Watching You Burn In Regret novel Chapter 83

Lennon wasn't a man of many words; every sentence he spoke seemed measured, always stopping just short of revealing too much.

Seren looked at him, a hint of confusion in her eyes. "I don't think I was ever all that impressive."

Despite carrying the reputation of being Mr. Shaw's protégé, Seren had never really believed she was exceptional enough to catch Lennon's attention.

"In my eyes, Mrs. Crestwell, you've always stood out."

There was a sudden depth to Lennon's gaze—something unreadable, almost teasing.

"If you weren't remarkable, how do you explain all those admirers you had back then?"

Seren's face flushed with embarrassment.

It was true—back in junior high, she'd had more than her fair share of admirers. She was pretty, came from a well-off family, and had genuine artistic talent. It wasn't uncommon for her to return from recess to find secret notes tucked into her desk, or to be stopped in the hallway by older students hoping to slip her a letter.

But one thing was for certain: Lennon had never been among them.

She met his gaze, still laced with that unspoken meaning.

A sudden realization struck her: what if one of her persistent admirers had actually been Lennon's friend? Maybe that's how Lennon had first noticed her.

Just the thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she had to resist the urge to curl her toes in embarrassment.

Thankfully, Lennon chose that moment to end the conversation. "Let's go home, Mrs. Crestwell."

As he spoke, he reached out and took her hand, his warm palm enveloping hers completely.

That simple gesture, the comforting heat of his hand, eased most of her awkwardness. Seren nodded.

She glanced down at their intertwined fingers. At some point, she'd grown used to holding Lennon's hand. Not long ago, just touching him would have sent her heart racing and her cheeks burning. Now, it felt almost natural.

Habit, she thought, is such a peculiar thing.

The drive from the auction house to Rippling Gardens was a short one.

They arrived home quickly.

It was getting late, so Seren went straight to the study. She carefully packed away the art supplies that were already on the desk, making sure everything was neat and in its place.

She took her own brushes and paints from her suitcase, set them up, and began practicing her fundamentals—mixing pigments, sketching, letting herself slip into the familiar rhythm of her craft.

Two hours passed before she finally emerged from that focused state.

By habit, she packed her things back into the suitcase and restored the desk just as she'd found it.

After a shower, Seren checked her phone and saw a message from Nadine.

[It just so happens I'm off tomorrow. How about you and Lennon come over for dinner?]

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