Love Beyond the Mask by Adelaide Sinclair

Chapter 172

Whitney had rushed to Ludwik’s side upon hearing his anguished cries, her concern for him propelling her

forward

But as she reached the door, Elaine shoved her inside and quickly shut it behind her. Leaning against the door, Whitney caught her breath and studied Ludwik closely.

He was in the throes of self–harm, dragging shards of porcelain across his arm, likely trying to distract himself from the searing pain in his head.

“Ludwik, stop it! You can’t do this to yourself! Let me help you ease the pain, please?” Whitney implored, rushing to his side.

His eyes were bloodshot, no longer recognizing her. Instinctively, he lashed out, driving the sharp shard toward

her arm

Her skin was instantly beaded with droplets of crimson, Gritting her teeth against the pain, Whitney managed a tender, pained smile. “At least you didn’t go for my belly”

1 need to get out!” Ludwik muttered, half–delirious as he pushed past her.

He must’ve realized who was on the other side of the door.

“You can’t go out there; you can’t let them get the upper hand, ruin your life. Your father… he wants to lock you up in an asylum,” Whitney said, her voice thick with urgency as she wrapped her arms around him, her eyes brimming with pity.

His forehead was a map of bulging veins, his gaze filled with extreme agony and fear- a remnant of some childhood trauma. He shook his head helplessly, turning to embrace her. “I don’t want to go there. Please, save

me.”

“Elaine, there must be something you can do. I need to get better fast… to stand up to them!” His words were broken, forced out between waves of pain.

The mention of “Elaine‘ left Whitney frozen, tears streaming down her face.

But she had no time to be sad, no time for jealousy over his trust in Elaine. She would not stand by and watch him crumble, let the Lippert family kick him when he was down. She would cure him; she had to believe she

could.

“Leave it to me. L. Give me your hand,” Whitney called to him, her voice a gentle caress through her tears.

His rage seemed to subside at the sound of her voice, and he slowly calmed down, slumping to the ground and extending his muscular arm toward her,

to his limbs, a clear sign of a fevered affliction pressing on his nerves, causing unbearable pain and a violent tendency

eerily similar to that of a stranger she had

He

stayed with him through the

pack of medical needles

voice. “Don’t be afraid, L. I’m healing you. Just imagine you’re lying in a meadow, comfortable and safe.

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hum a lullaby, delicate and

familiar spring, seeping into the barren

he slowly wrapped his cold hand around hers, gradually closing

he realized, as the

sleep right there on her lap, his hand still holding her wrist and resting across her

baby kicked gently.

continued with the treatment, whispering softly, “Baby, your daddy’s right here, but he’s sick. Mommy’s healing him. Be good, okay? Once he’s better, in a few months when you’re born, he’ll be able to hold you. I hope he’ll

life within her, a life she was

lip, a bitter

wrist and found its way to her swollen belly,

their child was precious. “L, do you feel that?

brow furrowed in pain, his trembling body

if

stiffened. In his delirium, he

cost of love is too high,” she whispered, feeling a chill

you get well, to

as she

cookies you used to make, I could never have enough when

head and slipped

finally, it dropped. Whitney’s pale hand

her, to stay by your side, to bear this child

the

placed more needles into his pressure points,

unit, there were two doors.

stood by the main door, close enough to see through the

his sleep, her heart

approached, the confrontation in the hallway outside