Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 102: Chapter 102
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 102: Chapter 102. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
Yet Victor had given her nothing but pain—why couldn't she move on?
The moment Simon learned she'd been tormented in that damned prison, God knew how bitterly he regretted not fighting for her sooner.
"You still can't forget him?" he pressed.
Elena frowned. "Why bring him up?"
Years of feelings crushed inside Simon's chest threatened to explode.
He suddenly leaned in, cupping her face so she had to meet his eyes. "Look at me, Elena. What exactly about him keeps you so obsessed?"
Elena's heart slammed against her ribs, and she jerked stiffly backward.
Simon's hands closed on nothing; his gaze softened. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, the distance between them shrinking to a breath.
A clean, intoxicating scent clung to him, and for an instant Elena forgot how to breathe.
His lips drew closer; their breaths mingled in the narrow space.
Simon's eyes fixed on her mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing as raw possessiveness welled up inside him.
This time, he vowed, he would never let go.
Elena abruptly shoved him away, her cheeks as red as boiled shrimp.
"Young Master Whitmore, could you grab my wheelchair?" she blurted.
He frowned. "Where do you want to go?"
Elena said nothing, nervously twisting the quilt in her fingers.
After holding out as long as she could, she muttered, "The restroom."
"I'll carry you," he said.
No sooner had the words left his lips than he scooped her up and strode toward the restroom.
Elena burned with embarrassment; once he set her on the toilet seat, she hurried him out.
Inside, she dawdled, turned on the faucet for cover, then finally relieved herself.
With an IV stuck in one hand and one leg unable to touch the floor, she tugged up her pants clumsily.
Just as she lifted the IV bottle, her balance tipped; a thud echoed as she crashed to the tiles.
Simon burst in. "What happened?"
Elena lay sprawled on the floor, mortified.
He swept her into his arms. "Why so reckless? When you're done, call me—stop toughing it out."
"Thank you," Elena mumbled, flushing.
Simon carried her out with a resigned sigh.
At that moment, a familiar figure stepped through the doorway.
It was Victor Whitmore.
The instant he saw Elena cradled in another man's arms, his eyes flared blood-red.
"Elena Bennett, every time you're hospitalized you pull this stunt! Are you that desperate for a man to wait on you?" Victor snarled.
"What are you doing here?" Elena shot back.
"Hmph, a lonely woman like you—why else would I come?" Victor sneered.
Simon's brows slashed together. "I don't know whose care she needs, but it sure isn't yours."
Victor fell silent, speechless for a moment.
His face darkened, yet he dared not offend his uncle. "Uncle, why are you here? Where's the Bennett family?"
"They beat her into this state, and you expect them to look after her?" Simon retorted.
Victor was struck dumb once more.
He narrowed his eyes, studying Simon, then Elena. Instinct screamed that something was going on—Simon had never defended a woman like this.
"If her family's unfit to care for her, is it proper for you to do it, Uncle?" Victor asked.
Simon's smile turned frigid. "That question sounds a bit jealous, Nephew. Did you forget you're Annabelle Bennett's boyfriend? Focus, kid—stop trying to eat at two tables."
The moment Simon learned she'd been tormented in that damned prison, God knew how bitterly he regretted not fighting for her sooner.
"You still can't forget him?" he pressed.
Elena frowned. "Why bring him up?"
Years of feelings crushed inside Simon's chest threatened to explode.
He suddenly leaned in, cupping her face so she had to meet his eyes. "Look at me, Elena. What exactly about him keeps you so obsessed?"
Elena's heart slammed against her ribs, and she jerked stiffly backward.
Simon's hands closed on nothing; his gaze softened. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, the distance between them shrinking to a breath.
A clean, intoxicating scent clung to him, and for an instant Elena forgot how to breathe.
His lips drew closer; their breaths mingled in the narrow space.
Simon's eyes fixed on her mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing as raw possessiveness welled up inside him.
This time, he vowed, he would never let go.
Elena abruptly shoved him away, her cheeks as red as boiled shrimp.
"Young Master Whitmore, could you grab my wheelchair?" she blurted.
He frowned. "Where do you want to go?"
Elena said nothing, nervously twisting the quilt in her fingers.
After holding out as long as she could, she muttered, "The restroom."
"I'll carry you," he said.
No sooner had the words left his lips than he scooped her up and strode toward the restroom.
Elena burned with embarrassment; once he set her on the toilet seat, she hurried him out.
Inside, she dawdled, turned on the faucet for cover, then finally relieved herself.
With an IV stuck in one hand and one leg unable to touch the floor, she tugged up her pants clumsily.
Just as she lifted the IV bottle, her balance tipped; a thud echoed as she crashed to the tiles.
Simon burst in. "What happened?"
Elena lay sprawled on the floor, mortified.
He swept her into his arms. "Why so reckless? When you're done, call me—stop toughing it out."
"Thank you," Elena mumbled, flushing.
Simon carried her out with a resigned sigh.
At that moment, a familiar figure stepped through the doorway.
It was Victor Whitmore.
The instant he saw Elena cradled in another man's arms, his eyes flared blood-red.
"Elena Bennett, every time you're hospitalized you pull this stunt! Are you that desperate for a man to wait on you?" Victor snarled.
"What are you doing here?" Elena shot back.
"Hmph, a lonely woman like you—why else would I come?" Victor sneered.
Simon's brows slashed together. "I don't know whose care she needs, but it sure isn't yours."
Victor fell silent, speechless for a moment.
His face darkened, yet he dared not offend his uncle. "Uncle, why are you here? Where's the Bennett family?"
"They beat her into this state, and you expect them to look after her?" Simon retorted.
Victor was struck dumb once more.
He narrowed his eyes, studying Simon, then Elena. Instinct screamed that something was going on—Simon had never defended a woman like this.
"If her family's unfit to care for her, is it proper for you to do it, Uncle?" Victor asked.
Simon's smile turned frigid. "That question sounds a bit jealous, Nephew. Did you forget you're Annabelle Bennett's boyfriend? Focus, kid—stop trying to eat at two tables."
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