Stella couldn’t help but reflect on when the misconception had first settled in her mind—that Weston might actually like her. Perhaps it was moments like this, the seemingly insignificant gestures, the way he would catch her off guard, stir her emotions, only to retreat coldly, leaving her to grapple with confusion and loneliness.
After her blood was drawn, Weston stepped back, his cold demeanor never shifting.
“You can see Roger after Gwen’s surgery is over,” he stated, his voice impassive.
Stella’s eyes widened slightly, and she murmured in reply, looking down at her hands, “I got it.”
It was the same cycle every time. He could lift her up one moment, then trample on her the next, as if she was nothing more than a fleeting distraction.
The nurse finished packing her supplies and handed her some cotton. “Press this here for a few minutes, and you’ll be fine once the bleeding stops.”
Stella nodded and stood up, offering a polite thanks as the nurse left the room. When the door clicked shut, she turned to Weston, her voice steady but distant. “Mr. Ford, I’ve packed up my things at the mansion. When do we go to finalize the divorce?”
The words felt almost numb now, detached from any emotion. When Weston first mentioned divorce, she had held onto some hope, a fleeting dream of reconciliation. But now, with Guinevere in the picture, all she wanted was to distance herself from him.
Weston’s gaze was fixed on her, sharp and calculating. He studied her for a brief moment before answering, “I’ll have the lawyer notify you.”
Stella nodded again, her expression neutral. “Okay.”
She didn’t even try to mask the resignation in her voice, as though she had already accepted the inevitability of it all. Without another word, she moved to walk past him, heading for the door.
Weston’s voice stopped her in her tracks, low and commanding.
“I said, you can only see Roger after Gwen is safe.”
Stella’s shoulders tensed, but she kept her back to him, unwilling to turn around. She spoke with a quiet force. “I’m not going to see him.”
Weston stepped closer, his presence like a shadow looming over her. “Where are you going?”
She could feel him closing in, the weight of his oppressive aura pressing against her. Something inside her snapped, and she found herself rebelling against his dominance.
“I don’t have to report that to you, do I, Mr. Ford?” Her voice was sharper now, defiant. “Since we’re getting a divorce, you no longer have any say over me.”
There was a pause, an unsettling silence. Weston stood motionless for a moment, as if taken aback by her sudden shift. He stared at her back, the words she’d spoken sinking in. And then, as though shaking off the surprise, he returned to his usual aloof self.
“Do as you please.”
Without another word, he turned and walked past her, not sparing her another glance.
Stella didn’t really know where to go. She simply needed to escape. The walls of the hospital felt stifling, and Weston’s coldness weighed heavily on her. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Roger—he was the only thing that truly mattered now.
Weston had promised to cover Roger’s medical expenses, but that didn’t mean she could forget the pain, the hurt. The rest of her feelings seemed so insignificant in comparison to what Roger was going through.
Distracted, Stella wandered the corridors aimlessly, only half-aware of her surroundings. It wasn’t until she collided with something that she snapped back into focus.
The sharp sound of a bump echoed in the narrow garden path, and Stella quickly froze, realizing she’d knocked into someone. She looked up to see a man in a wheelchair, his expression serene despite the situation.
“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Stella blurted out, her voice laced with concern.
“I’m fine, don’t worry,” the man replied, his voice smooth and reassuring. He smiled gently, his features elegant, and his gaze softened when he noticed the troubled look on her face. “You don’t look so good. Are you feeling unwell?”
Stella shook her head, trying to dismiss the discomfort she felt, but before she could say anything else, her vision started to blur. Her body swayed, and her knees felt weak beneath her.
The aftereffects of donating blood had taken their toll, and before she could steady herself, everything around her went dark.
When Stella regained consciousness, she was lying in a hospital bed. The familiar sterile smell of the ward surrounded her, and for a moment, she felt disoriented.
She tried to sit up, but her head spun, and she felt an unfamiliar weight pressing down on her. She looked around, and then her gaze landed on Weston, who stood by her bedside, his presence commanding as always.
“What happened to me?” Stella asked, her voice thick with confusion.
Weston’s expression was unreadable, but there was something darker in his eyes, an emotion she couldn’t place.
“You’re pregnant,” he said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, placing a blood test report in front of her.
Stella stared at the report, her heart hammering in her chest. The words felt surreal, as though they didn’t belong to her.
He repeated it with the same detached air, “You’re pregnant.”
Stella’s breath caught in her throat, her mind racing as the truth sank in. The test results confirmed it. She was pregnant. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
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