Love Beyond the Mask novel Chapter 43

As Parker began to speak, Tiana cut him off with a fiery urgency, "Mr. L, do you not know what happened to your wife?"

The accusation hung heavy in the air as she continued, "Today, that Monica stole her artwork, exploited her connections to present first, leaving Whitney blindsided. The judges lashed out, accusing her of plagiarism. Now, the whole town's abuzz with the scandal. She's barely holding it together, and you're here, giving her a hard time? Tell me, Mr. L, is that fair?"

She whispered the last word so softly it was nearly inaudible.

L's face registered shock upon hearing the news.

Parker gestured towards the elevator, saying, "Whitney's gone that way."

He added, "And it's raining outside."

In a swift motion, L snatched Parker's car keys and chased after Whitney into the elevator.

"Is it really raining outside?" Tiana asked Parker, concern lacing her voice.

"I made it up."

Tiana stared at the sophisticated, bespectacled man before her, "How can you be more conniving than me?"

"It's a guy thing," he quipped with a devilish smirk.

Shocked, Tiana stepped back.

Whitney left the Royal One Club, aimless and alone as the night deepened and rain began to fall.

Passersby hurried along, couples shared umbrellas, and parents shielded their children from the downpour. She, on the other hand, was alone, lacking a mother, and with a father who wished her harm. As for a partner...

She scoffed at the thought.

Squatting by a flower bed, she refreshed the news on her phone, and her screen flooded with insults.

Today marked her first major setback since her vow of vengeance. She had never shed a tear over the Valentine family's cruelty, but now she was on the verge of crying, partly because of L's disregard. His unexpected kindness had given her a sliver of warmth on her otherwise grim path.

Blaming herself for the weakness born from the desire to rely on someone, Whitney shook her head rapidly, trying to sober up.

Just as she was about to break down, the roar of an engine and the screech of a car stopping abruptly interrupted her wallowing.

The onlookers turned to see a handsome man emerge from the sports car. Dressed in a black shirt and trousers, his rolled-up sleeves revealed muscular arms, and a discreetly luxurious watch hinted at a mysterious and affluent identity.

He approached Whitney at the flower bed. His voice softened as he recalled her friend's words about her being sabotaged. Yet, instead of sympathy, he had mocked her confidence and lack of skill.

"Didn't you realize it was raining?" He asked gently.

Whitney looked up, surprised. "Why are you here?"

She wanted to leave as soon as she saw him, but he quickly stepped forward and lifted her into his arms, much to her annoyance.

"What are you doing, L?" She snapped, pushing him away.

The onlooking girls cheered enviously.

L playfully smacked her bottom, causing her to blush and protest, "What right do you have to carry me? I'm not going with you."

He replied coolly, "Can't I take care of my child? It's in your belly, not someone else's."

Stunned by his audacity, Whitney found herself being carried back into the Royal One Club.

In the presidential suite, the butler had prepared a warm bath. L carried her to the bathroom, set her down, and with a look of mock disgust, said, "You're light as a cotton candy. Warm yourself up. If you catch a cold, beware, I'll have to discipline you!"

Shivering from the cold and slightly indignant, she disappeared into the bathroom.

His assistant knocked, delivering the lady’s outfit he had ordered.

After her bath, Whitney realized she had nothing to wear. She called out, "Hey... Where are my clothes?"

L was waiting just outside and cracked the door open slightly, "They're with me."

Irritated like a cornered rabbit, she retorted, "Why are you standing so close? Were you peeping?"

He opened the door further with a cold smile, "Guess how much I saw?"

He took her hand, guiding it towards the buckle of his belt, his eyes brimming with seduction, "How do you think?"

Whitney pushed him away, her face burning with embarrassment. "L!"

He smirked, "Aren't you the one who's suspicious?"

Suddenly, his expression turned cold. "I've been alone here for days, not even a female fly in sight. Why haven't I gone home? Because someone's made me angry!"

Whitney looked around; his suite was indeed spotless and meticulously tidy, devoid of any feminine touch.

"What's been eating at you these days, throwing hints and suspicions? Are you really convinced I've been chasing other women?" His grip on her chin was firm, a clear sign he was still riled up about the other day's spat.

Whitney pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to nod in both defiance and fear.

But did she truly believe that?

Confusion clouded her thoughts as she bit her lip.

"Speak up!" He snapped, growing impatient.

His closeness was overwhelming, his scent and warmth enveloping her—it was all too much, especially on the bed, that conjured uncontrollable thoughts, making him uncomfortable.

Hearing his voice grow husky, Whitney immediately scooted away.

But he was domineering, scooping her up effortlessly into his embrace and reaching for the ginger coffee. "Drink this before it gets cold."

Whitney scrunched her nose. "It's too spicy, I don't want it."

Her complaint carried a coquettish undertone.

His gaze deepened, a tickle in his throat; he threatened, "If you won’t drink, I'll have to feed you."

"And you can imagine just how," he added with a provocative edge.