Love Beyond the Mask novel Chapter 17

The next day, Whitney stayed at home to rest.

By the time she woke up, L had already left, whisked away in his luxury car, accompanied by several assistants. She didn't even know what he did for a living, but a strict and rigorous routine punctuated his life.

He had left a message with the housekeeper.

Taryn relayed his instructions, "Madam, Sir has gone on a business trip, but he wanted me to remind you not to mistreat his child just because he's not around.

You got caught in the rain yesterday, so you should stay home and rest today. Please don't go out unless it's absolutely necessary."

Whitney choked. When had she ever mistreated his child?

The man sure knew how to hold a grudge.

Thinking of the embarrassing scene from the night before, she was glad he was out of town.

Whitney spent a relaxed day, had lunch with Natalie, and in the afternoon, she immersed herself in research, sketching designs, and practicing for the crucial jewelry contest.

As dusk neared and she was deep in her work, her phone suddenly rang.

With her attention glued to her sketches, Whitney answered immediately without checking the caller ID.

"Is this Ms. Valentine? Your father, Preston, has had a bit too much at the bar while discussing business and has taken a fall. Could you come pick him up?"

Whitney's sketching hand froze, and she coldly refused. "I suggest you call Yvonne or Monica; they are his real family."

"Neither of them is answering their phones! Preston gave me your number, claiming you're his daughter too. He has hypertension, and it's an emergency—his life could be in danger."

The bartender sounded distressed.

Whitney's icy heart wavered slightly.

No matter how much of a horrible human being Preston was, he was still her father, and she could not just let him die.

After much hesitation, Whitney relented and coldly asked, "Address."

She gathered her things, changed her clothes, and slipped out, avoiding Taryn and the other household staff.

...

At the Imperial Garden Bar.

Whitney stepped out of her car and entered, approaching the bartender at the front, "Excuse me, which private room is Mr. Preston in? How is he?"

"He's in private room number eight and not doing well. Please, follow me, miss."

Whitney frowned and followed the bartender down a narrow hallway.

She counted the room numbers as she walked. Room number seven was at the very end, and she paused, "Haven't we reached room eight yet?"

"We have to take a turn here, miss," the bartender said, glancing at her under the dim lights.

Whitney sensed something off about his gaze. Why would Preston be waiting in a secluded private room if he was seriously injured?

She instinctively tightened her grip and suddenly said, "Why don't you bring him out? I'll wait here..."

Before she could finish, the bartender abruptly grabbed her, clamped a hand over her mouth, shoved her forward and around the corner, and forcefully pushed her through a door!

"What the hell?" Whitney's internal alarms screamed. She fell to the floor but quickly scrambled to her feet to assess the room.

To her shock, she saw Preston sitting leisurely on a couch, clear-eyed and unharmed, not at all like someone who was drunk or had fallen!

Yvonne stood beside him, a cold smile on her lips.

At that moment, Whitney's heart turned to ice. The faint bond of kinship felt like a punch to the face, a dull and profound ache.

A trap, how quaint.

Her eyes flamed red with anger, "You lured me here, Preston. What do you want?"