His frigid expression betrayed his disinterest in engaging with Elsa, his chilly demeanour serving as a barricade against her probing. His impassivity spoke volumes, broadcasting a message of resolute detachment.
Dismissive of Elsa’s protests, Remington extricated himself from her grip, offering a callous suggestion.
“You should attend to your brother’s welfare. The horse race is this afternoon, and you would not want him to miss it,” he stated with detached indifference.
Finding no sympathy from Remington, Elsa’s mouth tightened in displeasure as she left with Rhett, her dissatisfaction lingering in the air.
Remington’s controlled gesture ushered the others from the luxurious living room, leaving only himself and Peterson in the expansive space, their tension palpable amid the now-barren room.
“Sit,” Remington commanded and sat on the sofa himself.
Peterson cautiously approached Remington, his body language radiating apprehension as he addressed the latter with a single word: “Sir…”
Despite his relation to the family, Peterson was an outcast within their ranks, any notion of kinship strictly prohibited by the weight of tradition and prejudice.
Remington’s pensive silence was punctuated by a subtle tap on his knee, Peterson’s address acknowledged yet unanswered for several tense moments.
Noting Peterson’s fear, his demeanor softened as he inquired with a hint of empathy, “I understand you’ve been treated unfairly recently.”
Peterson’s immediate refutation of Remington’s suggestion was adamant.
“No, not at all! The young masters are simply a bit impish. I hold no grudge whatsoever against them.”
His tone was one of resolute submission, a practiced deference to the family’s established hierarchy.
‘s
Remington’s probing gaze, laden with the recollection of past events, was fixed on Peterson as he continued, “Your refusal to blame them suggests that they are indeed bullying you, does it not?”
Peterson stayed quiet. He was really scared Remington would get angry.
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Remington continued, “I’m really sorry. I should have paid more attention to what was happening. I’ll speak to father about it and make sure no one messes with you again. If they do, just come straight to me.” Remington promised to protect Peterson from any further mistreatment.
Peterson, displaying the utmost deference, thanked Remington with his head bowed. “Thank you, sir,” he murmured.
With a wave of his hand, Remington dismissed his gratitude, replying, “You are, in a sense, my half-brother. From now on, you may call me ‘Remington’ .”
Peterson, for so long treated as a pariah within the family, was left speechless at Remington’s unexpected acknowledgment of their familial bond, struggling to articulate his gratitude.
“Just be yourself around me. It’s clear that Miss Moore has taken a liking to you-she’s been defending you a lot.”
Peterson’s eyes darted up to meet Remington’s penetrating gaze, only to quickly snap back down as he hurriedly clarified his relationship with Miss Moore. “It’s not what you think, sir! Miss Moore feels sorry for me, that’s all! Please, don’t get the wrong idea!”
Remington’s expression darkened as Peterson’s anxious demeanor grated on his nerves. “I was merely asking a question,” he said, his tone verging on annoyance. “There’s no need to be so nervous.”
As he fumbled for a response, Remington cut him off. “Forget it. You’ve got a race to prepare for this afternoon, haven’t you? Go get ready.”
As Peterson turned and hastily made his exit, Remington’s gaze hardened, like the icy surface of a frozen lake.