She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 180

Night had fully set in, carrying a sharp chill.

Luther followed them all the way out to the parking lot.

Harrell was driving a black Maybach.

He opened the door and helped Hilda inside.

Then he walked around to the driver's side.

He rolled his window halfway down.

Harrell's young, handsome face was illuminated by the dashboard.

He looked at Luther calmly and spoke in a quiet voice. "You know, I used to envy you. Out of everyone in our generation, nobody could touch you. Not in business, not with women. Man, just let Hilda go. And let yourself go, too."

With Luther's status, even after divorcing Jolie, he could easily find a young, high-society heiress.

He had the money, the power, the looks.

"But don't settle for these cheap knockoffs."

"It's not like you're ever going to marry her."

"Are you just going to hide her away forever?"

Harrell stared at Luther after dropping the reality check.

They were blood cousins.

His words sounded harsh, but they were rooted in genuine family loyalty.

His bond with Luther ran bone-deep.

He was leveraging that very brotherhood to beg Luther to walk away.

A gust of night wind swept past.

Luther stared intently at Harrell sitting in the car, suddenly realizing his cousin had grown into a mature, grounded man—the kind of man who could truly win Hilda's heart. He shifted his gaze toward the backseat. The tinted glass obscured the view, but he knew his wife and his child were right there. Even sick, little Landon was so incredibly precious.

Luther didn't offer a rebuttal.

He took a step back, signaling for Harrell to drive away.

He watched the black luxury car pull out of the lot.

Luther stood alone in the dark for a very long time.

He stared blankly at the fading red taillights, lost in a trance, having no idea how much time had passed.

When he finally snapped back to reality, his face was freezing.

He reached up and realized he was covered in tears.

It all felt like a fever dream.

Hilda, Jolie, little Annie, Harrell, Summer—

They all flashed before his eyes.

He wished none of it had ever happened.

He wished he could go back six years to the very first time he met Hilda.

He would have personally glued that plane ticket back together for her and written a single line—

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