She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 146

In the hallway.

Harrell guided Hilda to a chair.

One car crash had cost her her marriage, nearly cost her her baby, and practically destroyed her health. But she knew this was only temporary. She was going to recover, she was going to have this baby, and she was going to pull herself together and become a true artist. She was also going to team up with Naomi and create the best fragrance brand in the world.

Naomi had flown to France.

She had no idea Hilda had been in an accident.

And Hilda didn't want to worry her.

Even in May, wearing a heavy coat, Hilda's hands and feet were freezing.

Harrell enveloped her hands in his.

And tucked them into his suit jacket pocket.

So she would be a little warmer.

If she hadn't insisted, he really wouldn't have wanted her to go through this divorce today. Her body hadn't recovered; she was still so frail she looked like a strong breeze would knock her over. Yet Luther didn't show an ounce of pity. The only thing in that man's eyes was the woman missing a womb.

The staff worked quickly.

With the smell of fresh ink, the official seals were stamped.

The same names, but the marriage licenses were swapped for the official divorce decrees.

Luther handed the divorce decree to Hilda.

He simply left her there.

Without a backward glance.

Because he refused to watch her being so intimate with Harrell.

And just like that, he left.

Years of marriage, an absolute catastrophe, two pregnancies, all traded for nothing more than Jolie Lovell's womb.

Hilda lowered her head, quietly staring at the divorce decree.

Her face remained completely expressionless.

Harrell spoke softly, "If you want to cry, just cry. I'm right here with you."

Hilda looked up at him, breaking into a faint smile. "It's a good thing, why would I cry? I'm perfectly fine. I have the papers. It's over. Now, I need to go back to the hospital."

One disaster had earned her thirty days of mandatory bed rest.

Thankfully, her exhibition was over.

She could take a break for a while.

Her staff would handle the touring exhibitions.

Harrell stared deeply at her.

After a moment, he smiled gently. "As long as you're okay."

He helped her up, guiding her out of the Civil Affairs Bureau, and they walked out together.

The sky was beginning to darken.

Hilda had assumed Luther was already gone.

But as Harrell helped her into the car, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the Rolls-Royce Phantom parked nearby. The driver's window was rolled down. The man sat inside, smoking a cigarette, his cheeks slightly hollowed, exuding an intense, mature charm. His gaze was deep and dangerously alluring, staring straight into Hilda's eyes.

These were the very things she used to crave.

But now, she didn't care about them in the slightest.

Hilda turned her head and got into the car.

She was so weak that she suddenly felt dizzy as she climbed in.

Harrell instinctively caught her, letting her lean against his chest, while simultaneously pulling a piece of candy from his pocket, unwrapping it, and feeding it to her. Pregnant women were prone to low blood sugar, not to mention her body was completely drained.

His mind was completely consumed by the image of Hilda and Harrell together.

*First Love*?

—Go to hell!

He actually thought she had given him her whole heart.

Turns out, she had wanted a divorce this entire time. She had been secretly seeing Harrell behind his back, absolutely desperate to escape.

His chest heaved violently, his entire face flushed with a dark red hue. The veins bulged from his neck all the way to his forehead. He was the very picture of blind rage.

Lori had never seen him like this.

She was heartbroken. "Such a beautiful painting, worth two hundred million."

Luther sneered. "Two hundred million? Does she deserve it?"

He tilted his head back, taking a moment to catch his breath before ordering quietly, "Take it downstairs and throw it out or burn it. Just get rid of it immediately."

Lori had nerve. She practically challenged him, "The piece *The Isle* was also painted by Hilda. Should I burn that one too?"

Luther just glared at her without saying a word.

And Lori understood.

*The Isle* couldn't be burned.

Hilda was Hilda, and The Bibliophile was The Bibliophile. Honestly, she felt like her boss was just lashing out from humiliation!

Suddenly, she caught sight of the official papers on the coffee table.

—The words *Divorce Decree* were glaringly obvious.

Lori froze.

Mr. Sanford was divorced?