She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 118

Late at night.

Luther stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the VIP suite.

The glass reflected a string of stark white lights.

He stood there in silence, while behind him, Mina Lovell and her daughter Jolie chatted intimately, even discussing wedding dresses. As the male lead of this romance, Luther should have felt incredibly sweet and happy. But his mind was entirely absent. It wasn't because of the physical pain from the fight, but because the image of Harrell gently guiding Hilda into the car kept flashing through his head.

—It was far too intimate.

It was the way a man protects a woman.

They looked just like a couple.

So what did that make him?

He wasn't even divorced yet.

The man's Adam's apple bobbed. He felt a sudden urge to smoke—

Jolie had been basking in her sweet victory.

She wanted to ask Luther about some wedding details.

But no matter how many times she called his name, the man remained distracted.

Mina Lovell started to feel annoyed and was about to snap.

Jolie quickly stopped her mother, signaling her to leave the room.

Once it was just the two of them, the woman walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, her voice soft and tender. "Luther, are you regretting this? Did you soften up because she begged you? If you regret it, I won't blame you. I'll just bless you and Hilda from heaven. I really didn't mean to steal her happiness. It's just that I love you so much... and you love me too, don't you?"

Luther slowly closed his eyes. "Let go. This isn't right."

But Jolie clung to him tightly, refusing to let go.

The man stared out into the dark night.

His eyes filled with utter confusion.

Did he love Jolie?

…

In the dead of night.

He drove the black Bentley aimlessly through the city.

By the time he snapped out of his daze, the car was parked outside the apartment building.

The place where he, Hilda, and Annie had lived together for half a year.

Luther frowned.

After a long while, he stood up and walked over. Hooking a finger, he took the painting down.

The glass was entirely gone, leaving only the raw canvas and stretcher bars. It needed reframing.

Just as he was about to set it down, his eyes suddenly caught a line of small text on the back of the frame.

*Luther.*

Luther froze completely. His expression morphed into absolute shock.

Why was his name written here?

The Bibliophile. From Jadeport City. A female artist.

*First Love* was painted for him.

He stared fixedly at the frame. Suddenly, as if realizing something, he carried the frame out of the room and headed straight for the empty bedroom Hilda had used. His heart was pounding frantically against his ribs. He thought he finally knew the answer. He knew why Hilda had wanted *First Love*. She didn't just like the painting—she was the artist. She wanted to take back all of her affection. She didn't want him anymore. She was completely severing this emotional tie!

Tiny shards of glass dug into his palm, and dark red blood slowly seeped out. But he didn't even feel the pain.

He practically kicked the door open.

It was pitch black inside. The only thing present was the distinct scent of acrylics and oil paint.