Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 79: Chapter 79
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His voice was unhurried but carried undeniable force. "Tell me, has the Whitmore family grown so poor we can't even hire servants? Must a guest pour the tea and carry the trays now?"
While he spoke, his thumb lazily brushed the back of her hand.
Feeling the intimate stroke, Elena's heart jumped; instinctively, she tried to pull away.
Simon held fast and ordered, "Sit."
Left with no choice, she sat back down.
He still did not release her, his fingertips tracing slow circles in her palm.
Warren forced an uneasy smile. "Simon, you misunderstand. Father dotes on Elena, so I treat her like family—she almost became part of us, after all."
Simon's lips curved. "That 'almost' is worlds apart, Brother, and more importantly, it will never happen in this lifetime."
He stated the fact casually, yet the raw possessiveness beneath the words made the air snap tight around the table.
Mrs. Whitmore broke in at just the right moment. "Victor, hurry and fetch your Uncle a cup of coffee."
"I'm avoiding coffee. Fruit tea will do—I'm watching my health," Simon interjected.
Victor Whitmore had no choice but to rise obediently and prepare it.
Moments later he set the steaming cup beside Simon. "Uncle, your tea."
Simon glanced at it, then frowned. "My stomach's acting up. Too sweet and sour for me. Elena, you have it."
Victor's brows knotted into a hard line.
Every move Simon made was a clear show of dominance.
Elena turned toward him, uncertain. "I—"
Simon lifted a brow. "You don't like it?"
Her nerves fluttered—he was doing this on purpose.
"No, thank you, Uncle." Elena lifted the cup and took a sip.
Victor narrowed his eyes at the two of them; instinct shouted that whatever lay between Simon and Elena was far from simple.
Warren tried a gentler tack. "Simon, I heard you'd just returned and already taken over the East End amusement-park project. Father meant for Victor to handle it. Did he ask you to intervene?"
For Warren, that was practically deferential.
Simon remained arrogantly unfazed. "You're confused again, Brother. A project that small hardly warrants Father's attention."
He finished with a light, almost mocking smile.
Warren's expression darkened—three hundred acres, and Simon called it small!
Simon's gaze drifted to an overfilled bowl of soup; frowning, he beckoned the chef.
"Who taught you to fill the bowl this high?"
The chef blanched. "Young Master, shall I replace it? I'll change it right away!"
"No need," Simon said pointedly. "Just remember next time—don't overfill the dishes. See? One gentle turn of the chopsticks and the broth spills everywhere."
"A pot only holds so much rice—understand?"
The chef bobbed his head frantically. "Understood, Young Master. Thank you for the lesson."
Simon laid down his chopsticks. "Brother, I'm full. You and your wife enjoy the rest."
With that, he rose and left the dining room.
Warren ground his molars; Simon's veiled insults were impossible to miss.
Yet with all real power in Simon's hands, Warren couldn't utter a single word of protest.
The more he stewed, the angrier he grew; at last he slammed his chopsticks onto the table and stormed out.
While he spoke, his thumb lazily brushed the back of her hand.
Feeling the intimate stroke, Elena's heart jumped; instinctively, she tried to pull away.
Simon held fast and ordered, "Sit."
Left with no choice, she sat back down.
He still did not release her, his fingertips tracing slow circles in her palm.
Warren forced an uneasy smile. "Simon, you misunderstand. Father dotes on Elena, so I treat her like family—she almost became part of us, after all."
Simon's lips curved. "That 'almost' is worlds apart, Brother, and more importantly, it will never happen in this lifetime."
He stated the fact casually, yet the raw possessiveness beneath the words made the air snap tight around the table.
Mrs. Whitmore broke in at just the right moment. "Victor, hurry and fetch your Uncle a cup of coffee."
"I'm avoiding coffee. Fruit tea will do—I'm watching my health," Simon interjected.
Victor Whitmore had no choice but to rise obediently and prepare it.
Moments later he set the steaming cup beside Simon. "Uncle, your tea."
Simon glanced at it, then frowned. "My stomach's acting up. Too sweet and sour for me. Elena, you have it."
Victor's brows knotted into a hard line.
Every move Simon made was a clear show of dominance.
Elena turned toward him, uncertain. "I—"
Simon lifted a brow. "You don't like it?"
Her nerves fluttered—he was doing this on purpose.
"No, thank you, Uncle." Elena lifted the cup and took a sip.
Victor narrowed his eyes at the two of them; instinct shouted that whatever lay between Simon and Elena was far from simple.
Warren tried a gentler tack. "Simon, I heard you'd just returned and already taken over the East End amusement-park project. Father meant for Victor to handle it. Did he ask you to intervene?"
For Warren, that was practically deferential.
Simon remained arrogantly unfazed. "You're confused again, Brother. A project that small hardly warrants Father's attention."
He finished with a light, almost mocking smile.
Warren's expression darkened—three hundred acres, and Simon called it small!
Simon's gaze drifted to an overfilled bowl of soup; frowning, he beckoned the chef.
"Who taught you to fill the bowl this high?"
The chef blanched. "Young Master, shall I replace it? I'll change it right away!"
"No need," Simon said pointedly. "Just remember next time—don't overfill the dishes. See? One gentle turn of the chopsticks and the broth spills everywhere."
"A pot only holds so much rice—understand?"
The chef bobbed his head frantically. "Understood, Young Master. Thank you for the lesson."
Simon laid down his chopsticks. "Brother, I'm full. You and your wife enjoy the rest."
With that, he rose and left the dining room.
Warren ground his molars; Simon's veiled insults were impossible to miss.
Yet with all real power in Simon's hands, Warren couldn't utter a single word of protest.
The more he stewed, the angrier he grew; at last he slammed his chopsticks onto the table and stormed out.
End of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back Chapter 79. Continue reading Chapter 80 or return to Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back book page.