She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 138

Late at night.

Naomi drove Hilda home.

The entire ride, Naomi couldn't stop chattering.

She desperately wanted to move in, to take care of her and the baby. But Hilda insisted she needed to have her own life, encouraging her to date, settle down, and find her own happiness. Naomi didn't want to date or settle down. She just wanted her.

But she swallowed those words.

—She didn't want to scare her off.

It was April, and the cherry blossoms were in full bloom.

Under the streetlights, the pink petals glowed softly against the dark sky.

The white Bentley slowly pulled up to the curb.

Once the car stopped, Hilda unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the handle.

But Naomi was already out, rushing around to open the door for her.

Hilda stepped out, slightly exasperated. "Naomi, you really don't have to do this every time."

Standing by the car, despite her tall frame, Naomi looked entirely devoted. "I want to take care of you. You didn't tell me, but I know you're pregnant."

Naomi might not be married, but she wasn't oblivious.

Hilda hadn't touched a drop of alcohol all night, she had completely stopped drinking coffee since she returned, and Harrell was treating her like she was made of glass. It wasn't hard to put together.

Hilda froze, confirming the suspicion.

Naomi was right.

Her expression softened.

She took a step forward and gently touched Hilda's stomach, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Is it Luther's baby? If you're pregnant, why are you still getting a divorce? Let me take care of you from now on, okay? If things get too difficult here, come abroad with me. I'll work myself to the bone. I'll provide for you and both the kids."

Hilda reached out and pinched her cheek.

"You are so sweet, but so silly."

Naomi looked like she wanted to attach herself to Hilda permanently.

It took some effort, but Hilda finally managed to send her off.

She watched the white Bentley slowly disappear down the street.

As she turned around, a shadow suddenly loomed over her, accompanied by the distinct scent of cedarwood.

—It was Luther.

He was standing beneath the large banyan tree.

Concealed in the darkness.

Which was why she hadn't noticed him.

He was standing dangerously close, barely two steps away, their shadows bleeding into one beneath the streetlamp.

Illuminated by the pale light, his cheeks looked slightly hollowed from his illness, adding a stark, rugged maturity to his features. He stared at her, the memory of Naomi touching her stomach burning in his mind. Two women, acting that intimately in public—what a joke.

Looking at his pale face, she asked quietly, "Zane said you were sick. What are you doing out here?"

His gaze was bottomless—

"Are you worried about me?"

"I heard your debut was a massive success."

"Congratulations."

Hilda gave a stiff 'thank you.'

Then, remembering why he was there, she asked, "When are we signing the papers?"

His eyes darkened further. "Are you in that much of a rush? Is someone waiting for you? Pushing you to get it over with?"

She looked down, a wry smile touching her lips. "There's no point in playing these games, Luther."

Surprisingly, he nodded in agreement. "You're right."

The realization was driving her absolutely insane.

Her lips trembled. After a long silence, she picked up her phone and dialed a number.

"Are you around?"

"I need it. Now."

...

The early hours of the morning.

Inside the same run-down motel.

The violent storm of their encounter had just settled.

Jolie, wearing an oversized button-down, leaned against the headboard, smoking a cigarette.

She laughed bitterly, glancing at Damien Croix. "This has to be karma. I've played so many men, and the one I actually care about falls for my sister. That useless, pathetic woman. I've been better than her at everything since we were kids. I thought I'd run circles around her when it came to securing a man like Luther. But she quietly builds this entire secret empire, turning into The Bibliophile, the hottest artist in the city. You have no idea how many men are obsessed with her. Even someone as arrogant as Naomi Zeller acts like a loyal dog around her. What gives her the right?"

Damien lay beside her, taking a slow drag of his cigarette.

He had thoroughly enjoyed himself tonight.

Because Jolie was that woman's sister.

He had blindfolded her, imagining he was dominating Hilda the entire time.

He had lasted exceptionally long tonight.

Listening to her rant, he said nothing, just watching her through half-lidded eyes. She crushed the cigarette into the ashtray, sliding seductively against his chest, her voice sickeningly sweet. "But it doesn't matter. Love is trivial for adults. Winning is all that matters."

Damien frowned.

He was about to ask her what she meant.

But she had already straddled him.

Grabbing his face, she kissed him fiercely, clearly ravenous for another round.