Love beyond the mask1-100

Novel Catalog

Chapter_27

Whitney raised an eyebrow, her gaze shifting from Monica to L., amusement dancing in her eyes. It was as though she were watching a court jester perform. Beside her, L. stood tall and composed, his posture flawless. He ignored Monica entirely, as if she were beneath his notice.

“Let’s go,” he said, turning with an air of distinction, leaving Monica and Simon behind.

Whitney, delicate and soft in her movement, followed him, further adding to his imposing presence. Simon, watching from behind, could barely contain his fiery anger. He stormed forward, his voice loud and sharp.

“Whitney!” he barked, stopping her in her tracks.

Monica’s expression soured instantly, but Whitney only paused, glancing over at L. “I need to take a call,” he said coolly. “The driver will pick you up. Can you handle that?”

She nodded with a faint smile, her composure unwavering.

With a final, cool glance, Whitney turned her attention back to Simon. His demand hung in the air. “Who the hell is that guy?”

“None of your damn business,” Whitney retorted, her tone sharp.

Simon’s face tightened with disdain. “How can you associate with riffraff? Have you really sunk so low?”

Whitney’s words hit their mark. “At least I’m not scavenging for coins in the gutter,” she snapped back.

The insult stung both Monica and Simon, and those around them struggled to suppress their laughter. Monica’s face froze in icy fury while Simon’s expression darkened further. He reached for Whitney’s hand, sneering, “Riffraff without a car, huh? He’s probably riding a motorcycle. I’ll take you home.”

The sound of jangling car keys filled the air, and the headlights of a Lamborghini flashed, catching everyone’s attention. Monica feigned concern, stepping forward with a false smile.

“Oh dear sister, you must have walked here, right? You should be careful, especially being pregnant, even if the father’s identity is a mystery. Let Simon and me take you home. What if something happens to you on that motorcycle?”

The elite ladies nearby looked on with disdain. As beautiful as Whitney was, they couldn’t understand why she’d be associated with a thug. Whitney remained silent, her demeanor unaffected.

Then, the unmistakable roar of an ultra-luxury car shattered the tension. A one-of-a-kind, limited edition Bugatti Veyron roared into view, its distinct license plate number sending shockwaves through the crowd. The sight of it left Simon and Monica dumbfounded.

Such a license plate symbolized power—something even the elite of Banyan City couldn’t easily obtain.

“Whose car is this?” they whispered.

The driver stepped out, addressing Whitney respectfully, “Ms. Valentine, your car is ready.”

The title “Ms. Valentine” only deepened the mystery, further indicating L’s influence. With a knowing smile, Whitney swept past Monica, Yvonne, and Preston, gracefully sliding into the car.

The Bugatti Veyron sped off, leaving a cloud of exhaust in its wake, and the Valentine family was left to choke on the realization of their mistake.

The surrounding socialites were abuzz, speculating in hushed voices. “Who has Whitney gotten involved with? That license plate—only the Lippert family could…” one whispered.

“No way,” Yvonne scoffed. “She’s ruined. She’s just latched onto some guy with a fake plate.”

Monica, seething with jealousy but trying to mask it with sorrow, added, “She’s disgraced our father.”

Simon, his face ashen, couldn’t fathom how Whitney knew a man with such a car. Resentment churned in his chest. Whitney was supposed to be his—her beauty, her intelligence, her capabilities. All of it should have been his.

As they traveled in separate cars, L. ahead and Whitney trailing behind, Tiana called her urgently.

“Did I do well, Whitney?”

“Perfectly,” Whitney replied with satisfaction. She had instructed Tiana to drug Monica and take her to the basement. The plan had worked, derailing Yvonne’s schemes and ensuring Monica’s downfall.

The others would witness Yvonne’s supposed madness, and her institutionalization was now all but certain.

“These two are always causing trouble,” Tiana continued, clearly pleased. “Too bad for Monica—just as she stepped into high society, you kicked her out again. And that resort contract won’t help her now, haha. By the way, did Mr. Lippert show up?”

“No,” Whitney replied, her thoughts drifting briefly to her fake husband, missing his handsome face.

At the villa, Whitney exited the car, her heart light. L., already waiting, stood with an elegant posture, smoking a cigarette. He looked every bit the mature, dangerous man he was, and he gave her a brief nod, signaling her to wait while he finished his smoke.

Once the cigarette was discarded, he moved toward her with the grace of a gentleman.

Whitney’s dogs, bounding from the car, caught her attention. She knelt to greet them, her face softening. “They’re getting old,” she said wistfully. “My mother gave them to me. They’ve been with me through everything. I should’ve picked them up days ago. Thank you for your driver, Sir.”

L. raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his gaze. “Try again?” he teased.

Whitney laughed, standing up with the evening breeze tousling her hair. She looked ethereal as she approached him playfully.

“Thank you, L. Without you, I wouldn’t have my dogs!” she said, her voice light.

“Hmph,” he responded with a dismissive noise.

She gestured toward the imposing Bugatti behind her. “But you really shouldn’t use that license plate. The cops might not like it, Sir.”

L.’s mouth twitched in amusement, but his assistant winced, clearly feeling sorry for the plate being mistaken as a fake.

They moved toward the villa, but as they neared the door, L. frowned. “They can’t come in,” he said, referring to the dogs.

Whitney looked back at the stray dogs, sympathy in her gaze. “They’re just like me, without a home. Can’t you take them in, Sir?”

“Nope,” L. replied curtly.

“Madam, Sir is allergic to dogs,” Taryn, his assistant, explained with a smile as she approached.

Whitney blinked in surprise, realizing that L.’s aversion to the dogs made sense now. She had touched them earlier, and he had clearly rejected them.

“Oh, I’m sorry then,” Whitney said, her voice soft.

“But Sir has a little kitty living in a separate house in the backyard. Your dogs could stay there,” Taryn added with respect, addressing L. “Would that be alright, Sir?”

L., now in his casual attire, his well-built frame evident beneath his shirt, glanced at Whitney without speaking. His silent consent was clear.

Taryn led Whitney to the backyard, where a pink miniature villa stood. The brightness of it almost blinded her. “Is this his cat’s house?” she asked in awe.

It was lavish, to say the least.

They entered the spacious villa, and a pure white, aristocratic kitten lay on a luxurious cat condo, barely acknowledging their presence with a disdainful glance—much like its owner.

Whitney turned around to see L. standing aloof outside, his presence commanding even from a distance.

“Aren’t you coming in?” she called.

Taryn giggled softly. “Sir loves his cat, but he’s allergic to cat dander too, so he keeps his distance.”

Whitney couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all. The man truly was a puzzle.

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