She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 24

He was furious.

Furious that she had been with a piece of trash like that.

Or perhaps he was even more furious because she was his wife, and he actually lusted after her.

Luther roughly yanked his belt loose.

His handsome face was a mask of dark, suppressed intensity—

Until his phone began to ring at the absolute worst moment.

He glanced down; it was Harrell calling.

Luther kept his eyes locked on Hilda's flushed face as he spoke to the person on the other end. When he hung up, his blinding impulse seemed to have cooled slightly. He leaned back against the seat, pulled a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it. Taking a slow drag, his dark eyes swept over her disheveled state before he spoke in an icy tone, "Fix yourself up and go upstairs."

Hilda pushed herself up.

—It was humiliating.

When Luther wanted a woman, it was purely for carnal release.

She scrambled back to the passenger side, carefully adjusting her clothes before opening the door and stepping out. She walked straight toward the elevator without looking back. Luther smoked in silence the entire time. Only when she was out of sight did he stub out the cigarette and restart the engine.

Twenty minutes later, Luther arrived at the district police station.

Harrell had caused a massive scene at the club.

—So bad they all ended up at the precinct.

Mr. Whitman had been beaten to a bloody pulp. Even though they had reached a settlement, someone still needed to sign the paperwork and bail Harrell out. When Luther walked in, he saw Harrell sitting on a bench smoking, an inscrutable look on his face. The Whitmans looked absolutely terrified; it was obvious they had been severely taught a lesson.

As Luther signed the papers, he asked quietly, "How much did you have to pay out?"

Harrell smirked. "A hundred bucks for some X-rays."

Luther paused, shot a glance at the trembling couple, and finally signed the document before leading Harrell out.

...

The car ride was completely silent.

Luther drove.

When Luther finally parked the car.

He was surprised to find that Harrell's new house was quite close to his own apartment—only about a five-minute drive. Luther figured that was for the best; it was convenient.

After dropping him off, Luther headed back to his apartment.

When he pushed the door open, the place was dead silent. It didn't feel like anyone was home. He checked the master bedroom and confirmed Hilda wasn't there. One phone call later, he found out little Annie was running a fever, and Hilda had gone to the hospital to look after her.

She wasn't his kid, So naturally, Luther didn't care.

He was just about to hang up when Eleanor snatched the phone away. His mother's tone was full of blatant disapproval. "Luther, the child is suffering and you're not even coming? Your father and I never interfered in your private affairs before, but things are different now. You and Hilda have a child. With a bright, energetic little girl like her sick, how can you just sleep soundly at home? I'm telling you right now, I won't stand for it. Get to the hospital immediately and start learning how to be a real father."

Luther collapsed back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.

After a moment, he dragged that little stuffed bunny over, staring at it for a long while before finally resigning to his fate and grabbing his car keys.

Sitting in his car, he stared blankly ahead, his eyes completely devoid of emotion.

—One year, at most.