She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 238

Deep in the night.

Inside the sanatorium's small conference room.

The female director was running through a PowerPoint presentation, detailing her therapeutic methods for Luther. Naturally, she conveniently glossed over the brutal reality, claiming only that it posed no side effects to the baby. "Lately, when the name Harrell Judson is mentioned, Mrs. Sanford shows absolutely zero reaction. It seems she has completely forgotten his existence."

At the far end of the long conference table.

The man sat impeccably dressed, radiating the aura of a high-society elite, though a faint, lingering trace of carnal desire still clung to him. Tapping his chin with a finger, he stared at the director in her forties, a slight frown creasing his brow. His devastatingly handsome features made the woman's knees go weak as she nervously repeated her points.

Luther finally lost his patience.

"I want my wife to love me."

The director's eyes lit up in dark comprehension. "I understand perfectly, Mr. Sanford. The next time you visit, Mrs. Sanford's behavior will absolutely meet your expectations."

In her twisted mind, she assumed all powerful billionaires required flawlessly submissive wives.

Mr. Sanford clearly had an insatiable appetite.

And Mrs. Sanford must have resisted him earlier.

— Dial up the voltage!

As long as the baby survived, how much could a man really care about a wife he dumped in a place like this? Within these walls, whether she lived comfortably or in agony was entirely up to the director.

— And obviously, Mr. Sanford was tacitly greenlighting it.

The director sycophantically escorted Luther out.

Before leaving, Luther went back to check on Hilda one last time.

After their encounter, the nurses had already cleaned her up.

She was still curled up tightly at the head of the bed.

Luther's heart softened fractionally. He reached out, gently caressing her cheek, and murmured softly, "Stay here and focus on your treatment. Once you're fully recovered, I'll bring you home! Little Annie and little Landon are doing wonderfully, just waiting for this one to be born. Hilda, we really could be so incredibly happy, couldn't we?"

Hilda just stared at him blankly.

Luther stared back.

A profound sense of bleakness washed over him. He desperately, agonizingly wanted this woman to love him. He wanted her eyes to hold only him, instead of looking at him like a terrified animal. He wanted her to wrap her arms around him willingly, not lay there as if she were being forced against her will.

When they had sex, she just cried.

Under the cover of night, Luther finally left.

From beginning to end, he was entirely oblivious to one crucial detail.

Hilda hadn't spoken a single word.

She had been tortured by the director until she was nothing more than a walking corpse.

She lacked the strength to fight back. Her mind had been pushed past the breaking point. The only reason she was still breathing was absolute, total dissociation. Otherwise, she would have ended her own life long ago. But Luther didn't know that. He genuinely believed he had hired a top-tier medical team to cure her. He had no idea that in the dead of night, when a pregnant woman needed sleep the most, Hilda was routinely dragged out of bed by the director for electroconvulsive therapy. They shocked her until she went completely numb, until her sanity was effectively severed.

In fact, whoever had been on top of her today... she genuinely had no idea who it was.

She didn't recognize Harrell. And honestly, she barely even recognized Luther anymore.

She simply existed in a traumatized haze, absorbing a man's lust.

When Luther left, she made no effort to stop him.

Perhaps it was Luther who destroyed her.

Perhaps it was the female director.

Or perhaps, Hilda had simply given up on herself.

Because a future chained to Luther Sanford was a reality her soul violently rejected.

So she continued to exist in a murky, semi-conscious purgatory.

— Where no one could ever reach her.

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