Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 71: Chapter 71
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 71: Chapter 71. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
Adaline had not expected Sir Whitmore to strike so hard. After a moment of shock, she rushed to steer the crowd's reaction.
"Elena! How could you commit such a disgraceful act and humiliate the Bennett family? Have you no sense of decency?"
"Enough!" Sir Whitmore barked. "Ellie is not that kind of girl."
He stepped forward. "Ellie, tell Grandpa— that man forced you, didn't he?"
"Elena Bennett!" a low, thunderous roar cut through the room.
Julian Bennett strode in, his face so dark it looked carved from ice, as though he meant to tear the drug-addled woman apart.
Elena, oblivious to the onlookers, writhed under the raging drug. Soft, embarrassing moans slipped from her lips while her fingers brushed over her own skin in helpless, sensual arcs.
Julian glanced at the gawking guests clustered in the doorway. Jaw clenched, he finally snapped, strode over, and yanked her off the bed.
With a merciless swing he slapped her. "I'll beat the shamelessness out of you!" The blow sent her crashing to the floor with a dull thud. Half her face went numb, yet the drug continued to scorch through her veins, mocking any hope of self-control.
Sir Whitmore's eyes flew wide in shock. "Who gave you permission to strike Ellie?" he barked.
Swinging a chair over his shoulder, Sir Whitmore smashed it against the man's back, hurled the piece aside, then crouched to support the fallen figure. "Ellie... how could it be you?" he cried.
Sir Whitmore's voice dropped to a menacing growl.
Adaline glanced over, puzzled. The woman's loose hair, flung aside by that slap, exposed a pair of fever-red cheeks.
The instant she recognized that face, Adaline's knees buckled and she toppled backward in fright.
"Good heavens—Annie! My Annie! How can it be you?" she wailed.
Julian Bennett lunged forward; sure enough, the person sprawled on the floor was Annabelle Bennett.
Lawrence Bennett staggered, clutching his forehead as dizziness threatened to pull him under.
Realizing the scandal's culprit was Annie, Sir Whitmore's tense shoulders loosened. He stopped wondering whether she had been framed and rose with a dark, forbidding expression.
Unable even to stand, Adaline crawled over, gathered Annie in her arms, and sobbed, "Annie, tell Mom what happened! How could the one in that bed be you—how?"
Bracing himself on a side table, Lawrence swung toward the gawking crowd at the doorway and roared, "What are you staring at? Get out—now!"
Spectators still pointed at the delirious Annabelle, whispering and gesturing with unbridled curiosity.
Sir Whitmore's brow knitted. From the family's reactions alone, he could guess how they treated Elena in daily life.
If they had believed Elena was in that room, they would have beaten and cursed her, eager to see the whole world spit on her.
But the moment they learned the disgrace was Annie's, their hearts shattered, and they wanted to claw out every watching eye.
Elena wasn't their blood, yet they had raised her for twenty years. How could they still be so cruel? Was there truly no affection at all?
Just then Victor Whitmore burst in, seized Annie's arm, and ground out, "Elena Bennett—are you that desperate?"
When he saw her face clearly, his brows slammed together. "Annie?"
Annie's unfocused eyes fluttered open; she lunged, pressing her lips to his. "Victor... Victor, please, give me what I need—hurry, I beg you..."
"Elena! How could you commit such a disgraceful act and humiliate the Bennett family? Have you no sense of decency?"
"Enough!" Sir Whitmore barked. "Ellie is not that kind of girl."
He stepped forward. "Ellie, tell Grandpa— that man forced you, didn't he?"
"Elena Bennett!" a low, thunderous roar cut through the room.
Julian Bennett strode in, his face so dark it looked carved from ice, as though he meant to tear the drug-addled woman apart.
Elena, oblivious to the onlookers, writhed under the raging drug. Soft, embarrassing moans slipped from her lips while her fingers brushed over her own skin in helpless, sensual arcs.
Julian glanced at the gawking guests clustered in the doorway. Jaw clenched, he finally snapped, strode over, and yanked her off the bed.
With a merciless swing he slapped her. "I'll beat the shamelessness out of you!" The blow sent her crashing to the floor with a dull thud. Half her face went numb, yet the drug continued to scorch through her veins, mocking any hope of self-control.
Sir Whitmore's eyes flew wide in shock. "Who gave you permission to strike Ellie?" he barked.
Swinging a chair over his shoulder, Sir Whitmore smashed it against the man's back, hurled the piece aside, then crouched to support the fallen figure. "Ellie... how could it be you?" he cried.
Sir Whitmore's voice dropped to a menacing growl.
Adaline glanced over, puzzled. The woman's loose hair, flung aside by that slap, exposed a pair of fever-red cheeks.
The instant she recognized that face, Adaline's knees buckled and she toppled backward in fright.
"Good heavens—Annie! My Annie! How can it be you?" she wailed.
Julian Bennett lunged forward; sure enough, the person sprawled on the floor was Annabelle Bennett.
Lawrence Bennett staggered, clutching his forehead as dizziness threatened to pull him under.
Realizing the scandal's culprit was Annie, Sir Whitmore's tense shoulders loosened. He stopped wondering whether she had been framed and rose with a dark, forbidding expression.
Unable even to stand, Adaline crawled over, gathered Annie in her arms, and sobbed, "Annie, tell Mom what happened! How could the one in that bed be you—how?"
Bracing himself on a side table, Lawrence swung toward the gawking crowd at the doorway and roared, "What are you staring at? Get out—now!"
Spectators still pointed at the delirious Annabelle, whispering and gesturing with unbridled curiosity.
Sir Whitmore's brow knitted. From the family's reactions alone, he could guess how they treated Elena in daily life.
If they had believed Elena was in that room, they would have beaten and cursed her, eager to see the whole world spit on her.
But the moment they learned the disgrace was Annie's, their hearts shattered, and they wanted to claw out every watching eye.
Elena wasn't their blood, yet they had raised her for twenty years. How could they still be so cruel? Was there truly no affection at all?
Just then Victor Whitmore burst in, seized Annie's arm, and ground out, "Elena Bennett—are you that desperate?"
When he saw her face clearly, his brows slammed together. "Annie?"
Annie's unfocused eyes fluttered open; she lunged, pressing her lips to his. "Victor... Victor, please, give me what I need—hurry, I beg you..."
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