She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 237

A massive storm.

It took Luther three full months to stabilize the fallout.

Three months later, Project Sovereign launched flawlessly. Hundreds of billions had been injected into it, and once the venture went public, it was projected to multiply tenfold. Every investor who had bought in was guaranteed an astronomical return. The financial markets were in a frenzy of celebration. But the more triumphant the success, the more desolate Luther felt inside.

He cared about Hilda far too much.

He refused to be emotionally controlled by her.

So, he had sent her to a highly specialized private sanatorium for treatment.

She was virtually cut off from the rest of the world.

He barred her from seeing the children.

Occasionally, when he found the time, he would visit her, checking to see if she had forgotten Harrell Judson, checking to see if she remembered what it felt like to love him. Today was the day his grand project finally succeeded, and he desperately wanted to share the victory with Hilda. She was Mrs. Sanford; she was rightfully entitled to share in his triumph.

Nighttime.

A black Rolls-Royce slowly drove onto the sanatorium grounds.

This particular facility hadn't originally been famous.

Luther had poured a fortune into aggressively remodeling it, bringing in the absolute best experts available.

Because of this, no one could ever track Hilda down.

The car pulled up to a secluded two-story building.

The door opened, revealing a pair of long legs, followed by Luther's striking, aristocratic face.

It was September. The man was in a sharp, tailored suit.

The leviathan had landed; he was at the absolute peak of his power.

The director, a woman in her early forties, hurried out eagerly to greet him. Knowing Luther was here, she enthusiastically pitched him on the facility's doctors and therapeutic methods. She assured him that they were utilizing the latest cutting-edge global therapies, completely guaranteeing that his wife would forget her past and her mood would dramatically improve. By the time she gave birth, she would surely realize where her true loyalties lay.

Luther gave a stiff, perfunctory nod.

The female director clearly wanted to say more.

But Luther was already walking up the stairs toward the second floor.

He was simply too busy, too riding high on his own victories. He had handed Hilda over to a $200-million medical team, trusting their expertise entirely, and thus failed to personally monitor the details. He had no idea that beneath the director's obsequious smile lurked a deeply twisted nature. She had prescribed a barbaric, inhumane regimen for Hilda—including the aggressive use of micro-current electroconvulsive therapy.

After three months of this, Hilda's mind had become a blurred, fragmented haze.

Massive chunks of her memory were simply gone.

Naomi, Harrell, Soren, her old assistant... they had all washed away like a receding tide. The only thing that remained anchored in her broken mind was her wedding night at the Silverlake Villa—when Luther had abandoned her in that massive, empty house for Jolie Lovell. When he had stripped away everything, leaving her to rot.

In the outside world, Hilda hadn't been broken.

But the director's relentless torture had systematically shattered her psyche.

Her condition had severely deteriorated.

She had developed a paralyzing fear of her surroundings. She was terrified of the light. She flinched at the slightest sound.

She was mortified by the approach of strangers.

Luther reached the second floor and pushed open the door to the VIP suite. It had been over a month since his last visit.

The lights in the room were off.

Directly across from him were the floor-to-ceiling windows.

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