She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 164

Late at night.

Luther stood on the top floor of the Conrad Hotel.

He gazed out at the sweeping night view of Havenworth City.

He had showered and was wearing nothing but a crisp white bathrobe. In his hand was a mug filled with hard liquor. His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He downed the liquor in one gulp and walked over to answer it.

Seeing it was Jolie calling.

He stared at it for a few seconds, then hung up.

The woman on the other end didn't call back.

Luther had already been in a terrible mood.

Now he felt even worse.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. He used to be utterly obsessed with her. She was bright and capable, one of the most outstanding women he had ever met, and she had even saved his life. He had once imagined spending the rest of his life with her. But now that he finally had her, it felt incredibly underwhelming. He had no strong physical desire for her. Even when they slept together, it was just to scratch an itch, just because he was single and didn't want to ruin the mood. He wasn't the type to go looking for random women outside, and that was all there was to it.

Luther sat on the sofa.

He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, shook one out, lit it, and took a slow drag.

He thought about a lot of things.

And none of them involved Jolie.

What was wrong with him?

He was supposed to love Jolie.

Why was it that after completely losing Hilda, he was filled with regret, even wishing he could go back in time?

As the night deepened, he couldn't fall asleep.

Tossing and turning in a half-awake state.

At 3:30 AM.

A sharp sound lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Luther jolted awake.

Looking out through the glass.

The entire city was awash in a surreal, neon glow.

He watched quietly, feeling as damp and heavy inside as the city outside. Suddenly, he started getting dressed, as if possessed by the desperate need to go to Harrell's villa and see for himself. Maybe it was all a dream. A hallucination. Hilda hadn't really married Harrell. It was just a nightmare.

Deep in the night in Havenworth City.

The rain poured relentlessly.

A black Maybach tore through the storm.

Half an hour later, he arrived at Harrell's villa.

It was a sprawling independent estate in the best neighborhood in the city.

Covering 4,000 square meters.

Luther didn't drive inside.

Harrell would never let him in anyway.

Because of Hilda, the two cousins had completely torn up any familial bonds.

The rain fell in heavy sheets.

The man stood in the downpour, holding a black umbrella.

The raindrops hammered mercilessly against the black fabric.

Deafening. Tearing.

So much like his marriage to Hilda.

It was only now that he finally realized. Perhaps what shattered them wasn't a broken romance, or his neglect, but the fact that he had slapped her twice for Jolie's sake. Hilda had been pregnant at the time. What must she have been thinking?

That she had truly given her heart to the wrong man.

So when he demanded custody.

She married Harrell without a second thought.

She married him without saying a single word to Luther.

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