She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 83

She returned to the apartment.

It was cold and empty.

Hilda walked into the master bedroom, took off the overcoat in front of the mirror, gently unhooked her earrings, and slipped out of the velvet gown. Looking at her reflection, she thought with a touch of self-deprecation that she hadn't changed at all from four years ago.

She was still utterly alone.

Luther was still madly in love with Jolie.

But Hilda didn't drown in her sorrow.

She changed into comfortable clothes and started painting.

She immersed herself in her art.

Because this was her only path to changing her destiny.

By the time exhaustion seeped into her bones and she finally looked up, the moon had already sunk low.

—It was 3:00 AM.

Hilda set her brushes down and walked out of the studio.

She was just about to head to the bathroom for a shower when she noticed a familiar silhouette sitting on the sofa. The dim light traced the edge of his profile, making him look even more unreadable.

—It was Luther.

Hilda had no idea when he had come back.

She stood there for a long time, speechless.

Luther stared at her in silence.

After a long while, Hilda asked him softly—

"When did you get back?"

"Are you hungry? Do you want a late-night snack?"

...

Her tone was completely ordinary, as if it were just a normal night and her husband had come home late from working overtime.

She didn't mention Jolie.

She certainly didn't interrogate him about why he had left with another woman.

Luther's dark eyes were intense. He kept staring at her, analyzing every micro-expression on her face, as if trying to peel back her skin to see what was underneath.

Finally, he asked her, his voice low and slow, "Why aren't you asking me?"

Hilda smiled. "Ask you what, Luther? When you left with her, you didn't consider my dignity as your wife, nor did you ask if I was okay with it. So why are you asking for my reaction now? If it's not my place to interfere, I'm not going to overstep. By the same token, you shouldn't demand extra emotional labor from me. That requires a different kind of investment."

He reached out and grabbed her.

—Pulling her slowly, inevitably toward him.

Her knees practically bumped against his.

Their bodies touched, separated by only a thin layer or two of fabric.

They had slept together many times, but she still trembled slightly at his touch. Perhaps it was the aura of danger he radiated, or the memory of his past ruthlessness and dominance that still made her instinctively afraid.

"What kind of investment?"

He whispered all sorts of humiliating things.

She felt a mix of intense shame and overwhelming sensation. She didn't know what it was like for other couples, but she vaguely realized Luther had immense needs—not just physical, but psychological. He was an incredibly demanding partner in bed.

What, could Jolie not satisfy him?

In the tempest of his desire, she experienced the full brunt of his temper. His gentleness was just a facade; this was his true nature in the bedroom. After a few rounds, Hilda was practically falling apart in his hands. No matter how much she begged, he refused to stop, seemingly intent on making her endure the sweet agony.

When it was over, he carried her to the bathtub to soak.

He showered separately.

Afterward, he carried her to the bed and pulled her into his arms.

Hilda kept her eyes squeezed shut.

She was far too exhausted after everything that had happened that day.

She had absolutely no energy left to deal with him.

Unsatisfied, the man licked a tear from the corner of her eye.

Hilda closed her eyes, her voice completely broken: "Next time you want a specific reaction, tell me beforehand. I'll perform it for you."

As soon as she spoke, he lightly patted her cheek.

"I prefer retroactive punishment."

Everything he hadn't been able to do before because of his pride—

—He did it all tonight.