Called Off the Wedding, Left Him Bankrupt novel Chapter 26

"Want me to drive you home?"

Cynthia shook her head. "That's not necessary."

She slipped out of Benedict's grasp and strode out of the conference room.

Giselle scrambled to her knees and crawled to block her path.

"Cynthia…"

Cynthia paused, a faint smile curving her lips.

"Miss Channing, you can drop the act."

She glanced down at Giselle, voice cool and edged with mock concern. "You're not really fit for work at the moment. Wouldn't it be easier to let them keep you safe and pampered, like a little songbird in a gilded cage?"

Her words hung in the air, pointed and unmistakable. Benedict's expression stiffened, a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

Giselle lowered her head at once, falling silent.

Benedict's face had gone rigid, that guilty look refusing to fade.

"Cynthia…" he began.

Cynthia's gaze slid to Giselle's hand, where angry red welts from a burn stood out against pale skin.

"Look at your hand. It's already turning red—it'll be much worse by tonight. There's not much work you'll be able to do for now, is there?"

Her tone was gentle, almost sympathetic, and Benedict's tense posture seemed to loosen. He moved closer to her, slipping an arm around her waist, lowering his head to murmur softly.

"I shouldn't have let things get so out of hand on the one day you actually come to the office. That's on me. I'll clear my schedule for the rest of the day—let me keep you company."

Cynthia didn't answer. She turned, glancing back over her shoulder. Giselle was slumped on the floor, face ashen, glaring up at her with a mixture of resentment and despair.

Benedict's grip at her waist unconsciously tightened.

He's worried I'll make things worse for her, Cynthia thought.

She lifted Benedict's hand off with a flick of her wrist and strode down the hall to her own office.

At the door, she stopped and shot Benedict a look, nodding for him to open it.

He let out a resigned sigh and, seeing she wouldn't take no for an answer, unlocked the door for her.

Cynthia paused in the doorway, her eyes icy as she surveyed the familiar space.

The office layout was largely unchanged. The photo of her and Benedict still sat on the bookshelf. But now, the room was cluttered with personal items that didn't belong to her.

Cynthia turned and walked out of the office.

Benedict followed, a few paces behind. He noticed a thin cut across her palm and reached for her hand.

"You're hurt."

Maybe it was adrenaline, but Cynthia hadn't even noticed the sting. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held on, steering her toward his office.

She shook him off, her voice flat with irritation. "It's nothing. Not worth fussing over."

The words hit him like a blow, leaving him tense and frustrated.

His face darkened. He stepped closer, his tone tight and insistent.

"All right, you've yelled, you've smashed up the place—I let you do whatever you needed. But don't joke about your own health. Don't hurt yourself just to get a reaction from me, to make me feel guilty."

Cynthia stared at him with cold, impenetrable eyes. She didn't answer, but inwardly, the whole thing just felt absurd.

Benedict reached for her again, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his embrace, holding her tight.

"Cynthia, don't do this. I already feel guilty enough."