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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 forty
For a moment, she thought he might actually answer honestly. Something vulnerable flickered in his expression, a flash of the younger man she’d once known who hadn’t yet learned to hide his emotions behind layers of professional composure.But the moment passed. Henry straightened in his chair, his features settling back into their familiar lines of polite authority.“Nothing’s bothering me,” he said with a casualness that didn’t quite ring true. “I simply want to ensure that our working environment remains… professional.”The word ‘professional’ seemed to echo between them, carrying all the weight of their shared history and the careful boundaries they’d constructed around their impossible situation.“Of course,” Lavinia said, her voice matching his tone of studied neutrality. “Completely professional.”* * *The afternoon brought an unexpected visitor, and with her, a complication Lavinia hadn’t anticipated.Verity Langford arrived like a burst of sunlight, all golden hair and nervo
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss thirty nine
The first thing Lavinia Hartwell became aware of was warmth. Not the tepid morning sun filtering through her bedroom curtains, but something altogether more solid, more present. Her eyelids fluttered open to find herself mere inches from Henry Wynthorne’s sleeping face, his dark lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones in the pale light.Her breath caught in her throat. Sometime during the night, they had gravitated toward each other like planets pulled by invisible forces, and now she could count the faint freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, could see the slight part of his lips as he breathed. The urge to close that small distance, to press her mouth to his, struck her with such fierce intensity that she had to dig her fingernails into her palms to anchor herself to reality.Get up. Move. Before you do something irreversibly foolish.She extracted herself from the couch with the careful precision of someone defusing a bomb, each movement calculated to avoid disturb
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss thirty eight
“I was walking past the animal shelter on my lunch break, and she was in the window. The volunteer said she’d been returned twice by families who couldn’t handle a puppy’s energy.” Henry’s expression was almost sheepish. “Before I knew it, I was filling out adoption papers.”Despite everything, Lavinia felt a smile tug at her lips. “Henry Wynthorne, the impulsive dog owner. I never would have predicted that.”“Neither would I, to be honest. Which brings me to my problem.” He scrolled to another photo—the puppy apparently having destroyed a throw pillow, stuffing scattered across an expensive-looking rug. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve scheduled a vet appointment for tomorrow evening, but I’m terrified I’m going to do something wrong before then.”Lavinia found herself leaning closer to see the photos, her professional composure finally cracking completely. “She’s beautiful. What did you name her?”“That’s… actually another problem. I keep calling her ‘puppy,’ which hardly seems
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss thirty seven
The clock on Lavinia’s computer screen read 9:47 PM when she finally pushed back from her desk, rubbing her tired eyes. The Wynthorne Enterprises building had emptied hours ago, but she’d volunteered to stay late finishing the quarterly reports—partly because the work needed doing, mostly because her small apartment felt suffocating when she had nothing to distract her from her thoughts.She was gathering her things when footsteps echoed in the hallway. Henry appeared in the doorway of her office, his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, looking as surprised to see her as she was to see him.“Miss Hartwell.” He paused, studying her face in the lamplight. “Working late again?”“The Morrison reports needed finishing,” she said, her voice carefully neutral despite the way her pulse quickened at his unexpected presence. “I didn’t realize anyone else was still here.”“I could say the same.” He stepped into the office, and she noticed he carried two steaming cups from the coffee machine down
The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss thirty seven
“NOTHING I DO IS EVER GOOD ENOUGH!” The words tore from her throat in a sound that was half-scream, half-sob. “Nothing! And now you stand there and tell me I’m throwing my life away because I finally, FINALLY had the courage to remove myself from a situation that was killing me by degrees!”Tears were streaming down her face now, hot and angry and long overdue. “What have I done to deserve such criticism from everyone? What terrible crime have I committed by loving someone who doesn’t love me back? By trying to preserve what little dignity I have left?”Diana stared at her daughter as if seeing her for the first time. The girl who had never raised her voice, never talked back, never caused trouble, stood before her shaking with rage and grief and desperate, bone-deep exhaustion.But understanding and shame were luxuries Diana Hartwell had never learned to indulge in. After a long moment, she simply turned and walked from the room, leaving her daughter standing among the wreckage of wo
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
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