Resurrecting the Genius Within

Behitrecting the genius Witton

Chapter 451 Present

Yeah, I’d rather feed the dogs.

He always works to get what he wants.

George’s gaze locked with hers, a gentle conviction in his deep voice as he uttered, “Even sans the cake, dreams find their way.” He paused, sincerity coloring his words. “This year, my birthday wish still echoes for your well–being.”

Isabelle’s serene eyes flitted with understanding.

His sincerity mirrored in his eyes as he spoke softly, “Remember last year? You gave me your wish last year, and I’ll add that to this one; both entwined with the thread of your safety.”

Isabelle’s lips parted slightly, curiosity gleaming, “What was your original intention

then?”

George confessed, his gaze momentarily averted, “Originally, it was selfish, but now, your safety encompasses my greatest selfish desire.”

“Not the answer to my question,” Isabelle said.

With a slight dip of his gaze, George confessed, “To wish for your affection.”

In Liam’s castle, that was his initial thought, yet her gift of wish was too precious, untouched by his reluctance, a testament to his resolve to earn it himself.

Isabelle remained composed, “And?”

In retrospect, it felt superfluous, thus remained dormant, untouched.

There was a moment of silence before George spoke with solemnity, “To ask for your hand in marriage.”

In the vicinity of Isabelle’s abode, beneath the canopy of stars, she halted him, sealing the moment with a kiss. In that fleeting embrace, hope blossomed, intertwining with the desire for a promising future together, the fervent wish to make her his wife soaring within him..

his fervent wish was simply for

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longing for

important than her safety,

to the whims of ghosts or deities. Yet,

beyond mere safety; it encompassed

their shared space, the rhythm of George’s shower serving as a backdrop to her reverie. Her gaze wandered upward,

shut in peaceful repose. His movements were gentle as he draped the blanket over her form, his gaze lingering on the serenity etched upon her slumbering

her presence, an inexplicable

hesitated, wary of disrupting her rest

drifted to the aftermath of his candid confession; would it weigh upon her, burdening her with

their improvised performance for the fake Joshua earlier, the

dismissal of relationships as mere distractions–were they borne of the moment’s heat, or did they reflect

futility of dwelling on matters of the heart at this hour, George quelled his burgeoning apprehensions, unwilling to burden

unnecessary concerns.

of love, he resolved to spare her the tumult of his emotions. With a

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Chaput Vit Prasha

to its place, he retraced his

covers, slipping beneath them with a quiet

drift into slumber, Isabelle’s voice pierced the silence, her words laced with a hint of

succumbed to sleep’s embrace.

gaze, George observed her closed eyes.

at his lips. Relief washed over him, knowing he hadn’t intruded upon her feigned slumber.

George countered, “I’d gladly trade the bed for the couch, but alas,

if she expressed discomfort, he’d

Isabelle’s silence lingered.

nestled in the