She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 114

Luther refused.

Though he felt guilty toward Hilda.

That painting, *First Love*, was one of his prized possessions. Especially after The Bibliophile's social media post about *The Blue in the Haze*, it had inexplicably tugged at his heart. He felt that phrase held some special, profound significance in his life.

Seeing him refuse.

Hilda felt a fleeting moment of disappointment.

But then she smiled, letting it go.

They were getting a divorce. What was one painting in the grand scheme of things?

She didn't care. It was just a painting, devoid of any real meaning now.

Hilda smiled placidly.

She said alright, that they would leave things as they were.

Her tone was light, carrying a clear dismissal.

Luther naturally caught her drift.

He stared at her deeply.

Perhaps due to a lack of sleep, her face was slightly pale. He instinctively offered, "Let me stay. Annie isn't feeling well. I'll wait until morning to leave. You should go get some sleep."

Hilda gently shook her head.

"Not appropriate."

They were about to stop being husband and wife. She wouldn't let him stay the night.

Luther understood what she meant and frowned. "Annie isn't just your child."

That sparked the woman's anger.

But even her anger was utterly calm—

"Is that so?"

"Then where were you during those four years, Luther?"

"I told you countless times that she was yours, but you insisted on a paternity test, dragging her through the mud. Throwing money around doesn't make you a good father, because for you, paying up is the easiest thing in the world. And now, you've abandoned her for Jolie. If you're going to do it, then commit to it. Don't act like a hypocrite pretending to care. It's not that I won't let you see her, but we need peace. We need to peacefully transition into a life where you've abandoned us."

Hilda was remarkably calm.

Without a hint of hysteria.

Hilda's voice was hoarse—

"This is really pointless."

Luther went downstairs.

His driver had already pulled the black Bentley around.

He got in but didn't order the car to leave. Instead, he sat inside and lit a cigarette.

The window was rolled halfway down.

Impeccably dressed, the man sat in the car, his long fingers pinching a cigarette extending out the window. His face was entirely devoid of expression. He knew he should leave, that he shouldn't linger, and that he certainly shouldn't feel any reluctance.

He had always loved Jolie, hadn't he?

Late in the night.

Pale smoke slowly drifted upward.

It blurred his face.

And it blurred his heart even more.