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Chapter_97
Elaine’s persistent pleas on Whitney’s behalf only served to reveal a harsh truth: Ludwik wore his heart on his sleeve, yet Whitney had cast him aside, while Bryce—whom Ludwik could never quite connect with—seamlessly stepped into the gap.
Wasn’t Whitney acting like the very definition of a social butterfly? Skirting dangerously close to scandal while lying through her teeth, playing the part of the perfect woman? It was almost too much for Ludwik to bear. The seeds of doubt that had begun to sprout were quickly tumbling into an abyss, each word Elaine spoke only deepening his fury.
His gaze fixed on the woman through the window, lost in her conversation on the phone, oblivious to the storm brewing inside him.
As if on cue, Whitney hastily returned to the booth. Perhaps it was feigned clumsiness, but she stumbled forward with a soft cry. Bryce, ever the hero, reached out and caught her delicate hand. She looked up at him, her expression bashful, as his gaze melted into a deep, almost smoldering stare.
Ludwik watched, an icy chuckle escaping his lips. In a moment of frustration, he threw his phone against the wall with a shattering crash.
The door slammed shut behind him as he stormed out, his expression as cold as ice. The roar of his Bentley echoed through the night, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.
“Bro, wait for me…” Elaine called out desperately, but as Ludwik’s car sped off, a sly smile crept across her face. “Whitney, you’ve really dug your own grave this time.”
Back at the booth, Whitney entered, still shaken by L’s call. A misstep twisted her ankle, and in her pregnant, cautious state, she reached for a chair to steady herself.
Bryce was quick to lend a hand, but as she regained her balance, she quickly distanced herself. “Thank you, Mr. Lutz,” she murmured, her voice steady, and Bryce immediately withdrew his hand.
Outside, the waitstaff bustled about, preparing for the evening crowd. Whitney let out a sigh and settled down to finish the half-drawn necklace design. Despite the unease gnawing at her, she pressed on, determined to complete it.
She was eager to finalize the design. After Bryce reviewed the draft, they discussed the details, agreeing on a precious emerald for the centerpiece. The deal was set, and Whitney could begin crafting it. The rest would be a matter of earrings, studs, diamond rings, bracelets, and brooches.
“My mother adores your style,” Bryce remarked with a smile. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to impose on you a bit longer due to a personal matter. There’s no rush, though—my mother can wait.”
Whitney didn’t pick up on his underlying intent—he simply wished for more time with the woman who had stirred his heart. She was too focused on business to notice his subtle flirtations.
When it came time to leave, Bryce handed her a small wrapped piece of velvet cake. “Perhaps you’ll enjoy this?” he offered with a warm smile.
Surprised and delighted, Whitney recognized it immediately as her favorite cake from a nearby bakery—a detail Ludwik hadn’t even known. Of course, that was only because they were still in the early stages of their relationship. She never intended to keep it a secret from him.
“Thank you, goodbye,” Whitney said, giving him a polite smile before walking out.
The chill of December had settled in, the early darkness wrapping the suburbs in a heavy, cold embrace. As she drove toward United Realty Corporation, an unexpected yearning filled her. The thought of Ludwik’s broad chest, his towering presence, and the warmth he provided lingered in her mind.
Upon arriving at United Realty Corporation, she stepped into the imposing lobby, a beacon of light in the late hours. The building hummed with the activity of its elite staff, all going about their business with practiced efficiency.
At the front desk, however, the secretary gave her a skeptical look. “May I ask who you’re here to see?”
Whitney froze, suddenly realizing that she didn’t know Ludwik’s full name. “I’m here to see your president,” she said, flustered.
The secretary raised an eyebrow, a practiced look of suspicion crossing her face. “Sorry, our president isn’t in. Without an appointment, you can’t see him.”
Not in? That couldn’t be right. Ludwik had asked her to come to the office, promising to show her his world.
Frustration gnawed at her, and she quickly dialed his number. No answer. She tried again. Still nothing.
Determined, she tried a third time, and this time, the call went through. A chilling voice crackled through the line.
Before she could say anything, the sounds of revelry in the background betrayed his location—a bar.
Ludwik’s voice, dripping with mockery, cut through the tension. “Why don’t you spend the night at the Lotus Clubhouse?”
“L,” Whitney stammered, the shock sinking in. “Why did you hang up earlier? You told me to come to the office, and now I’m here.”
A cruel laugh echoed from the other end. Was he laughing at her?
“Who do you think you are? Do you think you’re my wife?” His words, cold and cutting, pierced through the phone line like daggers.
The call ended abruptly, and Whitney was left in stunned silence, the icy wind from the building’s open doors cutting through her. Her heart ached as his insults echoed in her mind. He had promised her that things would work, that they would make it work. But now… now he mocked her.
How had things gotten so bad so quickly?
Whitney stood frozen, the sting of his words still fresh. She turned to leave, her mind reeling with the hurt and confusion. The receptionist, seeing her defeated posture, quickly called for security to escort her out. She barely acknowledged them as she walked past, her mind lost in the haze of disappointment.
The cold outside bit at her skin as she walked to her car, her heart heavy. She drove back to the villa, her thoughts clouded by the emotional turmoil she felt.
At the villa, Natalie was resting in the single-story wing, and Taryn asked her if she had eaten dinner yet. But Whitney, unable to bear the conversation, simply pressed her lips together, turned away, and trudged upstairs.
Opening the door to the master bedroom, the empty space greeted her. The room was cold and devoid of the warmth she had felt the night before when Ludwik had held her in his arms.
He must be crazy, she thought bitterly. Even someone with schizophrenia isn’t as split as he is.
Exhausted, she collapsed onto the bed, curling up under the covers. Her mind refused to quiet, but eventually, sleep took her.
Meanwhile, in a private room at the bar, Ludwik stared at the phone he had just hung up. His fury reached a boiling point, and without thinking, he hurled his brand-new smartphone—purchased just that afternoon—at the glass table.
The phone shattered on impact, expensive bottles of liquor rolling off the floor and crashing to pieces. Ludwik’s rage had reached its peak, and he was consumed by the anger he couldn’t control.
