She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 11

You can't park at a bus stop. Harrell didn't care. He stepped out, grasped Hilda's slender arm, and guided her straight into his vehicle.

The engine of the black luxury SUV purred to life. The only sound in the cabin was the faint swish of the windshield wipers.

Hilda remained utterly silent. Harrell glanced at her, his eyes lingering on the faint marks on her skin for a few seconds. Instead of pressing her about it, he asked, "Are you close with Soren?"

Hilda slowly gathered her thoughts.

Of course she knew Harrell Judson. He was Luther's cousin. He had always struck her as an intensely aloof man who spent most of his time in Havenworth City.

What was he doing in Alpha City? And how did he know she was acquainted with Soren?

After a brief hesitation, she decided on the truth. "Soren rents a suite from me."

Rents a room? So they weren't living together as a couple?

For some inexplicable reason, Harrell instantly believed her. This fragile-looking woman didn't seem to have the energy to lie. She radiated an aura of deep vulnerability, as if she had just been terribly mistreated. Had someone just hurt her?

He didn't know what possessed him. But he offered words he rarely gave anyone.

"If you need help, you can come to me."

Hilda didn't beg him. Three million dollars. She couldn't bring herself to ask him for that kind of money. Especially since he was Luther's cousin.

Silence fell over the car. It lasted until they pulled up to the hospital entrance.

As the vehicle came to a smooth stop, Harrell made no move to get out. He turned to her and murmured, "We're here."

Hilda blinked, as if waking from a trance. She unbuckled her seatbelt, her voice raspy. "Thank you."

Harrell gave a brief, measured nod.

Once she stepped out, he was about to shift into drive when his peripheral vision caught sight of a crumpled receipt on the floor mat. She must have dropped it.

He picked it up, and his breath caught in his throat.

The name at the top of the receipt read: *The Bibliophile*.

Final payment for an oil painting: sixty thousand dollars.

Hilda was The Bibliophile!

No wonder he had caught the faint scent of oil paints when she got into the car. She was the very artist he had been relentlessly searching for.

Upon realizing this—and factoring in that she was a strikingly beautiful woman—Harrell's emotions became hopelessly tangled. It was a feeling he couldn't quite decipher himself.

He immediately threw open the door and went after her.

...

Hilda saw her father at the hospital entrance—Sylvan Cassidy.

The Cassidy family had once been a prominent name in Jadeport City, running the century-old skincare brand *Chantelle Claire*. While their market value couldn't rival international conglomerates, their formulas were clean, earning them a fiercely loyal following among wealthy women.

Seeing him so suddenly, her heart leaped. Perhaps her father hadn't been entirely heartless. He had specifically come to Alpha City to visit her mother. If she explained the dire situation, he would surely cover the three million. All her agonizing problems would vanish; she wouldn't have to play Luther's twisted games, and she would never be humiliated again.

She took a step forward.

If he did, he would be sick with regret. Regret over refusing a mere three million.

If he knew money could buy Jolie's happiness, he wouldn't hesitate to throw down thirty million, let alone three.

That was her father.

That was the tragic reality of Hilda's life.

Harrell stood a short distance away. In just a few minutes, he had witnessed a woman's entire world shatter.

He slipped the receipt into his pocket. "Hilda. I know a doctor here. I'll have him take a look at you."

Hilda turned around and saw him standing just a few feet away. His gaze was calm and incredibly steady.

The doctor turned out to be Zane Ziegler.

Seeing Harrell bring Hilda in triggered Zane's inner gossip, but professional ethics kept his curiosity in check. Conveniently, an urgent trauma case was paged, so after treating the bruises on Hilda's face, he hurriedly excused himself.

...

In the VIP consultation room.

Hilda softly thanked Harrell.

Harrell stared at her red, swollen eyes. After a long silence, he asked quietly, "The child is Luther's, isn't it?"

Hilda's expression went blank. Then, a bitter, hollow smile touched her lips.