Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 88: Chapter 88
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 88: Chapter 88. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
Elena instantly understood—Grace was dumping her alone with this old lecher.
Calvin patted the table. "Elena, come on, pour me another drink."
Elena said, "Mr. Zane, too much alcohol harms the body. Why don't we discuss business? Bennett Corporation and Whitmore Group have partnered for years, and soon our families will be in-laws. We can speak openly, can't we?"
Calvin was startled; he truly knew nothing about that engagement and could only dodge the topic.
When Elena still didn't approach, he stood, dragged out the chair beside her, and sat. "Elena, you work too hard. Look at your poor hands, all hurt. Even I feel sorry."
Elena's pulse jumped; she quietly hid her hands behind her back.
"Thank you for the concern, Mr. Zane. Young people heal quickly—these little injuries are nothing."
Up close, Calvin saw that beneath her plain makeup Elena's face was flawless.
Desire flared; he slid an arm around her waist.
Elena shot to her feet. "Mr. Zane, please show some respect."
Grinning, Calvin rose and advanced step by step.
"Elena, life's hard at Bennett Corp. Tell you what—come with me and you'll live in luxury. I'll buy you a villa, pay you every day. You won't have to work at all!"
Elena's face turned icy. "You're not qualified to keep me."
Her words inflamed him at once.
"Not qualified? You're refusing the easy way. Do you know why your boss left you here? She's already given you to me! Obey, or when I hurt you later, don't you dare cry!"
With that, he tore off his belt and lunged, yanking her into his arms.
Elena screamed for help, grabbed a ceramic bowl, and smashed it against his head.
Blood streamed down Calvin's forehead.
Now utterly enraged, he glared and spat, "You little spitfire! I'm damn well taking you tonight!"
"Stay back!" Elena shouted.
Elena fought with every ounce of strength she had, but she was no match for a man of Calvin Zane's size.
In seconds he caught her wrist, flung the tablecloth to the floor with his free hand, and slammed her face-down across the table.
Elena screamed, "Don't you touch me! I'm the Bennett family's eldest daughter! Lay a hand on me and you'll regret it for the rest of your life!"
Her warning accomplished nothing; instead, his palm cracked across her cheek.
Calvin leered and said, "Miss Bennett, is it? I've always wondered what a real heiress tastes like." With that, he tore at her clothes, shredding fabric with a savage tug.
After leaving the clubhouse, Director Grace pulled out her phone and called Annabelle Bennett the very moment she stepped outside, eager to share the news.
Grace laughed into the receiver, "Miss Bennett, I've handed Elena to Calvin Zane of the Whitmore Group. They say the old pervert is awfully inventive in bed. She won't escape tonight—just wait for the update."
Still chuckling, Grace sauntered away from the clubhouse.
At the elevator, Brian Change heard Elena's name, halted his hand on the button, seized a waiter, and asked, "Which suite did that lady book?"
"Seven-o-six," the waiter answered.
Inside Suite 706, Elena had already taken two blistering slaps; stars danced before her eyes, her arms hung limp, and the reeking face bore down on her, closing the distance.
Calvin patted the table. "Elena, come on, pour me another drink."
Elena said, "Mr. Zane, too much alcohol harms the body. Why don't we discuss business? Bennett Corporation and Whitmore Group have partnered for years, and soon our families will be in-laws. We can speak openly, can't we?"
Calvin was startled; he truly knew nothing about that engagement and could only dodge the topic.
When Elena still didn't approach, he stood, dragged out the chair beside her, and sat. "Elena, you work too hard. Look at your poor hands, all hurt. Even I feel sorry."
Elena's pulse jumped; she quietly hid her hands behind her back.
"Thank you for the concern, Mr. Zane. Young people heal quickly—these little injuries are nothing."
Up close, Calvin saw that beneath her plain makeup Elena's face was flawless.
Desire flared; he slid an arm around her waist.
Elena shot to her feet. "Mr. Zane, please show some respect."
Grinning, Calvin rose and advanced step by step.
"Elena, life's hard at Bennett Corp. Tell you what—come with me and you'll live in luxury. I'll buy you a villa, pay you every day. You won't have to work at all!"
Elena's face turned icy. "You're not qualified to keep me."
Her words inflamed him at once.
"Not qualified? You're refusing the easy way. Do you know why your boss left you here? She's already given you to me! Obey, or when I hurt you later, don't you dare cry!"
With that, he tore off his belt and lunged, yanking her into his arms.
Elena screamed for help, grabbed a ceramic bowl, and smashed it against his head.
Blood streamed down Calvin's forehead.
Now utterly enraged, he glared and spat, "You little spitfire! I'm damn well taking you tonight!"
"Stay back!" Elena shouted.
Elena fought with every ounce of strength she had, but she was no match for a man of Calvin Zane's size.
In seconds he caught her wrist, flung the tablecloth to the floor with his free hand, and slammed her face-down across the table.
Elena screamed, "Don't you touch me! I'm the Bennett family's eldest daughter! Lay a hand on me and you'll regret it for the rest of your life!"
Her warning accomplished nothing; instead, his palm cracked across her cheek.
Calvin leered and said, "Miss Bennett, is it? I've always wondered what a real heiress tastes like." With that, he tore at her clothes, shredding fabric with a savage tug.
After leaving the clubhouse, Director Grace pulled out her phone and called Annabelle Bennett the very moment she stepped outside, eager to share the news.
Grace laughed into the receiver, "Miss Bennett, I've handed Elena to Calvin Zane of the Whitmore Group. They say the old pervert is awfully inventive in bed. She won't escape tonight—just wait for the update."
Still chuckling, Grace sauntered away from the clubhouse.
At the elevator, Brian Change heard Elena's name, halted his hand on the button, seized a waiter, and asked, "Which suite did that lady book?"
"Seven-o-six," the waiter answered.
Inside Suite 706, Elena had already taken two blistering slaps; stars danced before her eyes, her arms hung limp, and the reeking face bore down on her, closing the distance.
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