She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 49

The lights were on inside the apartment.

Lori had personally picked up Annie.

She was currently sitting at the dining table, helping the little girl with her homework. Hearing the door open, the secretary took off her glasses and stood up. "Annie is incredibly bright! She's only four, but she's already grasping second-grade math. She definitely gets that from you, Mr. Sanford."

It was a blatant, calculated remark aimed directly at Luther's ego.

But Luther's unwavering certainty that Annie wasn't his had solid grounding.

On their wedding night, he had merely touched her; they had never actually consummated the marriage.

Not to mention, Hilda had never explicitly denied sleeping with Soren.

Lori was excellent at reading the room.

—One look at the icy, alienated distance between the couple.

She quickly made an excuse and slipped out the door.

Once Lori was gone, Luther shut the door and slowly pulled off his tie. The little girl had already bounded over, lifting her arms to be picked up. Assuming Luther was in a foul mood and not wanting to force him to play house, Hilda reached out to take Annie to bed. But to her surprise, Luther easily scooped the girl up. He lightly pinched her cheek, then cast a dark, impenetrable look toward Hilda, his mind clearly turning over thoughts he had no intention of sharing.

Hilda pressed her lips together.

"I'll go run her bathwater."

When she was finally alone, she found herself dissecting that bizarre look he had given her. Eventually, she just gave up trying to analyze it.

She had been swamped all day and hadn't managed a single brushstroke on her canvas. So, after coaxing Annie to sleep, she locked herself in the studio, completely losing track of time once the paint hit the palette.

In the study.

At 1:00 AM, Luther snapped his laptop shut, pinched the bridge of his nose, and stood up, walking toward the master bedroom.

He assumed Hilda was already asleep.

But the bedroom was pitch black and freezing; she hadn't even turned on the central heating. Luther turned on the AC and the lights, took a quick shower, and got into bed. He lay there mindlessly scrolling through his phone until he stumbled onto the social media account for 'The Bibliophile'.

A few days ago, the artist had made a post.

It was directly referencing the oil painting he had just purchased.

[Your eyes hold the sea, the blue in the haze.]

It wasn't a complaint. It was just a statement of fact.

About ten minutes later, she pulled back the covers and lay down beside him.

When Luther pinned her to the mattress, she didn't fight him, but she didn't reciprocate either. Her response was purely transactional—using a deadened compliance to get the man off her. Whether he was actually satisfied by it wasn't her problem. Luther kissed her for a few minutes, but feeling the absolute ice in her response, he completely lost the mood. He rolled off her and lay back on his side of the bed, staring silently at the ceiling.

A moment later, Hilda pulled her robe tighter and turned her back to him.

She fell asleep almost instantly.

Leaving Luther fully awake, his body coiled with frustration.

He stared at her spine.

The lights were out, and the moonlight spilling into the room draped over her, giving her a haunting, ethereal beauty.

Luther ground his teeth, his frustration spiking into something feral. He reached out, grabbed her by the shoulder, and roughly forced her onto her back. Hilda jolted awake, instantly pinned beneath him. He lightly tapped her cheek, which was already damp with sweat and tears. His voice was ragged and broken—

"You loved me first."

"You seduced me."