She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 198

Hilda's slender white fingers flipped through the documents.

She stared down at them quietly.

Beside her ear, Luther's voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. "Take your time and think it over."

"No need to think about it."

"I'll finalize the divorce as quickly as possible."

Hilda slowly lifted her eyes to meet Luther's gaze—

"Then I'll bring Annie and come back to you."

"But Landon stays with Harrell."

Luther stared intently at her. "Landon is my son."

Hilda didn't flinch. "If Harrell were fine, he could be your son! But as long as Harrell hasn't woken up, he is strictly Harrell's son!"

This elaborately planned, romantic evening.

It only left Luther seething with resentment.

Because Hilda now held Harrell in her heart.

She was planning everything around Harrell's wellbeing.

Every word out of her mouth was about Harrell.

Right at that moment, the head chef approached to serve the main course, asking Luther cautiously, "Mr. Sanford, shall I carve the lamb?"

Luther jerked his chin in dismissal.

Once the chef retreated, Luther took a step back and lowered his voice. "You have to stay here with me at least a few days a month."

Hilda said nothing.

She would miss the children, too.

Silence meant consent.

Luther looked at her, irritation gnawing at him, because he knew he had compromised way too easily. He just craved her far too much. In reality, with Harrell in a coma, it didn't matter where Landon was raised; he would always legally be Luther's flesh and blood in the end.

He had just missed her so profoundly.

Yet their current identities forbade him from crossing the line.

Finally, he demanded she dance with him.

As a romantic melody played, the man held her close, his hand slipping from her waist down to her stomach. His dark eyes locked onto hers as he asked, "During the time you lived with him... did you always use protection? That's why you aren't pregnant?"

Before she could reply, he quickly added, "Don't answer that."

The truth was, he couldn't handle the answer.

—Regardless of what it was.

...

Late that night.

Sebastian drove Hilda home.

He drove her black BMW.

As he navigated the streets, he kept glancing nervously into the rearview mirror.

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