Love beyond the mask1-100

Novel Catalog

Chapter_43

The girls around them couldn’t contain their excitement, watching as L playfully smacked Whitney’s bottom. She blushed deeply, protesting, “What right do you have to carry me? I’m not going anywhere with you!”
L, unfazed, responded coolly, “Can’t I take care of my child? It’s in your belly, not anyone else’s.”
Caught off guard by his audacity, Whitney found herself being carried back into the Royal One Club.

In the presidential suite, the butler had already prepared a warm bath. L gently placed her down, and with a mock expression of disgust, he said, “You’re light as cotton candy. Warm yourself up. If you catch a cold, I’ll have to discipline you.”
Shivering from the cold and a little indignant, Whitney disappeared into the bathroom.

A knock at the door followed, and L’s assistant brought the outfit he had ordered. Whitney, fresh from her bath, called out, “Hey… Where are my clothes?”
L, standing just outside, cracked the door slightly and replied, “They’re with me.”
Irritated, Whitney shot back, “Why are you standing so close? Were you peeping?”
With a cold smile, L opened the door wider, teasing, “Guess how much I saw?”
Clutching her towel, Whitney exclaimed, “L, you’re such a scoundrel!”
He chuckled, steadying her as she nearly lost her balance. “Be careful!”
His tone shifted sharply. “Who would want to peep at you? The bathroom doesn’t have a non-slip mat. If you fall, what about my child?”

Realizing her mistake, Whitney couldn’t help but feel the allure of his care. She pouted, “Give me my clothes.”
L passed the clothes to her through the door gap. As she tried to grab them, he held on, refusing to let go.
Whitney pulled hard, but L’s grip remained firm. Seeing her in the towel, he couldn’t help but be captivated, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he asked, “Need help?”
With flushed cheeks, Whitney snatched the clothes from him and slammed the bathroom door shut, her heart racing from his teasing.

Once dressed, she walked out to the familiar scent of ginger coffee. L was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, preparing the drink. His actions—so domestic, so unlike his usual arrogance—caught her off guard.
Trying to ignore the flutter in her chest, Whitney scanned the room.
When L returned, holding the coffee, he immediately noticed her scrutinizing the surroundings. With a mocking grin, he asked, “Looking for traces of other women?”
Whitney spun around, sarcastically retorting, “Even if there were traces, wouldn’t a man like you know how to cover them up?”
L effortlessly lifted her onto the bed. “It seems you need to be put in your place!”

Whitney reached for the comforter, feigning disapproval. “Is this bed even clean?”
Annoyed, L tossed back, “It’s not. Sniff the middle of the bed, and you’ll find another scent.”
Curious, Whitney leaned down to check, only to find the unmistakable scent of him. Her face flushed, and she quickly sat up, only for L to lean in closer, suggesting, “There are more direct ways to check, you know.”

“How?” she asked innocently.
He took her hand, guiding it toward the buckle of his belt, his eyes full of seduction. “How do you think?”
Flushed with embarrassment, Whitney pushed him away. “L!”
He smirked, “Aren’t you the one who’s suspicious?”
But suddenly, his expression turned cold. “I’ve been alone here for days, not even a female fly in sight. Why haven’t you gone home? Because someone’s made me angry!”

Whitney looked around the immaculate suite, noticing the absence of any feminine touch.
“What’s been bothering you lately, throwing hints and suspicions?” His grip on her chin tightened, frustration clear in his voice. “Are you really convinced I’ve been chasing other women?”
Whitney bit her lip, caught between defiance and fear. Her thoughts were clouded, unsure whether she truly believed it.
“Speak up!” he demanded, his patience wearing thin.

His proximity was overwhelming—his warmth and scent enveloping her. Everything about the moment was too much, especially on the bed, causing her thoughts to spiral.
Hearing his voice drop into a husky tone, Whitney quickly scooted away.
But L, ever domineering, scooped her back into his arms effortlessly. Reaching for the ginger coffee, he ordered, “Drink this before it gets cold.”
Whitney scrunched her nose. “It’s too spicy. I don’t want it.”

Her complaint carried an almost coquettish tone.
L’s gaze deepened as he threatened, “If you won’t drink, I’ll have to feed you.”
He added with a provocative edge, “And you can imagine just how.”

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