Love beyond the mask (Whitney) novel Chapter 1180

After a night spent teetering on the edge between life and death, he finally dragged her onto the riverbank. Parisa couldn’t remember how long she’d lingered at death’s door—time had lost all meaning down there in the cold, black water. Only when she felt a warm breath against her lips, someone steadily breathing life back into her, did her heart start beating again. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the face of a stranger—a man whose features were sharp and handsome, but marked by years of hardship.

He was holding her, and they were both shaking. There was a kind of world-weariness in his eyes, a sadness he tried to cover up with a crooked smile as he introduced himself. “Name’s Hudson,” he said, voice rough but gentle. “Hudson Sheldon.”

Parisa was barely conscious—she couldn’t think, couldn’t process any of it.

But now, looking back, she realized that man was the very one who’d hurt her so deeply all those years ago—the one who’d left her life in ruins.

Sheldon. Hudson Sheldon.

Whitney could tell her mother was lost in thought. Glancing down, she noticed the crumpled bedsheet where Parisa’s hand had clenched it tight.

Her mother’s eyes, usually so calm, now seemed cold, full of emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Worried, Whitney quickly reached out and held Parisa’s wrist. “Mom, your pulse is racing. Do you… not want to talk about Dad? Or maybe… did you recognize him back then? Are you starting to remember anything about him?” She asked quietly, trying to be as gentle as possible.

Parisa’s breath came fast for a moment, but then she managed to compose herself. She didn’t want to break down in front of her daughter—she could see so clearly that Whitney cared about that man, still called him Dad.

But how could she explain? She didn’t remember much about Hudson, or what had passed between them.

What she did remember, though, was the pain—the kind of bitterness that seeps into your bones and refuses to leave. If he hadn’t hurt her so badly, she wouldn’t still feel this way.

“I don’t remember, Whitney. Not really. I don’t remember him, but I do remember the hurt…”

Parisa looked at her daughter, her eyes dim and cold, but with a faint glimmer. “Of course, I’m grateful he saved me. And I could tell he was hurt too. Is he… is he also in the hospital?”