Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 122: Chapter 122
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 122: Chapter 122. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
The words froze the room; nobody even dared breathe. Not even Samuel had ever asked Simon something so direct. Only a cousin could test that minefield and trust Simon wouldn't kill him.
Even Samuel Shaw wouldn't have dared ask Simon that bluntly.
Andrew only dared because they were cousins; he knew Simon would never really punish him.
Elena tilted her head slightly and studied Simon. Victor Whitmore had once mentioned that someone lived deep in Simon's heart; the matter had nothing to do with her, yet she couldn't help being curious.
Elena had heard Victor Whitmore mention that Simon kept someone in his heart—nothing to do with her, yet she was genuinely curious.
Sensing the shift in air pressure, Quentin grabbed a fistful of peanuts and crammed them into Andrew's mouth. "Told you to eat something while you drink! Loose lips sink ships, man!"
Andrew finally realized he'd crossed a line; the shock sobered him halfway.
Simon turned his head slightly and looked at Elena, a faint curve at his lips, no hint of anger in his eyes.
A faint curve rested on Simon's lips, not a trace of anger anywhere on his face.
"I'm still waiting—always have," he said.
When his words fell, an uncanny hush swept the room; everyone looked as though their eyes might pop out.
His answer dropped like a stone into a pond, leaving the suite deathly silent. It was the first time anyone had dared mention that buried first love in front of him and not been met with fury.
Elena couldn't stop herself from looking up and collided with his gaze. So he really had been waiting all this time.
So he had been waiting all this time for the woman hidden deep in his heart.
She lowered her lashes; for some reason her chest felt strangely hollow.
Under the weight of their stares, Simon—of all people—lifted a glass of straight liquor, tipped his head back, and drained it in one gulp.
The others gaped at him. "Bro, that was hard liquor!"
Simon set the glass down. "I'm aware."
"It's late. I'll take you home," he told Elena.
The men trailed behind him as though watching a rare animal.
They had barely stepped into the corridor when Simon's body lurched and collapsed straight onto Elena.
"Simon Whitmore, what's wrong?" Elena asked, panicked.
Samuel Shaw hurried forward and steadied Simon, offering an awkward grin as he said, "Looks like you never heard—one drink is all it takes to flatten him."
Elena Bennett suddenly remembered the dinner at the Whitmore estate when Warren Whitmore had insisted Simon drink.
So Simon truly was a hopeless lightweight.
Andrew Carter was just as far gone; Quentin Harris had taken responsibility for getting him home, so Simon was left to Samuel.
After easing Simon into the car, Samuel noticed Elena standing at the curb, clearly about to flag down a cab.
He strolled over and teased, "Simon's still your prized client—you're really letting him head home alone?"
Elena gave an embarrassed little laugh. "Then I'll go with you."
Samuel arched a brow and flashed her a quick smile.
Samuel drove to Simon Whitmore's villa, and the two of them half-carried him into the bedroom.
The moment Simon hit the mattress, Samuel announced he had urgent business at home and bolted.
Elena stared helplessly at the unconscious young master.
The vast villa didn't contain a single servant; she couldn't bring herself to leave him alone.
After watching him for a moment, she set down her purse, filled a basin with warm water in the bathroom, and came back to clean his face.
While she was wiping him down, Simon suddenly clamped a hand around her wrist.
She sucked in a breath. "Young Master Simon, you—"
Looking closer, she realized his eyes were shut—he was still out cold.
"Don't be afraid... don't be afraid, I'll protect you..." he muttered, brow knotted in anxious sleep.
"Why didn't you wait for me? Why didn't you wait?" The pain on his face was nothing like his usual carefree arrogance.
Elena gazed at him in a daze. Was the woman in his heart someone who didn't love him back?
Even Samuel Shaw wouldn't have dared ask Simon that bluntly.
Andrew only dared because they were cousins; he knew Simon would never really punish him.
Elena tilted her head slightly and studied Simon. Victor Whitmore had once mentioned that someone lived deep in Simon's heart; the matter had nothing to do with her, yet she couldn't help being curious.
Elena had heard Victor Whitmore mention that Simon kept someone in his heart—nothing to do with her, yet she was genuinely curious.
Sensing the shift in air pressure, Quentin grabbed a fistful of peanuts and crammed them into Andrew's mouth. "Told you to eat something while you drink! Loose lips sink ships, man!"
Andrew finally realized he'd crossed a line; the shock sobered him halfway.
Simon turned his head slightly and looked at Elena, a faint curve at his lips, no hint of anger in his eyes.
A faint curve rested on Simon's lips, not a trace of anger anywhere on his face.
"I'm still waiting—always have," he said.
When his words fell, an uncanny hush swept the room; everyone looked as though their eyes might pop out.
His answer dropped like a stone into a pond, leaving the suite deathly silent. It was the first time anyone had dared mention that buried first love in front of him and not been met with fury.
Elena couldn't stop herself from looking up and collided with his gaze. So he really had been waiting all this time.
So he had been waiting all this time for the woman hidden deep in his heart.
She lowered her lashes; for some reason her chest felt strangely hollow.
Under the weight of their stares, Simon—of all people—lifted a glass of straight liquor, tipped his head back, and drained it in one gulp.
The others gaped at him. "Bro, that was hard liquor!"
Simon set the glass down. "I'm aware."
"It's late. I'll take you home," he told Elena.
The men trailed behind him as though watching a rare animal.
They had barely stepped into the corridor when Simon's body lurched and collapsed straight onto Elena.
"Simon Whitmore, what's wrong?" Elena asked, panicked.
Samuel Shaw hurried forward and steadied Simon, offering an awkward grin as he said, "Looks like you never heard—one drink is all it takes to flatten him."
Elena Bennett suddenly remembered the dinner at the Whitmore estate when Warren Whitmore had insisted Simon drink.
So Simon truly was a hopeless lightweight.
Andrew Carter was just as far gone; Quentin Harris had taken responsibility for getting him home, so Simon was left to Samuel.
After easing Simon into the car, Samuel noticed Elena standing at the curb, clearly about to flag down a cab.
He strolled over and teased, "Simon's still your prized client—you're really letting him head home alone?"
Elena gave an embarrassed little laugh. "Then I'll go with you."
Samuel arched a brow and flashed her a quick smile.
Samuel drove to Simon Whitmore's villa, and the two of them half-carried him into the bedroom.
The moment Simon hit the mattress, Samuel announced he had urgent business at home and bolted.
Elena stared helplessly at the unconscious young master.
The vast villa didn't contain a single servant; she couldn't bring herself to leave him alone.
After watching him for a moment, she set down her purse, filled a basin with warm water in the bathroom, and came back to clean his face.
While she was wiping him down, Simon suddenly clamped a hand around her wrist.
She sucked in a breath. "Young Master Simon, you—"
Looking closer, she realized his eyes were shut—he was still out cold.
"Don't be afraid... don't be afraid, I'll protect you..." he muttered, brow knotted in anxious sleep.
"Why didn't you wait for me? Why didn't you wait?" The pain on his face was nothing like his usual carefree arrogance.
Elena gazed at him in a daze. Was the woman in his heart someone who didn't love him back?
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