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The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss twenty seven
Dawn crept through the venetian blinds, casting geometric shadows across Lavinia Hartwell’s mahogany desk where her resignation letter lay—the same document Henry Wynthorne had categorically refused to acknowledge a week prior. The whispered rumors regarding their dissolved engagement had proliferated throughout Wynthorne Enterprises like spilled ink on parchment, transforming her daily interactions into exercises in dignified endurance. Colleagues averted their gazes when she approached, their conversations dissolving into uncomfortable silence whenever she entered a room.Yet now she possessed renewed determination. Yesterday’s news of Verity Langford’s imminent return to the city had crystallized something within her—a recognition that this moment represented the culmination Henry had unconsciously awaited for years. The realization fortified her conviction that departure was not merely appropriate, but necessary.She could no longer bear witness from the periph
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss twenty six
“There’s nothing seamless about abandonment, Ms. Hartwell,” he replied, finally meeting her gaze with eyes that had turned cold as winter stone.The use of her surname felt like a slap. “I’m not abandoning anyone. I’m making a career decision based on my own professional goals and aspirations.”“Goals and aspirations that conveniently remove you from my life entirely.”“This isn’t about you,” she insisted, though the lie burned her throat like acid.Henry stood slowly, his movements controlled but radiating tension. “Everything about this is about me, and we both know it. You’ve been pulling away for weeks, becoming more distant by the day. The question is why.”“People change,” she said simply. “Priorities evolve.”“Not yours,” he countered with certainty that made her want to scream. “Not like this.”Something in his presumption, his absolute conviction that he knew her better than she knew herself, sparked the anger s
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss twenty five
“There’s nothing seamless about abandonment, Ms. Hartwell,” he replied, finally meeting her gaze with eyes that had turned cold as winter stone.The use of her surname felt like a slap. “I’m not abandoning anyone. I’m making a career decision based on my own professional goals and aspirations.”“Goals and aspirations that conveniently remove you from my life entirely.”“This isn’t about you,” she insisted, though the lie burned her throat like acid.Henry stood slowly, his movements controlled but radiating tension. “Everything about this is about me, and we both know it. You’ve been pulling away for weeks, becoming more distant by the day. The question is why.”“People change,” she said simply. “Priorities evolve.”“Not yours,” he countered with certainty that made her want to scream. “Not like this.”Something in his presumption, his absolute conviction that he knew her better than she knew herself, sparked the anger s
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss twenty four
The simple affirmation hung between them like a sword waiting to fall. Henry studied her with the intensity of a scholar attempting to translate a dead language, searching for meaning in every micro-expression.“Will you at least illuminate your reasoning?” he asked, his voice softening to something approaching vulnerability.Lavinia consulted her watch with theatrical precision. “I have a conference call scheduled momentarily. Perhaps we might address this at a more convenient time?”The deflection was transparent to both parties, yet she wielded it with the skill of a diplomat avoiding an international incident. Henry straightened, frustration radiating from him in waves that she felt rather than saw.“This conversation remains unfinished, Lavinia.”She acknowledged his statement with a single nod before returning her attention to her screen—a dismissal so complete it required no words. She heard his hesitation, the weight of unspoken w
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss twenty three
The first winter frost had claimed the night, leaving behind crystalline signatures across the office windows like nature’s own calligraphy. Lavinia Hartwell traced one delicate pattern with her fingertip, watching her breath fog the glass as she waited for her computer to emerge from its electronic slumber. Eight fifty-eight in the morning—not a heartbeat sooner, not a whisper later. This punctuality had become her armor these past three weeks, each precisely timed arrival a small declaration of independence.The familiar percussion of Henry Wynthorne’s footsteps echoed down the hallway, their rhythm as recognizable to her as her own heartbeat. She pivoted toward her screen with practiced grace, fingers dancing across keys in a performance of productivity while her peripheral vision caught his shadow darkening her doorway.“Good morning, Lavinia.” His voice carried an uncertainty that would have been foreign to her ears mere weeks ago—Henry Wynthorne, heir to Wynt
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss twenty two
Friday morning, Lavinia arrived to find a small pastry box on her desk—her favorite almond croissants from the bakery three blocks away. Henry must have gone out of his way to get them before work. There was no note, just the box with its familiar logo.For a moment, she stared at it, her chest tight. This was Henry’s way of making amends for whatever he thought he’d done wrong. It was exactly the kind of thoughtful gesture that had made her fall in love with him in the first place—small, personal, never showy.She carried the box to the break room and left it open on the counter with a small handwritten note: Help yourselves! – L.W. When Henry arrived and stopped by her desk, his expression hopeful, Lavinia thanked him politely for the croissants and mentioned that she’d shared them with the staff.“Oh,” he said, his smile faltering slightly. “I thought those were your favorite.”“They are,” she acknowledged. “It was kind of you to remember. The team appreciated them as well.”She
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