When Two Winters Met (Henrietta and Yosef) novel Chapter 112

"No, it wasn't like that," Henrietta explained. "I was falling fast, so he had to grab me quickly."

Quinton didn't say a word, his eyes fixed on her wrist. Henrietta tried to pull her hand back again, but he wouldn't let go.

"Quinton, let go," she said, her voice firm.

He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, but his gaze remained locked on the bruise. Henrietta frowned and tugged again, but it was useless. A moment later, he finally released her.

Just as she was about to urge him again to go rest, Yosef's voice suddenly came through the phone. "Henrietta, who's there with you?"

He knew perfectly well who it was; he had heard everything. Yet his tone was calm and composed, granting both Henrietta and Quinton a measure of dignity. It was a testament to his character. Had it been Joaquin, he would have been screaming and probably already on his way to the Sargent estate.

Henrietta quickly picked up her phone. Quinton stared at her. "Henrietta, who was that? When... when did you answer a call?"

The situation was spiraling into chaos.

"I must have hit the answer button by mistake," Henrietta said, taking a deep breath. "I didn't even notice. I'm sorry."

She looked at the screen, where Yosef sat at a table with Calvert standing behind him.

"Mr. Nash, that's my brother," she explained to Yosef. "I'm sorry, he's... he's had too much to drink."

Hearing Yosef's name, Quinton froze.

Yosef nodded. "I see. If he's drunk, have a maid help him back to his room."

Quinton's eyes slowly widened, turning redder and redder until they were bloodshot. He seemed to be fighting for control, but his hands clenched into tight fists and his lips began to tremble.

After a long moment, he finally managed to choke out, "Oh. Okay... that's... that's good. I'm sorry. Tonight, I'm sorry, I drank too much."

Henrietta let out a sigh of relief, though her heart felt heavy. "You should go rest. Do you need me to call a maid to help you?"

Quinton shook his head but didn't move. "Henrietta," he asked, his voice raw, "do you... do you love Yosef?"

The question caught her off guard. After a pause, she answered, "He's a good man, a perfect man. He's my ideal partner. I... I like him very much."

It was a fondness that had nothing to do with romantic love. He was such an exceptional person; how could anyone not like him?