Love beyond the mask1-100

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Chapter_89

Parker glanced down at the woman, his icy demeanor betraying the irritation that simmered just beneath the surface. He moved to walk past her without a second glance.

“Tiana?” she piped up, her voice laced with confusion. “Did I do something to you? Why are you ignoring me?”

Great, Parker thought, the little ditz has already forgotten everything.

His henchmen exchanged knowing glances. They could barely contain their laughter. The woman had practically thrown herself at Parker that night, leaving his shirt and belt in disarray, yet now she seemed oblivious.

As Parker strode away coldly, Tiana was left standing there, her confusion turning to wariness. He exuded a dangerous, intimidating aura—one that made her shiver at the thought. Maybe it was better to keep her distance after all.

Leaning casually against the wall, Nolan eyed Tiana’s departure, a wicked grin stretching across his face as he flashed a mischievous glance at Parker’s men. “Does Parker have a thing with Whitney’s little friend?”

One of the henchmen chuckled, clearly amused. “A bit, yes. Parker had to take a cold shower afterward.”

Nolan clicked his tongue, enjoying the gossip. “Parker, your fiancée never got you all worked up, huh? What’s little Tiana’s secret?”

Parker’s gaze flicked toward Nolan, and despite himself, a sneer curled his lips. “Laughing at me? Look at you. Your beloved gal got scooped up by your big brother, Ashton Fuller, and you’re just going to keep moping around? Ashton doesn’t even love Valerie; his heart belongs to…” He trailed off with a sly grin, savoring the tension. Ashton was their friend, but his relationship with Ludwik was complicated—largely due to a one-sided obsession with Elaine.

Nolan’s face darkened as the playful banter shifted to something more serious. “When are Ashton and Valerie due back from their honeymoon in Maelstrom Country?” he asked, though the bitterness in his voice was evident.

Parker raised an eyebrow. “How the hell should I know?” Nolan’s short answer was laced with frustration.

Meanwhile, back at the villa, Felix drove quietly as the car cut through the night.

When they arrived, Whitney stepped out and headed inside, swapping her shoes as she did every night.

But Ludwik’s tall figure loomed in her path, blocking her from climbing the stairs. His hand casually slipped into his pocket, but there was an undeniable tension in his posture.

Whitney tried to push past him, but with effortless strength, he swept her into his arms, holding her close as he carried her to the living room.

“Get the first aid kit,” Ludwik ordered without looking away from her, his voice hard and commanding.

Whitney blinked in surprise. “You…” Her voice trembled, and her heart beat faster. “You know everything.”

Ludwik’s eyes softened slightly as he lowered her onto the couch, his hands gentle yet firm. He rolled up her sleeve, his touch deliberate. Whitney flinched at his touch, and the tears she’d been holding back finally spilled.

Tears flowed from her eyes like broken pearls, and Ludwik’s expression shifted from one of controlled calm to something that resembled panic. He gripped her shoulders firmly, his heart aching as he took in the sight of her brokenness.

“Hey… there, there,” his voice was low and comforting as he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her tears soak into his shirt. “I know you were roughed up in jail. That night must’ve been terrifying, and you were all alone. I’m sorry, okay?”

Whitney buried her face in his shoulder, her sobs wracking her body as she bit into his flesh, desperate for release. Taryn arrived quickly with the first aid kit, and Ludwik continued to soothe her, his touch surprisingly tender as he applied ointment to her bruises, careful not to cause more pain.

Whitney winced with each touch, her skin pale as snow.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked softly, his voice thick with concern.

“Of course it does…” she muttered, the irritation lacing her words belying the tears that still rolled down her cheeks. “There are more bruises… all over.”

“I’ll check them later,” he said, his voice firm.

“I don’t want you to,” she shot back, the fire inside her momentarily flaring despite the overwhelming warmth of his embrace. “You weren’t there when I needed you most. You’re just a jerk.”

Ludwik’s lips curved slightly into a smile, though it was a rueful one. “Alright, I’m the jerk, and you’re the angel.”

He kissed her temple, then her soft forehead, and finally the wet trails of her tears. His movements were slow, deliberate—no longer about passion, but about reconciliation. The room’s atmosphere shifted as Taryn, sensing the intimacy between them, quietly slipped away.

Ludwik gently cupped her face and leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her cheek. He sought her lips, but when she pushed against his chest, he pulled back, just enough to let her breathe.

Her small hands beat lightly against his chest, like a kitten’s playful scratch.

Ludwik’s breath hitched in his throat, his muscular chest tightening. With a restrained smile, he caught her wrists. “I get it,” he murmured, his tone low and thick with desire. “I was wrong. Stop hitting me, or you’ll stir up a different kind of desire.”

Whitney’s eyes widened in realization, and a wave of heat rushed to her cheeks. “You…?” she stammered, her face turning crimson.

Even now, after everything, his thoughts were not purely about her pain?

Her knee jerked up, trying to push him away, but Ludwik was quick—grabbing her small ankle with surprising gentleness.

“You better not kick,” he warned with a low chuckle. “Your little punches and kicks might just fan the flames in my heart.”

Whitney’s heart raced with a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. She didn’t know how to punish him anymore.

“Hmph,” she pouted, her head drooping as her arms, still covered in bruises, rested in his gentle hold. “Did you get a good look at who hit you?” she asked, trying to change the subject, to focus on something other than the rawness of their current moment.

“Yeah, Monica orchestrated it,” she added, her voice firm with conviction. She was certain of it.

Ludwik’s expression hardened, his gaze darkening. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. “You don’t want me meddling in your affairs, but after what she did—getting you locked up, putting our child at risk—I won’t let her off.”

Whitney could sense the dangerous undercurrent in his voice, but she knew he didn’t understand the full extent of her feud with Monica.

Behind it all was Yvonne, a powerful figure who had been pulling strings from the shadows. Whitney knew the tactics Monica had employed were just the beginning, and she was determined to uncover who was truly behind this.

Frowning, Whitney looked at Ludwik. “L… just give her a lesson. I still have use for Monica.”

Ludwik’s eyes softened as he gazed at her, his fingers brushing over the bruises with tenderness. “Have you calmed down?” he asked in a voice that was suddenly low and intimate.

Whitney glanced up at him, surprised by the shift in his tone. His fingers gently blew across her bruises, his features a delicate balance of hardness and tenderness.

Her heart fluttered unexpectedly, and she snorted awkwardly, trying to cover the flutter of emotion. “This little act of kindness won’t make me forgive you,” she said with a hint of humor in her voice.

“As if I’ve forgiven you either,” Ludwik replied, his face hardening again, though a slight smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Whitney met his deep, dark gaze. It felt like he was waiting for something, something unspoken hanging in the air.

Her heart beat faster as the realization dawned. She had to swallow her pride, just this once.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she softened, her fingers nervously twisting a piece of his shirt. “I… I’m sorry, too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I thought you weren’t coming to save me.”

Ludwik gazed at her intently, his stare like a burning flame that left her breathless. His hand reached up slowly, pinching her nose gently as his lips curled in a small, affectionate smile.

“Silly,” he chided softly, his voice laced with both affection and amusement. “You should trust me more. I care about you—how could I not come to your rescue? Use that little head of yours and think. Who else but me has the power to set you free on a whim?”

He cares about me? The thought flitted through Whitney’s mind, and her heart skipped a beat.

Ludwik’s gaze felt like an anchor, calm and steady, yet it filled her with an unexpected sense of security.

For a moment, she allowed herself to lean into it, into him, and let herself believe.

“I thought…” she whispered, her voice fragile, “I thought once you had me, you’d get bored.”

Ludwik’s expression darkened, but then a chuckle escaped him—one

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