Love beyond the mask (Whitney)

Chapter 11

Stiffly, she backed out of the wardrobe, casting a wary glance at the door–thankfully, no one was

there.

It took a while before the man emerged, his casual attire starkly contrasting with his usual suits–more

youthful and rakish.

Whitney’s eyes darted around nervously as the man approached, studying her crimson face.

His gaze playful, he teased without hesitation, “It’s natural, isn’t it? How else did you get pregnant?”

Speechless, Whitney could not fathom why he would even mention it. She fled, feigning ignorance.

Watching her retreat, the man’s handsome lips curved into a smile.

In the hallway, Whitney cooled down until her stomach growled audibly.

The man stepped out, hearing it, and his expression darkened. “Have you not eaten all day?

Is this how you treat my child?” He glared at her belly solemnly. Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

Embarrassed, Whitney glanced at her watch–it was already four in the afternoon.

She hung her head, “Sorry, I forgot…”

14:56

With furrowed brows, he ordered, “Go eat first.”

Whitney obeyed, following him to the Southern Elegance Club’s dining area, with its luxurious pavilions

and water features.

The imposing man personally ensured she was served a pregnancy–friendly meal, the manager

nodding respectfully at his every instruction.

Whitney, admiring his dizzying profile, wished she could see past the mask that obscured his features.

“Will you be joining me for the meal?”

“I don’t eat off the pregnancy menu.” No sooner had he finished speaking than a suspicious ‘gurgle‘

echoed.

Whitney touched her stomach, sure it was not her, and shot a glance at the towering man.

His face tensed slightly.

Whitney could not help but giggle, her lips a rosy hue. “Have you not eaten all day either?”

He shot her a look that warned against mocking him.

Whitney stayed quiet, seated obediently, but nudged the dish towards him.

Eventually, he took a seat opposite her.

Dishes arrived one by one. Since they were not well acquainted, Whitney stole glances at his elegant

dining

manners.

Suddenly, some vegetables–beans, corn–landed on her plate.

Whitney frowned, “I don’t like these.”

“The baby does,” he stated sternly.

Whitney’s lips twitched. A barely one–month–old embryo fancied vegetables?

Fine, she was just a tool.

As she ate, disheartened, a woman approached their table and snapped a photo of Whitney and the

man dining.

Followed by a sneer. “Well, Whitney, you’ve got the guts to dine here?”

Whitney looked up, her gaze icy. It was Roselyn, Monica’s confidant, birds of a feather.

Roselyn’s hateful eyes fixed on Whitney. They had been college classmates, but Whitney, always the standout, snagged the scholarships, the socialite title, and the wealthy young man Roselyn secretly

pined for, leaving Roselyn humiliated after a public rejection.

Roselyn had harbored that grudge, biding her time for Whitney’s downfall.

She plopped down beside them, snickering, “Heard you were passed around by kidnappers and now

keeping some thug. Is this him?”

Her gaze swept over the man, initially taken aback by his intimidating presence, but then she noticed

his leather jacket. No one would dare dress so casually in the high–end Southern Elegance Club

unless they were a thug.

“Hiding behind a mask. Must be hideous, huh?”

Whitney almost spat out her water, glancing fearfully at the man who had stopped eating and put down

his fork.

Worried she had angered him, Whitney spoke up, “Roselyn, you can leave now.”

“It’s you who should leave, a washed–up pauper with her thug boyfriend trying to dine and dash. Hey,

how about I live stream you getting thrown out?” Roselyn’s taunts grew as she fiddled with her

phone.