Pampered By My Three Brothers: The Return Of The Neglected Heiress - Chapter 451

Chapter 451: A rabbit among the wolves
[PRESENT TIME]

Atlas jolted awake, suppressing a memory he desperately wanted to avoid. “That was close.” His body tensed, and a shallow breath escaped through his nostrils.

At that moment, he noticed a figure settling into the seat across from him. The lines between his brows deepened as he lifted his gaze to meet the man’s pair of dark eyes.

Atlas straightened. “Mr. Pierson.”

“Mr. Atlas Bennet,” Zoren responded evenly. “I hope you don’t mind; I took the liberty of sitting down.”

“It’s alright. Thank you for accepting my invitation on such short notice.”

“There’s no need for thanks. I’m just glad I didn’t have to wait long,” Zoren trailed off, raising his brows. “…and the timing of your call was impeccable.”

Impeccable timing…

Atlas studied Zoren’s expression, wondering if Penny’s drunken state had anything to do with his comment. Though Zoren still appeared paler than most, he didn’t look as drained as the time he had picked up Penny for their first date.

“Last night…” Atlas paused, scrutinizing every subtle shift in Zoren’s expression. The slight raise of Zoren’s brow hinted that something indeed had happened the previous night. “…did my sister… happen to see you?”

Zoren hesitated, as though weighing the tone of Atlas’s question. There was a carefulness, a trace of reluctance, something Atlas rarely displayed unless compelled by a powerful reason.

“Yes.” Zoren nodded. “She… did.”

Even Zoren noticed a similar hesitance in his own voice. Perhaps it stemmed from not wanting to disclose what Penny had done to him the previous night.

‘Hang on,’ Zoren squinted slightly. ‘Could he also be harboring a memory he doesn’t want to share?’

Zoren doubted Atlas’s memory was remotely similar to his own—certainly not the kind that involved being blueballed, as they were siblings—but he sensed the weight of trauma in Atlas’s unspoken past. Zoren’s men would likely sympathize with him.

“I see…” Atlas murmured, nodding slowly.

Silence stretched between them for several long minutes. Neither seemed inclined to break it, unsure of what to say. It was Atlas who eventually spoke again.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his smile forced.

Zoren offered a faint smile in return. “Thankfully.”

“Hah…” Atlas scoffed lightly, scratching his temple with a finger. “I suppose that’s good news.”

“It is… though my men might disagree,” Zoren replied, arching his brows, pausing slightly. “They had quite the experience last night.”

At that, Atlas’s expression tightened. “Was it… that bad?”

“Not as bad as one might imagine, given their line of work. But it’s definitely not something they were prepared for.”

“I see.” Atlas’s forced smile faltered, imagining the chaos Zoren had endured.

“And you?” Zoren asked. “Are you okay?”

“Thankfully, yes,” Atlas answered quickly, before another heavy silence fell between them.

Just then, their tea arrived. They both lifted their cups in unison, took a sip, and placed them down simultaneously, sighing at the same time, casting amused glances at one another.

“She shouldn’t drink next time,” they said in unison, before another silence—this time lighter—settled over them.

They exchanged looks, then chuckled.

“She shouldn’t drink ever again,” Atlas said when the laughter subsided, and Zoren nodded in agreement.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“This isn’t how I pictured our first meeting,” Atlas remarked.

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Bennet.”

“Atlas,” he corrected. “It seems only fair to let you call me by my first name after all this.”

There was an unspoken camaraderie forming between them, born of shared experiences with Penny’s drunken antics. Atlas didn’t plan to delve into the details of his own past, but he suspected Zoren harbored his own stories—ones neither of them wished to revisit. There was a quiet understanding between them now.

“You don’t owe me anything, Atlas,” Zoren replied with a subtle smile. “Though I suppose we’ve built quite a rapport in an… unusual manner. Feel free to call me Zoren, if you don’t mind.”

“We have.” Atlas reached for his cup, shaking his head slightly. “Had this been last night, we’d be sharing a glass of Scotch instead.”

Zoren chuckled, picking up his cup again. “I’m sure of that.”

“I tried keeping an eye on her, but I nodded off,” Atlas admitted, glossing over some details. “In a way, I feel responsible.”

“Even if you hadn’t, I’m certain she would’ve found a way to sneak out,” Zoren replied, offering a smile. “No offense.”

“None taken. Still, I apologize for the trouble she caused you.”

“Trouble or not, I’d take anything she throws my way.” Zoren smiled reassuringly. “I appreciate the apology, but you didn’t have to. You’re basically my big brother, after all.”

Atlas arched a brow at him, head tilted slightly. Zoren, still smiling, looked angelic, as if he couldn’t harm a fly.

‘Honestly, I didn’t think I’d like him,’ Atlas mused. ‘But he’s surprisingly reasonable… and polite.’

Zoren wasn’t over-the-top with his politeness, but there was a palpable respect in his tone. Considering Zoren’s status as head of the most influential family in Anteca, one might have expected arrogance or a superiority complex.

Surprisingly, Zoren was humble and easy to converse with—respectful, even.

Atlas allowed himself a small smile as his shoulders relaxed. He leaned back slightly. “I told myself the golden invitation wasn’t a bribe or a bridge to discuss my sister. And I still believe that. But since we’re here, I might as well get to know the man who dared to date the only daughter of Charles Bennet.”

“Thank you for the opportunity, Atlas.”

Atlas smiled, gradually letting go of the dark memory that had haunted him for five years, focusing instead on the present.

—

[Five years ago]

Loud music dragged Atlas out of unconsciousness. A sharp pain throbbed in his nose. His brows furrowed as his eyes blinked open, taking in the colorful lights and the heavy bass reverberating around him. His vision slowly cleared.

When full awareness returned, his eyes widened in horror. He was in a bar—a gay bar—and on stage, locked in a cage, dressed in nothing but a scandalous bunny outfit. He was like an innocent white rabbit surrounded by wolves.