Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 78: Chapter 78
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 78: Chapter 78. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
Elena's fingers clenched around her chopsticks; for a long time she said nothing.
The rest of the Bennett family grew increasingly anxious.
Sir Whitmore glanced from Elena to the other Bennetts, apparently understanding.
His expression darkened; he slammed his chopsticks onto the table.
"Since everyone is here, let me make this clear! As long as this old man still draws breath, Annabelle Bennett will never set foot in the Whitmore household!"
Annabelle's face drained of color, as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head; a sharp chill seized her limbs.
She balled her fists so tightly her knuckles whitened.
To her, Sir Whitmore's words were no different from grinding her dignity into the dirt.
I'll never forget this humiliation for as long as I live,' she swore silently.
With that, Sir Whitmore rose and left the dining room.
Annabelle sat rigid in her chair; tears burst from her eyes and streamed down.
She sprang up and ran out of the dining room, then out of the estate.
Adaline hurried after her.
Lawrence Bennett's face was likewise unable to keep its composure. Humiliating his daughter was the same as humiliating him.
He gave a cold snort, then strode away.
Next, Julian shot Elena a vicious glare.
"Elena Bennett, you'd better pray Annie's all right!" he snarled, then stormed off.
And just like that, the meal dissolved into chaos.
Only Elena, the two Whitmore brothers, and Victor Whitmore with his mother remained at the table; the air felt heavy.
Simon Whitmore, however, was unaffected. Unhurried and elegant, he continued eating and, seeing Elena unmoving, even placed another meatball into her bowl.
Warren Whitmore chuckled. "Elena, you and Simon probably aren't acquainted yet. Let me introduce you. He's my younger brother, so you can call him Uncle Simon like Victor does."
Elena nodded faintly but the title did not pass her lips.
She hadn't interacted much with Warren before, yet she knew that beneath his kindly façade lay formidable depth; he was no one to take lightly.
After all, in a powerful clan like the Whitmores, harmony was often only skin-deep while storms brewed underneath.
Back then, she'd wanted nothing more than to marry Victor, but thinking about it now—had the wedding gone through, she would've been dragged into all this Whitmore intrigue;
between Warren and Simon, each more formidable than the last, what peaceful days could she have hoped for?
Warren Whitmore's brows drew together in irritation. "Elena," he said, "stop standing around and pour your Uncle a glass of wine—show him the respect he deserves."
Simon Whitmore kept eating as though nothing mattered, his face impassive; yet deep inside those ink-dark eyes, a frigid undertow was already gathering strength.
Not wishing to embarrass Warren, Elena Bennett could only rise and fetch the bottle.
She stopped beside Simon and whispered, "Uncle, I—"
Simon laid a hand over his glass and, unhurried, turned toward Warren. A faint smile shimmered in his eyes, but the chill behind it could have frozen the room.
"Brother," Simon said mildly, "I never drink—have you forgotten?"
He then leveled a dark look at Elena, his tone edged with reproach. "Elena, why are you still standing there? Your Uncle doesn't drink—go bring him a cup of coffee. Must I teach you every bit of manners?"
Elena pressed her lips together. The two brothers were forever waging their silent war—why did she have to be dragged into it?
She set the wine bottle down and had just reached for the coffee when Simon's fingers closed firmly around her hand.
The rest of the Bennett family grew increasingly anxious.
Sir Whitmore glanced from Elena to the other Bennetts, apparently understanding.
His expression darkened; he slammed his chopsticks onto the table.
"Since everyone is here, let me make this clear! As long as this old man still draws breath, Annabelle Bennett will never set foot in the Whitmore household!"
Annabelle's face drained of color, as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head; a sharp chill seized her limbs.
She balled her fists so tightly her knuckles whitened.
To her, Sir Whitmore's words were no different from grinding her dignity into the dirt.
I'll never forget this humiliation for as long as I live,' she swore silently.
With that, Sir Whitmore rose and left the dining room.
Annabelle sat rigid in her chair; tears burst from her eyes and streamed down.
She sprang up and ran out of the dining room, then out of the estate.
Adaline hurried after her.
Lawrence Bennett's face was likewise unable to keep its composure. Humiliating his daughter was the same as humiliating him.
He gave a cold snort, then strode away.
Next, Julian shot Elena a vicious glare.
"Elena Bennett, you'd better pray Annie's all right!" he snarled, then stormed off.
And just like that, the meal dissolved into chaos.
Only Elena, the two Whitmore brothers, and Victor Whitmore with his mother remained at the table; the air felt heavy.
Simon Whitmore, however, was unaffected. Unhurried and elegant, he continued eating and, seeing Elena unmoving, even placed another meatball into her bowl.
Warren Whitmore chuckled. "Elena, you and Simon probably aren't acquainted yet. Let me introduce you. He's my younger brother, so you can call him Uncle Simon like Victor does."
Elena nodded faintly but the title did not pass her lips.
She hadn't interacted much with Warren before, yet she knew that beneath his kindly façade lay formidable depth; he was no one to take lightly.
After all, in a powerful clan like the Whitmores, harmony was often only skin-deep while storms brewed underneath.
Back then, she'd wanted nothing more than to marry Victor, but thinking about it now—had the wedding gone through, she would've been dragged into all this Whitmore intrigue;
between Warren and Simon, each more formidable than the last, what peaceful days could she have hoped for?
Warren Whitmore's brows drew together in irritation. "Elena," he said, "stop standing around and pour your Uncle a glass of wine—show him the respect he deserves."
Simon Whitmore kept eating as though nothing mattered, his face impassive; yet deep inside those ink-dark eyes, a frigid undertow was already gathering strength.
Not wishing to embarrass Warren, Elena Bennett could only rise and fetch the bottle.
She stopped beside Simon and whispered, "Uncle, I—"
Simon laid a hand over his glass and, unhurried, turned toward Warren. A faint smile shimmered in his eyes, but the chill behind it could have frozen the room.
"Brother," Simon said mildly, "I never drink—have you forgotten?"
He then leveled a dark look at Elena, his tone edged with reproach. "Elena, why are you still standing there? Your Uncle doesn't drink—go bring him a cup of coffee. Must I teach you every bit of manners?"
Elena pressed her lips together. The two brothers were forever waging their silent war—why did she have to be dragged into it?
She set the wine bottle down and had just reached for the coffee when Simon's fingers closed firmly around her hand.
End of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back Chapter 78. Continue reading Chapter 79 or return to Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back book page.