Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 60: Chapter 60
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 60: Chapter 60. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
Elena's fluid, confident performance left Annabelle Bennett staring, dumbfounded, at her sister's side profile.
Elena set the brush down and turned to Sir Whitmore. "Grandpa, may you enjoy joy, happiness and great health!"
Sir Whitmore beamed, nodding again and again as he studied the Crane-and-Longevity scroll. "Wonderful—marvelous! Ellie, you've truly opened Grandpa's eyes today. I'll hang this in my bedroom so whenever I see it I'll remember my granddaughter painted it for me herself.
"Your present pleases me beyond words!"
Elena's smile blossomed. "Thank you, Grandpa. I'm glad you like it."
Annabelle stared at Sir Whitmore in disbelief.
That ragged painting? He claims he loves it—and wants to admire it every day? Then what does he think of the tea I bought for nearly half a million?' Annabelle fumed in silence.
Annabelle drew a slow breath, forced a smile, and said, "Sister's painting is certainly vivid, but..."
She abruptly shifted gears and said, "Sir Whitmore's birthday party is far too important for you to hand over a damaged gift—that's downright improper! And just look at what Elena brought: a Hundred Longevity Characters Scroll. Every single character is a blessing for his long life; if even one is missing, the whole meaning collapses. Elena is basically cursing Sir Whitmore's health!"
'So eager to tear open my gift earlier—it has to be Annabelle's handiwork,' Elena realized, her brows knitting as the memory clicked. 'She must have been behind the water damage.'
Most likely, Annabelle Bennett was the one pulling strings behind the scenes!
A lazy, almost insolent male voice cut through the tension. "Second Miss Bennett, your talent for sharp tongues is something else."
The sudden voice echoed, deep and unhurried, drawing every eye toward the doorway.
Elena looked up to see a man in a charcoal overcoat strolling in with casual grace. Snowflakes dotted his jet-black hair, and beneath softly curling bangs, his dark, fox-like eyes glimmered with languid disdain.
A few stray snowflakes had settled on the man's jet-black hair, and beneath his slightly wavy fringe a pair of dark, fox-shaped eyes gleamed with wicked depth. His lips were hooked in a faint, tired smile, yet he still managed to project an air of utter disdain for the world.
Someone gasped, "Isn't that Young Master Simon Whitmore? When did he get back from abroad?"
The crowd parted instinctively, leaving a clear path for him.
Annabelle's brows tightened. She had never met Simon, but she had heard how ruthless he could be. What did that remark mean—was he stepping into this mess?
Simon stopped before his father and offered a faint smile. "Dad, your son is late. Happy birthday—may you live forever."
Sir Whitmore snorted. "You came home last night and still arrive this late. What kept you?"
"Enjoying the spectacle," Simon answered, lips curving in a half-smile.
His sharp eyes skimmed over Elena, then settled on Annabelle; the look in them seemed to freeze the air.
"Second Miss Bennett, are you ready to tell the truth yet?"
Annabelle's heart lurched. "Uncle... I don't understand. Please enlighten me."
Simon arched a brow. "You asked for enlightenment. Don't complain later that I never gave you a chance."
Annabelle's pulse hammered; dread pooled in her stomach.
Simon beckoned a waiter. "Bring me last night's hallway footage—third floor, from about 9:40 to 10:00."
Annabelle's chest seized. She suddenly knew exactly what Simon planned—and there was no time to stop him.
It's too late now—there's no stopping it!' he thought in alarm.
Simon watched the footage, then turned a cool smile on Annabelle. "Why were you sneaking into your sister's bedroom, hmm?"
Elena set the brush down and turned to Sir Whitmore. "Grandpa, may you enjoy joy, happiness and great health!"
Sir Whitmore beamed, nodding again and again as he studied the Crane-and-Longevity scroll. "Wonderful—marvelous! Ellie, you've truly opened Grandpa's eyes today. I'll hang this in my bedroom so whenever I see it I'll remember my granddaughter painted it for me herself.
"Your present pleases me beyond words!"
Elena's smile blossomed. "Thank you, Grandpa. I'm glad you like it."
Annabelle stared at Sir Whitmore in disbelief.
That ragged painting? He claims he loves it—and wants to admire it every day? Then what does he think of the tea I bought for nearly half a million?' Annabelle fumed in silence.
Annabelle drew a slow breath, forced a smile, and said, "Sister's painting is certainly vivid, but..."
She abruptly shifted gears and said, "Sir Whitmore's birthday party is far too important for you to hand over a damaged gift—that's downright improper! And just look at what Elena brought: a Hundred Longevity Characters Scroll. Every single character is a blessing for his long life; if even one is missing, the whole meaning collapses. Elena is basically cursing Sir Whitmore's health!"
'So eager to tear open my gift earlier—it has to be Annabelle's handiwork,' Elena realized, her brows knitting as the memory clicked. 'She must have been behind the water damage.'
Most likely, Annabelle Bennett was the one pulling strings behind the scenes!
A lazy, almost insolent male voice cut through the tension. "Second Miss Bennett, your talent for sharp tongues is something else."
The sudden voice echoed, deep and unhurried, drawing every eye toward the doorway.
Elena looked up to see a man in a charcoal overcoat strolling in with casual grace. Snowflakes dotted his jet-black hair, and beneath softly curling bangs, his dark, fox-like eyes glimmered with languid disdain.
A few stray snowflakes had settled on the man's jet-black hair, and beneath his slightly wavy fringe a pair of dark, fox-shaped eyes gleamed with wicked depth. His lips were hooked in a faint, tired smile, yet he still managed to project an air of utter disdain for the world.
Someone gasped, "Isn't that Young Master Simon Whitmore? When did he get back from abroad?"
The crowd parted instinctively, leaving a clear path for him.
Annabelle's brows tightened. She had never met Simon, but she had heard how ruthless he could be. What did that remark mean—was he stepping into this mess?
Simon stopped before his father and offered a faint smile. "Dad, your son is late. Happy birthday—may you live forever."
Sir Whitmore snorted. "You came home last night and still arrive this late. What kept you?"
"Enjoying the spectacle," Simon answered, lips curving in a half-smile.
His sharp eyes skimmed over Elena, then settled on Annabelle; the look in them seemed to freeze the air.
"Second Miss Bennett, are you ready to tell the truth yet?"
Annabelle's heart lurched. "Uncle... I don't understand. Please enlighten me."
Simon arched a brow. "You asked for enlightenment. Don't complain later that I never gave you a chance."
Annabelle's pulse hammered; dread pooled in her stomach.
Simon beckoned a waiter. "Bring me last night's hallway footage—third floor, from about 9:40 to 10:00."
Annabelle's chest seized. She suddenly knew exactly what Simon planned—and there was no time to stop him.
It's too late now—there's no stopping it!' he thought in alarm.
Simon watched the footage, then turned a cool smile on Annabelle. "Why were you sneaking into your sister's bedroom, hmm?"
End of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back Chapter 60. Continue reading Chapter 61 or return to Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back book page.