Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 134: Chapter 134
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 134: Chapter 134. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
She held up a painting of a family of four—the same composition, the same frosty palette, even the snowdrifts were identical.
The only difference was that her figures faced the viewer rather than turning their backs.
Her version featured Annie herself with the family, a warm, dreamy scene where every face beamed with happiness.
"Wow, they're practically the same! Who copied whom?" someone whispered.
"No way—Ms. Bennett is my idol. She wouldn't plagiarize," another insisted.
Elena's tone was icy. "Annie, this painting dates back five years. Deep down, you know exactly which of us is the copycat."
Annabelle's eyes glistened as she protested, "Sis, must you keep denying it? If you only want to stop me from exhibiting, I'll withdraw—there's no need to slander me like this!"
Just then the Bennett family and the event organizers hurried over.
"Annie, what happened?" Lawrence Bennett asked.
Annie bit her lip, eyes brimming with tears. "Mom, Elena's painting—mine is the original!"
Every gaze swung toward Elena's canvas on the wall.
Adaline frowned and shot a quick look at Lawrence and Julian.
Father and son both stood rigid, brows knitted so tightly that gloom seemed to settle over their faces.
Elena Bennett stared straight at them, refusing to miss a single flicker of emotion that crossed their features.
They—and she—knew perfectly well how this painting had come into being.
Elena said, "Dad, Mom, Julian, you know exactly who put the first stroke on this canvas, don't you?" A splintered light burned in her eyes.
Bringing the painting here had taken every ounce of her courage; once she had been the princess they cradled in their palms, but now they looked at her as if she were a venomous ingrate.
Seeing the piece displayed was like coarse salt ground into a fresh wound.
Adaline clenched her fists, lowered her head, and struggled against the storm of emotions swirling in her eyes.
Of course the entire Bennett family knew the painting's true origin.
It had happened on New Year's Eve.
Lawrence Bennett was abroad on business and no one knew when he would return; Elena waited in the courtyard all day, hour after shivering hour.
Just before the New Year's Eve dinner, Lawrence walked through the gate and surprised her beyond imagination.
The family stood together in the snow, happiness almost unreal in its brightness.
The very next morning Elena painted this scene.
Though no face appeared head-on, the color palette and relaxed gestures radiated warmth and intimacy—far more evocative than Annabelle's blunt literal style.
Elena's gaze drilled into them; she knew they understood who had copied whom.
Still, she clung to one last hope: would they protect Annabelle even while knowing she was the plagiarist?
The event organizer pressed, "You're family, right? So who copied whom?"
Annabelle looked to her mother, helpless. "Mom, please... say something."
After a long, suffocating silence, Adaline finally spoke. "This painting was, in fact, first created by my daughter Annabelle."
The words drenched Elena like a bucket of icy water.
A voice in the crowd burst out, "What? Ms. Bennett plagiarized? I've admired her for years—turns out I misjudged completely!"
Elena remained frozen, staring at Adaline as a jagged smile cut across her lips.
She had foreseen the verdict, yet when the knife was driven in, flesh and heart both screamed.
The only difference was that her figures faced the viewer rather than turning their backs.
Her version featured Annie herself with the family, a warm, dreamy scene where every face beamed with happiness.
"Wow, they're practically the same! Who copied whom?" someone whispered.
"No way—Ms. Bennett is my idol. She wouldn't plagiarize," another insisted.
Elena's tone was icy. "Annie, this painting dates back five years. Deep down, you know exactly which of us is the copycat."
Annabelle's eyes glistened as she protested, "Sis, must you keep denying it? If you only want to stop me from exhibiting, I'll withdraw—there's no need to slander me like this!"
Just then the Bennett family and the event organizers hurried over.
"Annie, what happened?" Lawrence Bennett asked.
Annie bit her lip, eyes brimming with tears. "Mom, Elena's painting—mine is the original!"
Every gaze swung toward Elena's canvas on the wall.
Adaline frowned and shot a quick look at Lawrence and Julian.
Father and son both stood rigid, brows knitted so tightly that gloom seemed to settle over their faces.
Elena Bennett stared straight at them, refusing to miss a single flicker of emotion that crossed their features.
They—and she—knew perfectly well how this painting had come into being.
Elena said, "Dad, Mom, Julian, you know exactly who put the first stroke on this canvas, don't you?" A splintered light burned in her eyes.
Bringing the painting here had taken every ounce of her courage; once she had been the princess they cradled in their palms, but now they looked at her as if she were a venomous ingrate.
Seeing the piece displayed was like coarse salt ground into a fresh wound.
Adaline clenched her fists, lowered her head, and struggled against the storm of emotions swirling in her eyes.
Of course the entire Bennett family knew the painting's true origin.
It had happened on New Year's Eve.
Lawrence Bennett was abroad on business and no one knew when he would return; Elena waited in the courtyard all day, hour after shivering hour.
Just before the New Year's Eve dinner, Lawrence walked through the gate and surprised her beyond imagination.
The family stood together in the snow, happiness almost unreal in its brightness.
The very next morning Elena painted this scene.
Though no face appeared head-on, the color palette and relaxed gestures radiated warmth and intimacy—far more evocative than Annabelle's blunt literal style.
Elena's gaze drilled into them; she knew they understood who had copied whom.
Still, she clung to one last hope: would they protect Annabelle even while knowing she was the plagiarist?
The event organizer pressed, "You're family, right? So who copied whom?"
Annabelle looked to her mother, helpless. "Mom, please... say something."
After a long, suffocating silence, Adaline finally spoke. "This painting was, in fact, first created by my daughter Annabelle."
The words drenched Elena like a bucket of icy water.
A voice in the crowd burst out, "What? Ms. Bennett plagiarized? I've admired her for years—turns out I misjudged completely!"
Elena remained frozen, staring at Adaline as a jagged smile cut across her lips.
She had foreseen the verdict, yet when the knife was driven in, flesh and heart both screamed.
End of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back Chapter 134. Continue reading Chapter 135 or return to Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back book page.