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Chapter_187
The crushing weight of everything that had transpired hung heavily on Whitney as she clung to Bryce, her body trembling from both the cold and the emotional toll that had been exacted from her. The sounds of the crowd, the laughter, and the jeers faded into a dull hum, but the sharp sting of Ludwik’s cold indifference remained, like an open wound that refused to heal. She could feel the faint stir of the baby within her, a small reminder of the future she once envisioned—a future that seemed increasingly out of reach.
Bryce’s voice, soft and steady, broke through the whirlwind of her despair. “Does your stomach hurt? Don’t be afraid…” His arms tightened around her, offering a fragile sense of security as the storm raged on outside. He may have meant well, but Whitney couldn’t ignore the terror coursing through her veins. Her mind spun in a frenzy, her thoughts centered solely on the child she carried—wondering if she had done enough to protect it from the cruelty that had been unleashed around them.
As they moved away from the chaos, leaving the bitter memories of the scene behind, Whitney couldn’t help but glance upward one last time. Her heart sank when her eyes locked with Ludwik’s. High above, standing in the same position he had been all evening, he regarded her with the same chilling indifference that had pierced through her all night. His gaze was cold, unfeeling, like a dagger lodged deep within her chest. Was this truly how he saw her now? Was this the person she had become in his eyes?
His silence, his failure to intervene, felt like a slap across her soul. It was sharper than any words could have been. In that moment, Whitney felt the finality of their drift—the distance between them had grown too vast, the man she once knew was gone, replaced by something she didn’t recognize.
“Mr. Lippert hasn’t even moved, has he?” Bryce muttered under his breath, his voice thick with disbelief and anger. He looked down at Whitney, concern and sympathy in his eyes as he saw her swollen face and the vulnerability she tried so hard to conceal.
“Don’t worry, Whitney,” he continued, his voice softer, reassuring. “I’ll get you out of here. You’ll be safe.” His promise rang through the cold night air as he carried her away, his arms a steady anchor in the storm. But even in his comfort, Whitney couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had been lost. The weight of Ludwik’s betrayal, the callousness of his abandonment, was a crushing burden on her heart.
Inside, Ludwik remained rooted in place, his eyes locked on the door through which Whitney had been taken. His grip tightened around the glass in his hand, but it wasn’t the wine that occupied his thoughts—it was the simmering rage, the helplessness that gnawed at him even as he tried to push it away. He had told them to continue the party, to go on as if nothing had happened, but it was a hollow command. The noise of the ongoing celebration felt like distant echoes in his mind, drowned out by the pounding of his own thoughts.
The broken fragments of memories—shattered and jagged—pierced through him, each one sharper than the last. Every word spoken in his direction felt like another blow to his chest, another cut from a wound he didn’t know how to heal. And then, Bryce’s words from earlier echoed in his mind, biting at him with venom, a condemnation he couldn’t escape.
Elaine’s voice broke his trance, a soft hand on his wrist pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. “You’ve had a long day,” she said gently, her voice laced with concern as she guided him into the car. Her words were soft, but Ludwik didn’t hear them—not really. Instead, he helped her into the car with an uncharacteristic gentleness, his voice betraying no hint of the storm raging inside him. “Head back to the villa and get some rest,” he said, his tone empty, mechanical.
Elaine smiled, clearly satisfied with his tender gestures, a warm look on her face as she leaned back in the car. She glanced at the executives seated behind them, already planning, already thinking of the future she had set her sights on. Yes, she would soon be Mrs. Lippert, and everything would fall into place.
But Ludwik’s mind was elsewhere. He sat beside her, his gaze fixed out the window as the car made its way through the dark streets. His thoughts returned to Whitney, to the cold detachment he had shown her, and the strange, twisting sensation in his chest that he couldn’t quite shake. Despite everything—despite the anger, the betrayal—there was a part of him that couldn’t let go. His grip tightened around the glass once more, but it wasn’t the wine that mattered. It was the realization that everything he had worked so hard to build, everything he had tried to control, was slipping further and further from his grasp.
Elaine’s hand rested gently on his, but even her touch couldn’t drown out the growing unease inside him. The road ahead was uncertain, and the more he tried to ignore it, the more it clawed at him. Had he truly chosen this path? Or had he lost something along the way?
The game had changed. But was it too late to undo the damage?
