Love beyond the mask (Whitney)

Chapter 27

Whitney raised an eyebrow and looked at Monica with amusement as if she were watching a court

jester perform.

Standing beside her, L. towered with an impeccable posture, blatantly ignoring Monica as if she were

beneath

his notice.

‘Let’s get going,” he said, turning with an air of distinction.

Whitney followed him, delicate and soft, which only made him seem more imposing.

Simon watched from behind, his eyes simmering with an intense, fiery anger,

“Whitney!” He barked, halting her in her tracks.

Monica’s face soured instantly.

Whitney paused, and L. glanced at her. “I need to take a call. The driver will pick you up. Can you

handle that?”

She nodded with a faint smile. Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

With a cool glance back, Whitney watched Simon approach, eyeing L as he walked away to take his

call. “Who the hell is that guy?” Simon demanded.

“None of your damn business.”

“How can you associate with riffraff? Whitney, have you sunk so low?”

“At least I’m not scavenging for coins in the gutter.”

Her words stung Monica and Simon, and onlookers struggled to suppress their laughter.

Monica’s face turned icy while Simon’s expression grew colder. He grabbed Whitney’s hand and

sneered, “Riffraff without a car, right? He’s probably riding a motorcycle. I’ll take you home!”

The sound of his car keys jingled, and the headlights of a Lamborghini flashed.

Monica feigned concern as she approached. “Oh dear sister, you must have walked here, right? You

should be careful, especially being pregnant, even if the father’s identity is a mystery. Let Simon and

me take you home. What if something happens to you on that motorcycle?”

The elite ladies nearby cast disdainful glances at Whitney. As beautiful as she was, it baffled them why

she would be with a thug.

Whitney remained silent.

Then, the unmistakable roar of an ultra–luxury car approached, and when the onlookers recognized it,

they collectively gasped.

A one–of–a–kind, limited edition Bugatti Veyron–not just the car, but the consecutive numbers on the

license plate left Simon and Monica dumbfounded.

Such a license plate number symbolized power, something even the elite of Banyan City could not

procure.

Whose car was this?

The driver stepped out, respectfully calling, “Ms. Valentine, your car is ready.”

He addressed her as Ms. Valentine, not as the lady of the house, which suggested L’s directive. With a

knowing smile, Whitney swept past the stunned Monica, Yvonne, and Preston, and gracefully got into

the car.

The Bugatti Veyron sped off, leaving a cloud of exhaust for the Valentine family to choke on.

The surrounding socialites were abuzz. “Who has Whitney gotten involved with? That license plate–

only the Lippert family in Banyan City could…”

15:00

“No way Whitney’s involved with the Lippert family!” Yvonne interjected with scorn. “She’s ruined. She’s

just latched onto some guy with a fake plate!”

Monica, jealous to the core but feigning sorrow, added, “She’s disgraced our father.”

Simon’s complexion turned sour. How could Whitney know a man with such a car?

A deep resentment bubbled within him. Whitney was supposed to be his–all of her beauty, excellence,

and capabilities should have been his!

Land Whitney traveled in separate cars, he ahead and she following behind.

Tiana urgently contacted her, “Did I do well, Whitney?”

“Perfectly.” Whitney had instructed Tiana to drug Monica and take her to the basement.

The driver had bought some dog meat to stage the scene.

Yvonne’s plans were derailed, and everyone witnessed her supposed madness, making her

institutionalization a foregone conclusion.

“These two are always jumping around, but too bad for Monica–just as she stepped into high society,

you kicked her out again. And that resort contract won’t do her any good now, haha,” Tiana said

cheerfully. “By the way, did Mr. Lippert show up?”

“No,” Whitney replied, distracted by her fake husband and missing her nemesis’s handsome face.

Once at the villa, Whitney alighted from the car. L, already there, stood elegantly, smoking a cigarette–

a mature man with a dangerously attractive demeanor.

He nodded for her to wait as he finished his smoke.

After the smoke cleared, he approached her with the grace of a gentleman.

Whitney’s dogs bounded from the car. She knelt to greet them, her face softening. “They’re getting old,”

she said. “My mother gave them to me. They’ve been with me through everything. I should’ve picked

them up days ago. Thank you for your driver, Sir.”

“Try again?” L raised an eyebrow.

Whitney laughed, standing up in the evening breeze like an ethereal flower.

He glanced at her lips, and his fingers loosened his Windsor–knotted tie.

“Thank you, L. Without you, I wouldn’t have my dogs!” She said, stepping closer to him playfully.

“Hmph.”

Whitney pointed to the imposing Bugatti behind her. “But you really shouldn’t use that license plate.

The cops might not like it, Sir.”

L’s mouth twitched in response.

His assistant grimaced, feeling sorry for the plate for being mistaken as a fake.

Then, they headed towards the villa.

Whitney noticed the man’s formal attire, suggesting he had been at an important event. “Did you come

back from a trip, or did you return just for this?” She asked quietly.

His pause and deep gaze were answer enough.

Whitney blushed, her thoughts turning to his concern for her pregnancy.

As they neared the door, L frowned. “They can’t come in!” He said, referring to the dogs.

Whitney glanced back at the stray dogs with a pang of sympathy, “They’re just like me, without a home. Can’t you take them in, Sir?”

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15:00

“Nope.” His response was heartlessly brief.

“Madam, Sir is allergic to dogs! Taryn chimed in with a smile as she approached

Oh? Whitney blinked in surprise, suddenly understanding his aversion to letting the dogs side. She had

touched the dogs earlier, and his eyes had indeed flared with rejection.

She pouted, “Oh, I’m sorry then”

“But Sir has a little kitty living in a separate house in the backyard. Your dogs could stay there: Taryn

respectfully asked the man, “Sir, would that be alright?”

He had just slipped off his suit jacket, revealing a well–built figure under his crisply pressed shirt, the

very picture of elegance.

He glanced at Whitney and, without a word, tacitly consented.

Taryn immediately led Whitney to the backyard.

In front of a pink miniature villa, Whitney was almost blinded by the brightness, “Is this his cat’s

house?”

Talk about living large!

They entered the spacious villa, and a pure white, aristocratic kitten lay atop a luxurious cat condo,

barely acknowledging their presence with a haughty glance.

Just like its owner!

Whitney turned around to see the man standing aloof outside the pink abode.

“Aren’t you coming in?”

Taryn giggled softly, “Sir loves his cat, but he’s allergic to cat dander too, so he keeps his distance.”

Whitney was at a loss for words.