Love Beyond the Mask

Chapter 191

She put down her phone expressionlessly and leaned against the headboard, gently cradling her still

stomach. Despite her exhaustion, sleep eluded her.

Her eyelids drooped, and as she listened to his uneven breathing, Whitney stared blankly at him.

At some point, Ludwik’s large hand found its way to the edge of her stomach.

It was probably just an instinctive motion in his sleep.

A pang hit Whitney’s heart as she gazed at his face, surprisingly tender under the soft light, and a wave

of uncertainty softened her.

Maybe it was only in his dreams that he could let go of his hatred for her, only then remembering they

were expecting a child.

When awake, he didn’t want the child at all.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she cautiously stroked his hair, her movements slight and ambivalent.

“Ludwik, I can’t fathom your heart. I don’t know what you’re thinking. Do you despise me to the bone, or

is there a sliver of space for me? In your sleep, without malice, you fill me with a flicker of hope…”

Exhausted, her words trailed off, and she collapsed onto the bed.

Ludwik awoke amid a softness he recognized, surrounded by her scent and tenderness.

He had slept surprisingly well. Opening his eyes, he found himself curled up in her arms.

His cheek against her belly, he could hear the faint stirrings of the little one inside.

His handsome face froze for a moment, filled with a chilling detachment that quickly blended with

unguarded tenderness and longing.

He looked up to see her pallid face, bruised at the neck and arms.

Ludwik lifted her shirt, eyeing the tortured marks on her pale waist, his gaze impenetrable.

Suddenly, she stirred slightly. His quickly let her shirt fall back into place.

Whitney slowly came to, and the first thing she saw was his piercing eyes, contemplating her in silence.

The air grew still, and he quickly moved to the headboard, lighting up a cigarette, his profile etched with

post–coital devilry. Despite not wanting to recall last night, Whitney’s cheeks flushed at the sight of his

exposed torso.

“You look quite taken. Do I please you more than Bryce did?” Ludwik sneered, misinterpreting her

blush.

Whitney felt as if doused in cold water. Last night could have been chalked up to his unmedicated

frenzy. But this morning, was he still drunk? Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

Or had he returned to his demonic self, needing to mock her to kickstart his day in good spirits?

Her hands trembled with the effort not to lash out, as she quickly got dressed.

“What’s the rush?” Ludwik flicked ash from his cigarette and hooked her chin, yesterday’s afterglow still

on her face, a soft blush framing her delicate features.

His

eyes trailed down from her neckline, igniting a fire within him that he couldn’t resist.

Before she could react, he pulled her back down.

“What are you doing now? Still drunk? You bastard, Ludwik! Let go of me. Last night, you promised to

leave my cousin Yael alone.”

Her reference to their deal sent his anger soaring.

He gripped her shoulders, his own scent intoxicating him, his words dripping with cold sarcasm. “You

think one time is enough for a deal? You’re not that valuable!”

Whitney staggered at his taunt.

The fleeting warmth from his sleep, which she clung to for comfort, quickly dissipated.

Dreams were dreams, and the harsh reality was the cold–hearted man he became when he awoke.

She sought his heart, but he turned their relationship into a stark transaction. He knew how to wound.

The curtains closed out the morning light, and her voice was hollow. “Please, don’t hurt our child. I beg

you.”

He paused, his face darkening, then continued.

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An hour later, Ludwik turned away, dressing with his back to her.

Whitney struggled to breathe, her petite face ashen, sweat beading from pain.

His elegant shirt cloaked his brutishness as he regained his composure. Turning, his gaze coldly swept

over her. “Get up. Make me breakfast.”

Whitney, incredulous, furrowed her brows. “I can’t move. If you’re hungry, fend for yourself!”

She cautiously touched her belly.

Ludwik ignored her frailty, his lips curving cruelly as he threw back the covers. “I left you with just

enough energy to cook. If you want something from me, you’d best do as I say.”

Realizing his ruthlessness, she wanted to smother him with pillows, but she forced herself up, her steps

faltering as she descended the stairs.

In the kitchen, even in an apartment, space was ample.

The fridge held only a few basic ingredients.

Drained, her lips were white, she managed to made some scrambled eggs.

Pregnant, she needed nutrients, so she ate half before he emerged from the shower.

Ludwik, his frame towering on the stairwell, watched her silently, his gaze unreadable.

Deep within, he loathed himself for being with her twice.

Last night’s excuses were illness, drunken madness.

But that morning, sober, he was supposed to despise her, with no room for sentiment

Yet, his body betrayed him. The night’s passion led to another loss of control

She couldn’t know, so he lashed out verbally, reducing it to a transaction.

Seeing her empty, despairing expression, he found no joy in his vengeance,

Unhappy himself, he cycled through tormenting her.

Watching her tremble as she walked, a heaviness settled in his chest.

These emotions were beyond his control. He didn’t understand this was love and hate intertwined.

Felix, slipping in quietly, noticed Mr. Lippert staring fixedly at the kitchen, his fists clenched,

He understood Mr. Lippert’s turmoil well,

Last night, Mr. Lippert had….

Felix coughed inwardly, the sounds reaching him even downstairs.

“Here you are,” Ludwik said, catching sight of Felix and swiftly masking his emotions.

He looked away from the woman in the kitchen and descended coldly, “What are you preparing, a royal

feast? Breakfast isn’t ready yet?”

Whitney almost choked on her eggs, hastily swallowing. She shot him a glance and removed the

remaining eggs from the pan.

Ludwik’s phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face before he walked to

the window to answer. “Elaine, good morning.”

Whitney carried the breakfast tray out to the sound of his voice, as tender as a lover’s whisper.

Such warmth in his tone was a stark contrast to the cold shoulder he gave her.

She told herself not to look his way, but masochistically, her eyes betrayed her, stealing a glance at his

profile.

Sure enough, the man sported a gentle curve at the corner of his lips as he asked with concern, “Did

you sleep well last night?”

“Did the pain wake you again? I’m sorry, I… got tied up with something and didn’t make it back home

last night.”

Whitney noticed a flicker of guilt in the depths of his eyes.

She forced a smile, her gaze fixed on the scrambled eggs.

“You have to get an IV today? I’ll try to swing by later, then. Breakfast? I know you’re a good cook.

Maybe some other time.”

He continued to soothe the woman on the other end of the phone.

Whitney felt a chill run through her.

This was like a husband lying to his wife, while she was nothing more than a discarded mistress. He

and Elaine were getting engaged, he wanted a divorce from her, he had asked her to trade her

body for Yael. In his heart, she had been relegated to a contemptible place.

Unconsciously, she tightened her grip on her fork.

Ludwik ended the call and turned to see her hands covered in yolk, a sneer crossed his face, “What’s

the matter, can’t handle a few words between me and Elaine? You’re the one who insisted on staying

at my place. Get used to scenes like this; there will be plenty more.”