Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 132: Chapter 132
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 132: Chapter 132. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
"She loved someone she couldn't have," Elena continued, voice soft with concern, "and the blow to her spirit made her act out like this. Please don't blame her."
She reached out to steady Annabelle.
Annabelle clenched her jaw, eyes blazing at Elena.
Elena's lips curled; she leaned close and whispered, "Surprised? I invited every last reporter."
Then she straightened and flashed a dazzling smile. "Annabelle, this is only the beginning. Whatever you possess, I'll take it away—piece by piece."
Annabelle snapped. She swung again at Elena, shrieking, "Wretch! You vile woman!"
Elena dodged nimbly.
The reporters closed in on Annabelle once more.
Elena's phone rang. She glanced at the screen—Victor Whitmore was calling her home.
She lifted the phone so Annabelle could see the name, waving lightly. "Little sister, I'm heading out first."
Annabelle saw the caller ID and nearly exploded.
She tried to charge forward, but the press penned her in; she tripped, crashed to the floor, and couldn't scramble up.
Collapsed, she clutched her head and shrieked, "Get away! All of you, get away!"
Forced to sit in filth, her white coat smeared, Annabelle looked utterly ruined.
"Miss Bennett, do you have a response to the indecent video? Is it true the Whitmore family rejected you and you resorted to drugging someone?" a reporter pressed.
"Do you bully your sister at home the same way?" another shouted.
"I didn't—I never bullied her! Please stop—please!" Annabelle sobbed.
She broke down in loud, helpless tears.
Having captured the footage they wanted, the reporters finally withdrew, satisfied.
Annabelle dragged herself upright and staggered outside.
She arrived just in time to see Victor Whitmore and Elena leave the clubhouse one after the other.
She hurried after them. "Victor! Victor, wait for me—"
She called twice, but Victor gave no reply.
She could only watch as Victor and Elena climbed into the same car.
Inside, Elena lowered the window and gave her a triumphant smile.
At that moment Annabelle loathed Elena so deeply she wished the woman would die on the spot.
Every ounce of today's humiliation was Elena's doing, and Annabelle swore she would make her pay.
That night the internet erupted with fresh gossip about Annabelle Bennett.
A sensational headline blared: Annabelle Bennett's Unrequited Love—Signs of Mental Breakdown!
Weeping, Annabelle threw herself into Adaline's arms. "Mom, Elena set me up—she wants to destroy me completely! What do I do?"
"Annie, please don't cry... it breaks my heart," Adaline murmured, stroking her back.
"Brother, Mom, help me! She can't keep running that project—she sees Victor every day, and she'll steal him!"
Lawrence Bennett's brow furrowed. "No. The project isn't finished, and the company still needs her. Annie, you have to bear with it a little longer."
Annabelle's fists tightened; her long manicured nails bit into her palms, yet she felt no pain.
Inside the Whitmore Group's CEO office, Simon Whitmore skimmed the news on his tablet, a faint, knowing smile curling at the corner of his lips.
He had quietly ordered his people to investigate what went down at the Whitmore estate that day—he'd planned to step in and tidy things up for her. Who would have thought his little kitten would finally bare her claws and mount a counter-attack of her own?
She reached out to steady Annabelle.
Annabelle clenched her jaw, eyes blazing at Elena.
Elena's lips curled; she leaned close and whispered, "Surprised? I invited every last reporter."
Then she straightened and flashed a dazzling smile. "Annabelle, this is only the beginning. Whatever you possess, I'll take it away—piece by piece."
Annabelle snapped. She swung again at Elena, shrieking, "Wretch! You vile woman!"
Elena dodged nimbly.
The reporters closed in on Annabelle once more.
Elena's phone rang. She glanced at the screen—Victor Whitmore was calling her home.
She lifted the phone so Annabelle could see the name, waving lightly. "Little sister, I'm heading out first."
Annabelle saw the caller ID and nearly exploded.
She tried to charge forward, but the press penned her in; she tripped, crashed to the floor, and couldn't scramble up.
Collapsed, she clutched her head and shrieked, "Get away! All of you, get away!"
Forced to sit in filth, her white coat smeared, Annabelle looked utterly ruined.
"Miss Bennett, do you have a response to the indecent video? Is it true the Whitmore family rejected you and you resorted to drugging someone?" a reporter pressed.
"Do you bully your sister at home the same way?" another shouted.
"I didn't—I never bullied her! Please stop—please!" Annabelle sobbed.
She broke down in loud, helpless tears.
Having captured the footage they wanted, the reporters finally withdrew, satisfied.
Annabelle dragged herself upright and staggered outside.
She arrived just in time to see Victor Whitmore and Elena leave the clubhouse one after the other.
She hurried after them. "Victor! Victor, wait for me—"
She called twice, but Victor gave no reply.
She could only watch as Victor and Elena climbed into the same car.
Inside, Elena lowered the window and gave her a triumphant smile.
At that moment Annabelle loathed Elena so deeply she wished the woman would die on the spot.
Every ounce of today's humiliation was Elena's doing, and Annabelle swore she would make her pay.
That night the internet erupted with fresh gossip about Annabelle Bennett.
A sensational headline blared: Annabelle Bennett's Unrequited Love—Signs of Mental Breakdown!
Weeping, Annabelle threw herself into Adaline's arms. "Mom, Elena set me up—she wants to destroy me completely! What do I do?"
"Annie, please don't cry... it breaks my heart," Adaline murmured, stroking her back.
"Brother, Mom, help me! She can't keep running that project—she sees Victor every day, and she'll steal him!"
Lawrence Bennett's brow furrowed. "No. The project isn't finished, and the company still needs her. Annie, you have to bear with it a little longer."
Annabelle's fists tightened; her long manicured nails bit into her palms, yet she felt no pain.
Inside the Whitmore Group's CEO office, Simon Whitmore skimmed the news on his tablet, a faint, knowing smile curling at the corner of his lips.
He had quietly ordered his people to investigate what went down at the Whitmore estate that day—he'd planned to step in and tidy things up for her. Who would have thought his little kitten would finally bare her claws and mount a counter-attack of her own?
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