She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 37

28th Floor, Aegis Group.

Inside a private office.

Jolie violently swept all the documents off her desk. The schemes she had laid out over the years were on the verge of succeeding, only to be ruined by an old woman with one foot in the grave.

Hah, that miserable old hag.

Clinging to life just to make trouble.

Hilda had been living in squalor.

What business did she have hosting a high-society gala?

—She couldn't wait to watch her humiliate herself.

The old woman didn't even know the kid was a bastard yet treated her like royalty. If Hilda ended up stealing the spotlight, Jolie would ensure she crashed and burned, completely destroying her reputation.

Don't blame me for being ruthless, Hilda.

You're the one refusing to let go of the title of Mrs. Sanford.

Her assistant knocked and entered. "Ms. Lovell, the meeting starts in ten minutes."

Jolie instantly composed herself.

She had learned how to bend without breaking since she was a child.

It was a survival skill taught by her mother, Mina Lovell.

…

When the meeting concluded.

Jolie purposely lingered until she was the last one left.

Luther sat listening to the Vice President of the Havenworth City branch give his report. Once the man left, Luther frowned in exhaustion. Jolie immediately slipped behind him, gently massaging his temples. Her tone was deeply subservient. "I was in the wrong this morning. Please don't be mad at me anymore, Luther, okay?"

Luther offered a faint smile.

He didn't coddle her.

But he didn't reprimand her either.

Jolie looked at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears—

"I know how much you respect your grandmother."

"I'm not like Hilda. Hilda was spoiled growing up. She never experienced the hardships I endured. I understand your difficult position. So, Luther, I'm willing to wait. No matter what I have to put up with, I'll wait for you... Let's talk about our relationship once you've settled your family matters, okay? For now, I just want to focus on my career. By the time I truly stand by your side, everyone will see that we're a perfect match. Your choice won't be a mistake. I am worthy of your love."

Luther was genuinely moved. Any lingering anger instantly vanished, replaced entirely by pity for her difficult upbringing.

The woman half-kneeled before him was beautiful and perfectly docile.

She was exceptional and capable. Luther couldn't help but reach out and stroke her cheek. He wasn't a saint; he admired and desired Jolie. Naturally, he felt a physical attraction toward her. While it wasn't urgent, he did want to be close to her and had nearly crossed the line late one night.

Her delicate hands traced lightly over him.

—What man could possibly resist?

Harrell walked into Hilda's studio, his phone in hand.

Hilda was painting.

Harrell covered his phone's receiver, tapped her shoulder lightly, and asked in a low voice, "Are you interested in attending a private viewing? Jolie put it together. I know you two have bad blood, but it's a great way to boost your profile."

Hilda thought for a moment—

"I'll display a few pieces. But I won't make an appearance just yet. Keeping an air of mystery works better for marketing anyway, right?"

"Besides, I'm slammed. I have to learn how to host Matilda's birthday banquet from scratch, and I'm planning to fly to Switzerland to visit my mother at the end of the month."

Harrell stared at her for a few seconds.

Then, he spoke to Jolie on the phone. "The artist can't make it in person, but they'll send over a few pieces. We have conditions, though: absolutely no photos, and no pre-sales. Everything waits until the official gallery exhibition."

Jolie was disappointed.

But she understood—this was exactly how artists generated hype.

She chatted for a few more minutes when suddenly, she heard a woman's voice through the receiver. It sounded soft, tranquil, and oddly familiar. Was it... Hilda?

She dismissed the thought a second later.

—How could it possibly be Hilda?

If Hilda was The Bibliophile.

The sun would rise in the west.