Semua Bab The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss : Bab 1 - Bab 10

The hallway was unnaturally silent for a Friday afternoon at Westlake Academy. Lavinia Hartwell tucked a strand of mousy brown hair behind her ear and paused outside the empty classroom, hesitating when she heard voices from within. She'd only come to retrieve her forgotten chemistry notebook, not to eavesdrop, but something in the tone of the deeper voice made her still her movements."Look, I get it. My parents were the same way—everything had to be perfect, or it wasn't good enough." The voice belonged to Henry Wynthorne, though Lavinia didn't need to peek through the half-open door to confirm this. She'd recognize that confident baritone anywhere, even if she'd never been its direct recipient.Henry Cleveland. The name alone carried weight in their school. Son of business mogul Edward Wynthorne, heir to Wynthorne Industries, and one of the most brilliant students in their graduating class. He wasn't just wealthy and smart; he carried himself with a certainty that Lavinia had alway

Henry startled at the voice beside him. Lavinia had appeared with her lunch tray, hesitating by the newly vacated seat."She is," he agreed, gesturing for Lavinia to sit. When she looked uncertain, he added, "Please. I'd rather not eat alone."Lavinia sat down carefully, as if expecting someone to object to her presence. "I thought your father avoided cultivating distractions," she said, unwrapping her sandwich with methodical precision.Henry's eyebrows rose. "Been eavesdropping on my father's lectures?"A faint smile touched her lips. "You mentioned it once. At Verity's birthday party last year. You said your father thought romantic attachments were inefficient uses of cognitive resources.""I don't remember that conversation.""We weren't having one," Lavinia clarified. "You were talking to James Porter about why you never dated. I was setting out the cake."Something about this bothered Henry—the image of Lavinia quietly placing down a cake while he spoke, not even registering her

The next day, Henry arrived at the hospital for his father's follow-up appointment to find an unexpected figure sitting in the waiting room. Lavinia Hartwell sat with perfect posture, a thick financial report spread across her lap. Her dark hair was pulled back in its usual neat ponytail, and she wore a crisp white blouse and tailored black pants that spoke of quiet professionalism. She looked up as Henry approached, and he was struck by how different her eyes were from Verity's—dark where Verity's were light, calculating where Verity's sparkled with warmth. "Henry," Lavinia said, closing the report with decisive efficiency. He hadn't seen much of her since he and Verity had started dating. She was still Verity's best friend, of course, but she'd always seemed to make herself scarce when he was around—not from shyness, he realized now, but from choice. She stood, smoothing her blouse with practiced efficiency. "I was dropping off financial analysis for your father." "Financia

The whiskey burned Henry Wynthorne’s throat, but he welcomed the sensation. It was the only thing that felt real anymore. He sat alone in his father’s study—now his study—surrounded by leather-bound books and the weight of expectations he’d never wanted.Three months had passed since Verity Langford had walked out of his life. Three months of sleepless nights and hollow days. The letter from MIT sat unopened on his desk, likely another polite rejection of his request for yet another deferral of his astrophysics program. Not that it mattered anymore. His dreams of research stations orbiting distant planets, of unlocking the mysteries of space, felt as unreachable as the stars themselves.“Mr. Wynthorne?” The housekeeper’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Miss Hartwell is here to see your father.”Henry didn’t look up from his glass. “Send her up.”A few minutes later, Lavinia Hartwell appeared in the doorway, a folder tucked under her arm. Her dark hair was pulled back in its usual p

Lavinia Hartwell had always been the forgotten daughter of the Hartwell family.As a child, she remembered watching her parents’ eyes light up when her brother Theodore walked into a room. “Theo’s going to be a doctor,” her mother would announce to anyone who would listen at their weekly church gatherings. “Just like his grandfather.” The pride in her voice was unmistakable. Her father would nod along, a hand firmly clasped on Theodore’s shoulder, as though he were presenting a prized show horse.Lavinia would stand quietly beside them, smoothing down her Sunday dress, waiting for someone to notice her. Sometimes, Mrs. Jenkins from next door would pat her head and tell her she was “such a good girl, so quiet and well-behaved,” but the words always sounded like a consolation prize. Being good was Lavinia’s only notable quality.Growing up in the shadow of Theodore’s accomplishments meant Lavinia learned early to make herself indispensable rather than exceptional. She managed the househ