Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 33: Chapter 33
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 33: Chapter 33. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
Victor Whitmore saw her like that and felt his heart seize.
An unexplainable rage surged inside him, burning until he could barely breathe.
He strode up, seized her wrist, and demanded, "Why didn't you tell me yesterday?"
Elena stopped laughing and looked at him. "What does President Whitmore want me to say?"
Victor tamped down the fury in his chest, but his voice was low and frightening. "You were covered with injuries—why didn't you tell me yesterday?"
In the past, even a chipped manicure had been enough for her to cling to him and pout for half a day.
How had it come to this?
Elena smiled up at him. "And what good would it have done?"
Victor was stabbed by the chill in her eyes and ground his back teeth hard.
Annabelle watched him gripping Elena's wrist without letting go, fury practically blazing from her gaze.
It was supposed to be her own engagement banquet, yet this wretch had stolen all the limelight!
Annabelle hurried over, wearing a mask of heartache, and subtly pried the two apart.
"Elena, you've suffered so much this past year. Seeing you like this cuts me to the bone... If we'd known you'd be punished so harshly after stealing that bracelet, we would have protected you.
"The guards and prisoners there must have thought we'd abandoned you and dared to act so wildly. Even if you made a mistake, you shouldn't have been bullied like this..."
On the surface her words dripped with sisterly concern, yet she deliberately reminded everyone that Elena had "stolen something," implying she deserved the beating.
After staging that little scene of sisterly affection, Annabelle added, "Sister, you're unwell—go home and rest. I'll personally drag out the people who hurt you!"
"Sorry for letting everyone witness this farce today. I'll have someone escort my sister home first," Annabelle announced.
She could hardly wait to be rid of Elena.
"Hold it!" a stern voice suddenly rang out.
Annabelle's brows knitted sharply; unease shot through her.
Everyone turned toward the sound.
An elderly man in a plain traditional suit, hair as white as snow, walked in from outside.
Hands clasped behind his back, his figure bent slightly forward, yet his stride remained firm.
His expression was dark, but the moment he saw Elena, it softened; he quickened his steps to her side.
"Ellie!"
He cupped her hands, pain flooding his eyes. "It's been over a year—how did you get this thin? And these injuries!"
The man was Sir Whitmore, Victor's grandfather.
Elena and Victor had been engaged since childhood, and both families had watched them grow up; Sir Whitmore had always adored her.
It had been far too long since anyone had shown Elena genuine concern, and she stood there, momentarily dazed.
Sir Whitmore's eyes grew moist with pity. "Ellie, it's Grandpa. Why won't you call me? You must have suffered terribly to become so quiet."
Elena's throat tightened. "Grandpa Whitmore," she whispered.
"Good girl." Sir Whitmore squeezed her hands, then looked at Victor and Annabelle, his gaze suddenly sharp and severe.
Annabelle Bennett blurted out in a panic, "Sir Whitmore."
Sir Whitmore gave no sign he'd heard her. Instead, Victor Whitmore smoothed over the awkwardness and asked, "Grandpa, what brings you here?"
An unexplainable rage surged inside him, burning until he could barely breathe.
He strode up, seized her wrist, and demanded, "Why didn't you tell me yesterday?"
Elena stopped laughing and looked at him. "What does President Whitmore want me to say?"
Victor tamped down the fury in his chest, but his voice was low and frightening. "You were covered with injuries—why didn't you tell me yesterday?"
In the past, even a chipped manicure had been enough for her to cling to him and pout for half a day.
How had it come to this?
Elena smiled up at him. "And what good would it have done?"
Victor was stabbed by the chill in her eyes and ground his back teeth hard.
Annabelle watched him gripping Elena's wrist without letting go, fury practically blazing from her gaze.
It was supposed to be her own engagement banquet, yet this wretch had stolen all the limelight!
Annabelle hurried over, wearing a mask of heartache, and subtly pried the two apart.
"Elena, you've suffered so much this past year. Seeing you like this cuts me to the bone... If we'd known you'd be punished so harshly after stealing that bracelet, we would have protected you.
"The guards and prisoners there must have thought we'd abandoned you and dared to act so wildly. Even if you made a mistake, you shouldn't have been bullied like this..."
On the surface her words dripped with sisterly concern, yet she deliberately reminded everyone that Elena had "stolen something," implying she deserved the beating.
After staging that little scene of sisterly affection, Annabelle added, "Sister, you're unwell—go home and rest. I'll personally drag out the people who hurt you!"
"Sorry for letting everyone witness this farce today. I'll have someone escort my sister home first," Annabelle announced.
She could hardly wait to be rid of Elena.
"Hold it!" a stern voice suddenly rang out.
Annabelle's brows knitted sharply; unease shot through her.
Everyone turned toward the sound.
An elderly man in a plain traditional suit, hair as white as snow, walked in from outside.
Hands clasped behind his back, his figure bent slightly forward, yet his stride remained firm.
His expression was dark, but the moment he saw Elena, it softened; he quickened his steps to her side.
"Ellie!"
He cupped her hands, pain flooding his eyes. "It's been over a year—how did you get this thin? And these injuries!"
The man was Sir Whitmore, Victor's grandfather.
Elena and Victor had been engaged since childhood, and both families had watched them grow up; Sir Whitmore had always adored her.
It had been far too long since anyone had shown Elena genuine concern, and she stood there, momentarily dazed.
Sir Whitmore's eyes grew moist with pity. "Ellie, it's Grandpa. Why won't you call me? You must have suffered terribly to become so quiet."
Elena's throat tightened. "Grandpa Whitmore," she whispered.
"Good girl." Sir Whitmore squeezed her hands, then looked at Victor and Annabelle, his gaze suddenly sharp and severe.
Annabelle Bennett blurted out in a panic, "Sir Whitmore."
Sir Whitmore gave no sign he'd heard her. Instead, Victor Whitmore smoothed over the awkwardness and asked, "Grandpa, what brings you here?"
End of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back Chapter 33. Continue reading Chapter 34 or return to Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back book page.