, they shook the snow from their coats. A glance at the clock showed it was already half past midnight. Seren was about to head upstairs for a shower when Lennon stopped her. "Mrs. Crestwell, wait just a moment."

She turned. "What is it?"

"Close your eyes, Mrs. Crestwell. Don't open them until I say so."

Though confused, Seren did as he asked. With her eyes closed, all she could hear was the sound of his footsteps and a faint rustling. Soon, his steps grew closer, and his voice followed. "You can open your eyes now, Mrs. Crestwell."

She opened them. Lennon was standing before her, holding a massive bouquet of roses. The petals were a deep, velvety red. There were so many of them that the bouquet looked heavy in his arms.

"Happy birthday, Mrs. Crestwell."

Seren froze.

Birthday?

Lennon then produced a long, rectangular gift box from behind his back. "And a birthday present for Mrs. Crestwell," he said gently.

Seren's eyelashes trembled. She was speechless.

He took the roses from her and handed her the box. "Open it, Mrs. Crestwell. See if you like it."

Seren opened the box. Inside lay a rolled-up scroll.

She unrolled it. It was *The Oak and the Crag*.

She was stunned. Ever since she had started studying with Mr. Shaw, she had loved painting oak trees. To her, they represented integrity, nobility, and an unyielding spirit that could withstand the harshest winter. The artist was one of her all-time favorites, a true genius, and this particular painting was a piece she held dear to her heart.

But she had never told anyone, not even Old Mr. Rutledge. How could Lennon possibly have known she loved this painting?