Love Beyond the Mask novel Chapter 23

Whitney had accidentally sent the photo to him because she was drafting a message for him earlier. Realizing this, she hastily zoomed in on the photo, her heart skipping a beat as she realized just how sheer the fabric of her dress was.

That wretched Tiana had outdone herself this time. The dress was laced with cut-outs and clung stubbornly where it would not fasten, exposing Whitney's alabaster, supple side waist - a delicate sliver as graceful as a willow.

She wanted to retract the message immediately, but it was too late.

The man on the other end sent a follow-up message that read: [Is this an invitation? Or merely a boast?]

Whitney’s cheeks flamed red.

His voice was deep and magnetic, and she could almost imagine the roguish charm that would accompany his words if spoken aloud.

With her face burning, she quickly typed: [I sent it by mistake, L, it wasn’t meant for you!]

[Who else were you planning to show it to, then?] He asked sharply.

Trembling slightly, Whitney had no choice but to send him screenshots of Tiana’s selections of daring dresses.

Tiana was still picking out clothes with minimal fabric for her. “What do you think, Whitney? Not sure which one your mysterious husband might fancy?”

Whitney replied to L: [See, my BFF wants me to try them on!]

His answer came directly: [They all look fine. Tell your BFF I look forward to seeing you in them.]

This man’s words were too artful. He managed to sound completely serious while playing the seductive rogue. What woman could resist that kind of maturity?

With her cheeks still ablaze, Whitney thought, “Who wants to dress up for you?”

She quickly changed the subject. [L, I used your card earlier, but I’ll return everything. Thanks for not blocking the transaction.]

But he was too sharp. [Who were you trying to humiliate?]

Caught off guard by his incisive response, Whitney knew this man’s intelligence and intuition were formidable.

He replied lazily: [Don’t return them. They’re pocket change. No need to be frugal on my account.]

Pocket change? Millions? Whitney sensed he was extremely well-off, and she was curious about his line of work. He seemed preoccupied, then suddenly sent a message: [I’ll be away on business tonight.]

[Oh.]

[That’s it?]

What else? Whitney thought for a moment and added: [Safe travels!]

His response was almost amused, as he commanded in a domineering tone: [Remember your duties. Be good and take care of the baby!]

The suggestion in his voice seemed to whisper in her ear, adding an unwelcome hint of intimacy. Whitney cupped her flushed face, thinking, “Be good? Am I a child?”

Nonetheless, his absence was a relief; she could do as she pleased.

With the man gone, Whitney was far from idle.

Aside from joining Natalie for meals downstairs, she spent her time locked away, sketching designs.

Suddenly, Yvonne called, her voice overly friendly, “Whitney dear, what have you been up to? There’s a charity gala at the estate tomorrow, and Phebe is announcing your sister’s engagement to Simon. Your father insists that as the eldest Valentine daughter, you must attend. Monica is looking forward to your blessing. Shall I send you the invitation?”

Whitney listened to her sugar-coated tone, her stomach churning.

She watched from the sidelines as Simon and Monica embraced on the balcony of the bridal suite Whitney herself had designed. Her hands balled into fists – it was like watching usurpers in her own home.

Her gaze drifted over the estate – the pool, the lakeside, the woods... All these were once her grandfather’s assets. The Valentine name had been small before Whitney’s business acumen bolstered Preston’s empire.

Yet this was their thanks to her, her mother, and her grandfather.

“Sis, you’re here!” Monica approached, flanked by socialites eager to curry favor with the future Perlman bride.

Someone sneered at Whitney. “Monica, how dare she show up?”

“She’s a disgrace. Look at her pathetic attire. I heard she is down to wearing knock-offs.”

“Just as well, Simon saw through her promiscuity in time. Monica, you’re the true match for him.”

A sly smirk flickered in Monica's eyes, but her face was a portrait of kindness as she gently urged, "Let's not be too harsh, everyone. My sister's already been through enough as it is. I invited her here today because I want us all to welcome her back, to give her another chance."

"Monica's right, you know."

Trailed by a gaggle of high-society ladies, Yvonne approached with a warm smile, taking Whitney's hand in hers. "Whitney's not a bad egg at heart; she just got a bit carried away, that's all. Let's be charitable toward her."

"Oh, please! Just looking at her, I fear for my eyesight," one of the debutantes said with a look of distaste.

"And I simply can't allow my daughter to associate with her, Yvonne. I trust you understand," another socialite remarked with a sneer.

Monica and Yvonne regarded Whitney with eyes full of pity.

The room buzzed with unchecked scorn, their words a cascade of mockery aimed at Whitney.