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 her safety.

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for a shared

of danger, nothing else was more important than

that destiny was a creation of man, impervious to the

safety;

space, the rhythm of George’s shower serving as a backdrop to

found her lying there, eyes shut in peaceful repose. His movements were gentle as

captivated by her presence, an

strong, he hesitated, wary of disrupting her rest or

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

of their improvised performance for the fake Joshua earlier, the absence

of disinterest in marriage, the dismissal of relationships as mere distractions–were they borne of

the heart at this hour, George quelled his burgeoning apprehensions, unwilling

unnecessary concerns.

spare her the tumult of his emotions. With a determined exhale, he relinquished the

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Chaput Vit Prasha

to its place, he retraced

the covers, slipping beneath them

into slumber, Isabelle’s voice pierced the silence, her words laced with a hint of playfulness, “Mr. Harris, your bed–entry skills are improving

succumbed to sleep’s embrace.

her gaze, George observed her closed eyes. Did she

from awkward, he found her charade endearing, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Relief washed over him, knowing

George countered, “I’d gladly trade the bed for the couch, but alas, it’s too snug

dynamic hadn’t matured to that extent; if she expressed discomfort, he’d readily comply.

Isabelle’s silence lingered.

remained nestled