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thirty two
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2025-09-16 10:53:36She walked with purpose through the financial district, her heels clicking against the pavement in a rhythm that was distinctly hers. When she turned onto a quieter residential street, Henry had to duck behind a parked car to avoid being seen, his heart hammering with the absurdity of it all. What was he doing? This was madness. Lavinia Hartwell was a grown woman perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She’d made that abundantly clear.
But he couldn’t seem to stop. She stopped at a small convenience store wedged between a dry cleaner and a flower shop, the kind of place that stayed open late for the neighborhood’s working population. Through the large windows, Henry watched her move through the narrow aisles, her selections sparse: instant noodles, canned soup, a bottle of headache medicine. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows under her eyes, making her look younger and older simultaneously. When she
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The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss thirty five
The week after the stalker incident passed in deliberate silence. Henry Wynthorne made no attempt to follow Lavinia Hartwell’s evening routines, telling himself he’d done enough damage simply by being discovered. But by Thursday, the restlessness had returned—a gnawing uncertainty that pulled at him like an undertow. He found himself lingering near the office windows as five o’clock approached, watching the street below with the careful attention of someone pretending not to care. When Lavinia emerged that evening, her shoulders bore the same tired slump he’d noticed before. Something about the sight made his chest tighten with an emotion he refused to name. Without conscious decision, his feet carried him to his car. The distance he maintained was greater this time, more careful. He told himself it was prudent caution after her obvious displeasure at being followed. But the truth sat heavier in his stomach—he couldn’t bear to stop, and he couldn’t bear
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss thirty four
The question hung between them like an accusation, and Henry felt heat rise in his cheeks. How could he explain that he’d been following her? That he’d become the kind of man who lurked in shadows, driven by impulses he couldn’t name or control?“I was nearby,” he said, the lie sitting poorly on his tongue. “Client meeting.”Lavinia’s eyes searched his face, and Henry had the uncomfortable sensation that she could see through him as easily as window glass. Her gaze moved past him to his car, parked haphazardly across the street with the driver’s door still hanging open.“In a residential neighborhood? At eight o’clock at night?”“Lavinia—”“How long have you been following me, Henry?”The directness of the question stole his prepared excuses. She stood there in the harsh glow of the store’s fluorescent lights, her grocery bag still clutched against her chest, waiting for an answer he couldn’t give without revealing more about him
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss thirty three
The following Tuesday arrived wrapped in the kind of October chill that crept through wool coats and settled in bones. Henry had spent the better part of the week fighting the urge to repeat his Tuesday evening surveillance, telling himself it had been a moment of temporary madness brought on by Uncle Peter’s revelation about the emerald set. Rational men didn’t follow their former fiancées through city streets. Rational men respected boundaries.But Tuesday evening found him parked across from Sterling & Associates at half past seven, his hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled determination to simply drive away. The rational part of his mind catalogued all the reasons this was inappropriate: Lavinia had made her wishes clear, he had no right to monitor her movements, and Verity was expecting his call about their dinner plans.The irrational part—the part that had been growing stronger each day—noted that the streets weren’t entirely safe after dark,
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss thirty two
She walked with purpose through the financial district, her heels clicking against the pavement in a rhythm that was distinctly hers. When she turned onto a quieter residential street, Henry had to duck behind a parked car to avoid being seen, his heart hammering with the absurdity of it all. What was he doing? This was madness. Lavinia Hartwell was a grown woman perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She’d made that abundantly clear. But he couldn’t seem to stop. She stopped at a small convenience store wedged between a dry cleaner and a flower shop, the kind of place that stayed open late for the neighborhood’s working population. Through the large windows, Henry watched her move through the narrow aisles, her selections sparse: instant noodles, canned soup, a bottle of headache medicine. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows under her eyes, making her look younger and older simultaneously. When she
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss thirty one
The afternoon light had begun its slow retreat from the windows of Wynthorne Enterprises when Henry found himself standing at his office door, watching Lavinia Hartwell pack her things with the same methodical precision she brought to everything else. Her movements were economical, purposeful—no wasted motion, no lingering glances around the space that had been hers for nearly five years. “The Morrison contract revisions are on your desk,” she said without looking up, her voice carrying that polite distance that had become her default tone with him. “I’ve flagged the sections that need your attention.” “Thank you.” The words felt inadequate, but what else could he say? That he’d spent the better part of the week finding excuses to walk past her temporary workspace? That the sight of her empty office next to his felt like a missing tooth he couldn’t stop probing with his tongue? His phone buzzed against his desk. Verity’s name flashed on t
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss thirty
“By work? Or by her?” Henry couldn’t bring himself to lie. “I keep thinking I should call her. Just to check in.” “But you promised yourself you’d give her space,” Verity finished knowingly. “How did you—” “Because I know you, Henry. You’re honorable to a fault, even when it makes you miserable.” That evening, Henry stood in his penthouse apartment, staring at Lavinia’s contact information on his phone. His finger hovered over the call button for ten full minutes before he finally set the device aside, honoring his commitment to respect her wishes despite the growing certainty that something fundamental was missing from his life. The next afternoon found Henry on the Hartwells’ doorstep, armed with the excuse of retrieving a project file Lavinia might have accidentally taken. Diana Hartwell greeted him with excessive warmth, ushering him into their modes
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