When Two Winters Met (Henrietta and Yosef) novel Chapter 113

Quinton fell silent, but he still didn't leave. He couldn't bring himself to. After a long pause, he finally said, "Okay. I understand."

Seeing that he was still lingering, Henrietta had to be more direct. "Quinton, I have the utmost respect for you."

She left the rest unsaid, allowing him to keep his dignity.

"I know," he nodded, finally pushing himself to his feet. "I'm going back to my room. You should get some rest, too."

"Alright," Henrietta said, also standing and picking up her phone. "I'll see you out."

Quinton's steps were heavy and slow, each one a mark of his defeat. As he reached the door, he realized there were so many things he still wanted to say to her, things he could talk about forever. But... it seemed he had lost the chance to say any of them. He stood frozen in the doorway.

Henrietta had to be the one to break the silence. "Goodnight, Quinton."

It was a clear dismissal.

He turned to look at her, his eyes still a deep red, churning with a storm of complex, suppressed emotions. Finally, he managed to say, "Congratulations on your marriage, Henrietta."

With that, his Adam's apple bobbed, his voice catching in a sob. He turned and walked away.

Henrietta frowned slightly as she closed the door. Seeing him like that left a complicated feeling in her heart. To her, Quinton had always been the strong, dependable older brother, capable and stoic. He was her rock. But tonight, he had been on the verge of collapse, holding himself together by a thread.

Taking a deep breath, she sat on her bed and looked at her phone. The man on the screen was impossibly handsome, but she didn't know what to say. Although there was no misunderstanding, the situation still felt awkward.

They looked at each other in silence for a few seconds before Henrietta spoke first. "I'm sorry, I didn't know—"

For the first time, Yosef cut her off. "You have nothing to apologize for. This isn't your fault."

Henrietta pressed her lips together.

"I'm not surprised," he added.

His comment left her at a loss for words, only deepening the awkwardness. Then she remembered her bruised wrist. She lifted her hand to examine it; it was already turning a bluish-purple. She was still trying to figure out how to explain using him as a cover story...

But Yosef spoke first. "It looks worse. Have you put anything on it?"

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify