Love Beyond the Mask novel Chapter 2

Whitney froze, her face draining of color, her heart pounding out of her chest.

That man...

She had only sought help, but he had...

The man swiftly ushered her into the car, and Whitney offered no resistance. She had nowhere else to go. The hospital was crowded, and as the leading socialite of Banyan City, being exposed here was tantamount to signing her own death warrant for the Valentine family!

Clutching her hands tightly, Whitney scanned the unassuming Bentley she was in.

The man took a call, his voice deferential. “Yes, Ms. Valentine has been retrieved.”

“Calm down, your little golden grandchild hasn’t even settled in yet...” He soothed the elderly voice on the other end with a hint of frustration.

The car wound to a secluded mansion nestled against the hills, a testament to understated wealth. As Whitney stepped out, she was met by two maids at the entrance.

“This is Xandra and Taryn. They will take care of you for the next ten months until you deliver the child,” the man informed her.

Whitney was stunned, realizing she had been duped. Her eyes cooled to ice. “What does he take me for? A baby-making machine? Get him to see me.”

“Master was ambushed that day. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had this opportunity.”

Whitney was livid. Forced into the house, she was extremely weak but refused to compromise, engaging in a hunger strike to force the maids to call their master.

At dusk, Taryn finally brought news. “Master will see you tonight.”

Whitney clenched her fist secretly, filled with anger and curiosity about the man.

Late into the night, hidden in her bedroom, she heard the sound of an engine and muffled conversations from downstairs.

As the figure approached, her door slowly turned open.

Whitney’s heartbeat raced, and she abruptly grabbed a vase, holding her breath in wait.

The door opened, and a tall shadow loomed, the temperature seemingly dropping in his presence, the man exuding an intimidating aura.

Whitney trembled, seeing him knock politely, his remarkable long legs stepping into the room.

Her panic turned to anger as she raised the vase.

The man snuffed out his cigarette, his elegant fingers hanging loose, and with an air of aloof nobility, he warned her, “Before you smash that vase, two steps back, there’s a couch. Don’t trip!”

“Huh?” Whitney glanced back, flustered.

His voice was a blend of grace and firmness.