Love beyond the mask (Whitney) novel Chapter 172

Chapter 172 

Whitney had rushed to Ludwik’s side upon hearing his anguished cries, her concern for him propelling her 

forward 

But as she reached the door, Elaine shoved her inside and quickly shut it behind her. Leaning against the door, Whitney caught her breath and studied Ludwik closely. 

He was in the throes of self–harm, dragging shards of porcelain across his arm, likely trying to distract himself from the searing pain in his head. 

“Ludwik, stop it! You can’t do this to yourself! Let me help you ease the pain, please?” Whitney implored, rushing to his side. 

His eyes were bloodshot, no longer recognizing her. Instinctively, he lashed out, driving the sharp shard toward 

her arm 

Her skin was instantly beaded with droplets of crimson, Gritting her teeth against the pain, Whitney managed a tender, pained smile. “At least you didn’t go for my belly” 

1 need to get out!” Ludwik muttered, half–delirious as he pushed past her. 

He must’ve realized who was on the other side of the door. 

“You can’t go out there; you can’t let them get the upper hand, ruin your life. Your father… he wants to lock you up in an asylum,” Whitney said, her voice thick with urgency as she wrapped her arms around him, her eyes brimming with pity. 

His forehead was a map of bulging veins, his gaze filled with extreme agony and fear- a remnant of some childhood trauma. He shook his head helplessly, turning to embrace her. “I don’t want to go there. Please, save 

me.” 

“Elaine, there must be something you can do. I need to get better fast… to stand up to them!” His words were broken, forced out between waves of pain. 

The mention of “Elaine‘ left Whitney frozen, tears streaming down her face. 

But she had no time to be sad, no time for jealousy over his trust in Elaine. She would not stand by and watch him crumble, let the Lippert family kick him when he was down. She would cure him; she had to believe she 

could. 

“Leave it to me. L. Give me your hand,” Whitney called to him, her voice a gentle caress through her tears. 

His rage seemed to subside at the sound of her voice, and he slowly calmed down, slumping to the ground and extending his muscular arm toward her, 

Feeling his pulse, Whitney found it wild and erratic. Blood surged from his skull to his limbs, a clear sign of a fevered affliction pressing on his nerves, causing unbearable pain and a violent tendency to lash out in an attempt to find relief. 

This symptom was eerily similar to that of a stranger she had treated years ago. 

It had been a dark night, and she couldn’t see his face clearly. He had injured her arm as well, giving her a fair share of suffering. 

Moved by her healer’s heart, she had stayed with him through the night, treating his condition and easing his symptoms. 

Recalling the methods she had used to treat that man, Whitney hoped they could work for Ludwik too. After assessing his condition, she picked up the pack of medical needles Elaine had left on the table. Selecting a silver needle, she aimed for a pressure point at the base of his skull to gauge his reaction. 

The agitated man jerked violently, and Whitney soothed him with a soft voice. “Don’t be afraid, L. I’m healing you. Just imagine you’re lying in a meadow, comfortable and safe. Shall I hum a tune for you?” 

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And she began to hum a lullaby, delicate and soft. 

It was like a familiar spring, seeping into the barren corners of Ludwik’s heart, bringing solace and peace. 

Ludwik’s furrowed brow relaxed, and he slowly wrapped his cold hand around hers, gradually closing his eyes. 

Elaine, it was you that night, he realized, as the melody confirmed his suspicions. 

He drifted off to sleep right there on her lap, his hand still holding her wrist and resting across her belly, reminiscent of a father’s hand feeling for the baby inside. 

The baby kicked gently. 

Whitney’s eyes welled up as she continued with the treatment, whispering softly, “Baby, your daddy’s right here, but he’s sick. Mommy’s healing him. Be good, okay? Once he’s better, in a few months when you’re born, he’ll be able to hold you. I hope he’ll accept you, love you.” 

Between them now lay the life within her, a life she was determined to protect. 

Whitney bit her lip, a bitter taste in her mouth. 

Yet, the sleeping man seemed to hear her murmurs. His hand left her wrist and found its way to her swollen belly, where he felt the gentle movements of the little one inside. 

Whitney’s gaze softened, even knowing he wasn’t fully aware. This moment of interaction between him and their child was precious. “L, do you feel that? It’s grown so much. Will you still love this child?” 

Love? Ludwik’s brow furrowed in pain, his trembling body seeking warmth even in his vulnerable state. 

He clung weakly to Whitney’s belly, as if it were a sanctuary of warmth. “Mother…” 

Whitney stiffened. In his delirium, he mistook her for his mother. 

“The cost of love is too high,” she whispered, feeling a chill envelop her. 

“I hope you get well, to smile at me again.” 

Whitney’s hands trembled, holding the silver needle, as she looked down at his pained and handsome face. 

“I miss the cookies you used to make, I could never have enough when I was a child…. 

He turned his head and slipped into a peaceful sleep. 

The silver needle trembled, unable to puncture his skin, and finally, it dropped. Whitney’s pale hand covered her mouth tightly, muffling the broken whispers, “I’m sorry, Ludwik.” 

“I didn’t hurt Natalie! But I feel responsible. I promised her, to stay by your side, to bear this child and bring you warmth. It was her dying wish, and I will fulfill it…” 

Drying her tears, Whitney picked up the needle and refocused on the treatment. 

As she placed more needles into his pressure points, Ludwik’s violent state gradually diminished. 

In the intensive care unit, there were two doors. 

Elaine stood by the main door, close enough to see through the small window, listening enviously to the conversations between Whitney and Ludwik 

Convinced that Ludwik was merely talking in his sleep, her heart eased. Whitney’s treatment was working. She clenched her fists. 

As midnight approached, the confrontation in the hallway outside ended, and the Lippert family retreated. 

Parker and Ashton looked particularly grim; the situation must have been dire 

Elaine quickly wheeled out, and Parker glanced at the closed door of the sickroom. “How’s Ludwik?”