Chapter 210
Nina had believed that as long as Mr. Bennett lived, she could endure anything else. She would have been willing to live without seeing him again, without any contact—as long as he was still alive. But watching him kiss Cynthia, she realized she couldn't bear it. No one loved him more than she did. So why hadn't he chosen her?
A storm of anger, sorrow, and bitterness coiled in her heart like a serpent, hissing and twisting, refusing to let her find peace.
When Whitney learned Jonathan was still alive, her feelings were conflicted. She had spent years wishing for his death, hoping he would vanish without a trace, as if he had never existed. Yet, when she heard his helicopter had crashed, that survival was impossible, she felt oddly hollow, as though something vital had been ripped from her.
For so long, she had poured her pain and hatred onto Jonathan, blaming him for her suffering. Living with that bitterness had become second nature. But one day, with that supposed "source" gone, it felt as if a piece of her had been carved out, leaving an emptiness she didn't know how to fill.
For days, Whitney had attended the opera house, watching tragedy after tragedy. She moved from the heart-wrenching La Traviata to Otello, finally settling on Macbeth again and again. The actors' performances were captivating. Their voices, filled with raw emotion and haunting sadness, resonated as Hamlet's famous soliloquies rang out, weaving the story's sense of doom and despair.
“To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles…”
As Hamlet pondered his dark fate onstage, the butler quietly approached Whitney, leaning in to murmur, "Ms. Bennett, Mr. Jonathan Bennett… he is alive."
Whitney's face remained expressionless. She raised a hand, dismissing the butler, who promptly withdrew. Her gaze returned to the stage, where Hamlet's line filled the hall:
“O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.”
The actor portraying Hamlet—a solitary figure onstage, drenched in sorrow—reminded Whitney of young Jonathan. At four or five, he had adored her, always trailing behind her when she visited the Bennett manor. Whitney had despised his presence, scowling and shooing him away. Yet, whenever she berated him, he simply smiled.
“Whitney, you haven’t been back in a while. I’ve really missed you.” “Whitney, this cake is delicious. I saved it just for you.” “Whitney, are you free tomorrow? Can you take me to the amusement park?”
The one time Whitney agreed to take Jonathan to an amusement park, she abandoned him there from morning until nightfall. The family frantically searched everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found. She received a beating from Mr. Bennett and was punished by kneeling in the cemetery. Two days later, Jonathan found his way home alone. His clothes were tattered, his body bruised, one shoe missing, and his feet bloody, like a little lost beggar.
No one knew how he’d made it back or what he’d endured in those two days. Yet, when he saw her kneeling in punishment, he covered for her, saying, “It wasn’t her fault—I got lost on my own.”
Over the years, she had inflicted countless cruelties upon him, yet he had never complained to Mr. or Mrs. Bennett. When Jonathan was ten, she pushed him into the pool herself. Jonathan had always feared water and could not swim.
As Jonathan fell, he looked up at Whitney, his eyes filled with disbelief. He struggled, desperately calling out, “Whitney, help me! Help!” Whitney stood by the pool’s edge, unmoved, her fingers clenched, her body trembling. She watched his expression shift from shock to pain, then to despair. When he finally sank, he stopped struggling, simply staring at her with a look of hatred born from utter hopelessness.
Over the years, that look still haunted her dreams. When Jonathan lay still at the bottom of the pool, Whitney’s resolve broke, if only for a moment. She screamed for help, and the butler rushed to pull Jonathan out. By then, Jonathan had been underwater for several minutes. Everyone scrambled to revive him while Whitney watched from the sidelines. What had she been thinking?
Whitney remembered feeling a sharp, unbearable pain in her chest, like something vital had been torn out. She had always believed Jonathan trapped her in a cycle of cruelty and suffering, a constant reminder of the torment she’d endured and the tragic loss of her beloved brother. Yet, in that instant, Whitney realized she didn't want Jonathan to die. The pain had become part of her existence, woven into her very soul. If Jonathan died, it felt as though her spirit would shatter.
Jonathan was revived. When Mr. Bennett demanded an explanation, Jonathan didn't betray her. He simply said he couldn't remember. Everyone assumed his memory loss was due to the near-drowning. But Whitney knew better. From the moment Jonathan opened his eyes, his gaze had changed. It held a fierce resentment, a cold indifference, as though all warmth had drained from his heart.
From that point on, Jonathan resisted her. He stopped trying to please her and stopped smiling. What remained between them was silent defiance, an unspoken war.
Whitney closed her eyes, lost in these memories. Onstage, the performance of Hamlet ended, the actors taking their final bows. As she rose, she realized her face was wet with tears.
Meanwhile, the live stream continued. Everyone knew Jonathan and Cynthia were alive, but no one knew their exact location. Still thrilled by his successful proposal, Jonathan had no one else to share his overflowing joy with—so he grabbed a crab, holding it captive as he poured out his excitement. The crab tried to escape, but Jonathan caught it each time and placed it back in his palm.
“Did you hear that? I have a wife now. Her name’s Cynthia!” he said, grinning. Then, with a serious expression, he added, “So, do you have a wife? What’s her name?”
Cynthia, sitting beside him, shot him a look of pure exasperation. “You’re nuts.”