Love beyond the mask (Whitney)

Chapter 4

On the eleventh day, after he had meticulously planned her fake ‘murder,‘ they actually went and

secretly got their marriage license.

What a twist of fate!–

Whitney froze, a suffocating agony drowning her, hate that was bone–deep, and a coldness that

splashed from the depths of her eyes.

The past taunted her like a sharp sword.

“Whitney, I will definitely marry you. You’ll soon be Mrs. Perlman.”

“Whitney, you’re a genius. Help Monica with her draft one more time; she must win the jewelry

competition!”

“We’ll get the license after the wedding. Don’t worry, I won’t betray you.”

After the wedding, huh? But he wanted her dead!

The tight grip on her palm was released by the man standing beside her, his tall figure casting a cool

shadow. He asked her, “Need a few minutes?”

Whitney pressed her pale lips together and shook her head.

A clerk politely ushered them inside.

It only took two minutes to get the license. Whitney glanced at the man working busily in the chair, then

at the marriage certificate. His name in the document had only one initial: L.

Domineering, indifferent, perfunctory.

What kind of marriage was this? It seemed the license was just a way to bind her and to appease the

old lady.

She knew nothing about him, nor did she know whom she had truly married.

Suddenly, Whitney spotted Simon and Monica entering another office. Monica took her purse to the

restroom.

Whitney’s lips curled into a cold smirk, and she said to L, “I have something to take care of.”

Felix, the man’s assistant, looked at Whitney’s retreating figure and asked the man quietly, “Sir?”

The man’s gaze never left his work, only frowning slightly. “Keep her safe.”

Whitney took out a lipstick inside the restroom, crushed it into water, and smeared it all over the paper.

She stuffed it into a cubicle and left with a cold smile.

Outside the city hall, Whitney asked the driver to stop the car.

Within seconds, a delicate figure tumbled down the steps in panic, screaming unabashedly, “Simon!”

Simon ran towards her.

Monica, pale as death, shook out a blood–soaked paper and said with a trembling voice, “Look… This

is the horoscope for a ghost marriage, with Whitney’s name written in blood! It just appeared in my

purse. Is Whitney coming back for revenge?”

Simon also recoiled at the sight of the bloody paper, helping Monica up. “Nonsense. She’s dead! Calm

down, don’t let the paparazzi snap this.”

“Simon, I’m so scared…” Monica’s eyes darkened, her face drained of color.

Watching the guilty couple huddled together, Whitney coldly snapped a photo with her phone. The pain

from her palm, punctured and raw, was unbearable, and her eyes began to fill with a bloody hue.

Her stepmother’s words echoed in her ear. “Harsh? Whitney was born to shield Monica from

misfortune, a life cheaper than dirt!”

14:54

So be it, the truth cut like a knife. From now on, she would become Monica’s calamity!

Whitney glanced at the afternoon’s funeral news, her mouth twisting in a cold smile. The appetizer was

served; the entrée would soon follow.

A sea of blood and deep vengeance, she would claim it all back, everything that belonged to her!

She pulled her hand back. “Mr. L, we can drive off now.”

Suddenly, her pale hand was enveloped by a larger one. The man beside her divided a fraction of his

attention from his work to ask, “Does it hurt?”

His voice, so deep, made Whitney’s resolve falter, and the tears she had been holding back threatened

to break through.

“Don’t cry! Let me rub it for you.” He frowned, rubbing her hand gently, his face emotionless, his breath

calm and deep.

Whitney gazed at this noble man, who commanded, “I don’t care what you’re planning; just make sure

you keep yourself safe, especially what’s in your belly!”

“I promise you!” It was a transaction, after all. Whitney did not expect him to avenge her, especially

since he doubted her intentions.

But she needed a haven, and this marriage was her temporary shelter.

“Please take the young lady to her destination,” he said as he stepped out of the car, too busy to state

where. Text © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

Whitney watched his retreating figure, then told the driver, “Please take me to Sun Funeral Home.”

Meanwhile, in the VIP lounge of the funeral home, Yvonne tore the blood–stained paper with a scoff,

“It’s just lipstick and water, a childish prank. Who are they trying to scare?”

Monica shivered. “But no one else knew about us giving Whitney a ghost marriage!”

Yvonne dismissed it with contempt. “Even if all her company’s people have turned to us, she might still

have a friend or two. Just a minor nuisance.”

“Humph, the funeral is starting soon. Your father will announce in front of the media that all of Whitney’s

inheritance will go to you. There will be no more Whitney in this world!”

“She’s dead and gone, and she can’t come back,” Preston stated with certainty.

Monica regained her composure, a triumphant smile on her face.

At two in the afternoon, the funeral home was packed.

The Valentine family was a well–known dynasty in Banyan City. Everyone knew about Whitney

Valentine, a business prodigy and stunning beauty who made a name for herself in Banyan City by 18.

Now, she was dead. And her death was as scandalous as her life had been, enough to shake the city

to its

core.

Whitney narrowed her eyes as she made a call from a public phone. Even with nothing to her name,

she remembered some media contacts.

She hid the blood packet she had bought in her clothing, donned sunglasses, removed the bandage

from her palm, and walked into the funeral home’s entrance.

Her lips twisted in a bitter laugh. She had come back.

Whitney’s eyes landed on the empty casket in the center as the funeral music started.

“The once–glorious socialite, who would’ve thought this would be her end?” Someone lamented.

“Didn’t you see the news? Her lover killed her! She seemed pure, but rumors say she was promiscuous, conducting business in bed, cheated on Simon, and suppressed her half–sister!”

14:54

“That’s right, I work at Skye Gem Ltd. I saw Whitney sleep with a male shareholder, and she always

made life difficult for Monica.”

“Stop talking,” Monica said, tears in her eyes. “I’m grieving for my sister. I can forgive her for forcing me

to create designs and claiming them as her own.”

“Such a tyrant, mistreating her sister. It’s good that she’s dead,” a passerby growled.

Whitney leaned in a corner, her fists clenched as she laughed coldly.

“Shut up, all of you!” A furious female voice exclaimed, “Monica, how dare you bite the hand that fed

you. You used Whitney’s designs, and now that she’s dead, you spread lies about her; your heart is

black!”

Whitney stiffened. Tiana Melford, her best friend, had come to the funeral too.

A cruel glint flashed in Monica’s eyes as she subtly signaled to one of her cronies.

Without missing a beat, the lackey grabbed Tiana. “You’re cut from the same cloth as Whitney, aren’t

you? Spreading lies about Monica here? Get her out!”

Overpowered and alone, Tiana was quickly brought to her knees. Yet, her gaze remained fixed on the

memorial plaque as she wept, “Whitney, I know your death was untimely…”

Whitney, her eyes brimming with unshed tears and fists clenched with determination, silently promised

Tiana to turn the tables.

The memorial service commenced, and Whitney, with her hair in disarray, seized a moment of

distraction to hide behind flowers swiftly.

Preston stood at the podium, tears streaking down his cheeks. “My dear daughter is no more, but life

must go on for the living. In accordance with Whitney’s last will, her business and fortune will be

willingly passed on to her sister, Monica…”

Suddenly, the casket jolted!

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