Resent, Reject, Regret by Aqua Summers

Chapter 196

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Chapter 196 Return to What It Used to Be

The letter was positively crawling with wishes and hopes for Deirdre, and only a few lines described the

mother’s own state of affairs. She had clearly believed this was just another of many letters she would

pen

for her daughter in the future–she had thought she would get to write again.

She had not known, at the time, that she was writing the last letter she would pen in her life.

Brendan’s chest tightened. He had just destroyed one of the most priceless things in the world… with

his own hands. If Deirdre knew…

She would go mad.

He immediately called someone in to restore the letter.

Deirdre returned to her room shortly after he left. She instinctively got down on all fours, her hands

grazing across the floor to feel for the pieces. To her disappointment, she could not find a single piece,

even though she was sure Brendan had scattered it like confetti.

“Miss McKinnon, what are you looking for?” Sam asked.

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“Can you help me look, please?” Deirdre replied with a request. “Are there any pieces of paper on the

floor?”

“No,” Sam answered matter–of–factly. “Did you drop something? Let me help you search.”

For a noticeable second, Deirdre seemed dazed. Then, suddenly, she shook her head. “No. It’s okay.

It’s

not important.”

Sam was nonplussed, but upon seeing the woman abandon her search, he let it go.

A few days passed while Brendan focused on creating a pristine replica of the original letter. Creating a

copy of the letter’s content was not hard, but the devil was in the details. A perfect replication would

take

time.

Then, he received a call. “Mr. Brighthall? We found a candidate. She’s currently waiting downstairs. Do

you want her to come to your office now?”

A glint flitted through Brendan’s black eyes. He clenched his jaw, and the words on the letter suddenly

appeared distant and alien. “Bring her in.”

A few moments later, the door was pushed open, revealing Sawyer and a middle–aged woman in a

nondescript getup. Brendan had never seen her before.

“She fits all of your requirements, sir,” Sawyer stated.

Brendan scanned the middle–aged woman. Her appearance was average and unremarkable, but that

was not a problem. The only qualification she had to meet was having the right voice. “Speak.”

The woman was visibly disconcerted by Brendan’s overall composure. Even her voice sounded tight.

“H- Hello, M–M–Mr. Brighthall…”

Manic glee dashed across Brendan’s handsome face. Her voice! Her tone! It was 90% close to

Ophelia’s! No, scratch that. They sounded exactly the same!

Deirdre’s blindness was the biggest advantage he could ever have asked for. It would have been

almost impossible to look for a doppelganger who bore an uncanny resemblance to both Ophelia’s face

and voice. But since he only needed one over the other, the search for an impostor had become so

much

easier.

“Have you read the documents Sawyer gave you?”

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“Y–Yes.”

“Do you know what your job is?” Brendan followed up in his most professional tone.

The middle–aged woman looked visibly relieved. “I am to portray a young woman’s late mother and talk

to her in character.”

He nodded in satisfaction. There were more things to being a perfect impostor than sounding like the

original. This woman would have to replicate Ophelia’s mannerisms, proclivities, attitude, and speech

behavior. “Don’t worry. You have over a week to study your character. I’ll show you a video, and your

job will be to mimic the woman in there. I want you to completely become her!”

Despite the middle–aged woman’s palpable apprehension, she gave him a firm nod of determination.

Brendan watched her leave and felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders. He felt his high–strung

nerves finally relax. If he could solve the Ophelia issue once and for all, Deirdre would fall in line and

everything would return to what it used to be.

He loosened his tie, rose, and grabbed his coat. He did not want to stay in his office any longer.

Brendan stopped his car at the entrance overlooking the mansion’s front yard. There, Deirdre was

crouching on the ground with a pair of gardening shears, pruning a bed of flowers.

It was a very windy day. Brendan put his coat over her head before asking, sounding a little annoyed,

“Why the hell are you outside in this weather?”

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Resent, Reject, Regret by Aqua Summers

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