Weston gazed at her with an unreadable expression, as though nothing were out of the ordinary. Guinevere slowly released his hand, trying to regain her composure. “Where did you go last night? I couldn’t reach you at all.”
“I was busy. I didn’t check my phone,” Weston answered coolly, showing no intention of explaining further.
Guinevere’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. She followed him into his office, watching as he sat down at his desk without a care in the world. Unable to hold it in any longer, she finally asked, “Don’t you have anything to tell me?”
Weston calmly opened a file, his attention momentarily diverted. “What questions do you have in mind?”
Taking a deep breath, Guinevere pressed on. “Where were you last night?”
“At a social meeting.”
“Where was it?”
“Lowe Garden.”
His straightforwardness stunned Guinevere, but she quickly masked her surprise. After a brief silence, she asked, her voice tinged with sadness, “Do you have anything else to tell me?”
Weston put down the document and looked up at her with a cool expression. “If you have something to say, just say it.”
Guinevere slowly walked toward him and sat across from him. With a deep breath, she asked, “Were you with another woman last night?”
The question was hard for her to ask. Guinevere had always prided herself on being secure in her place beside Weston, convinced that no one could replace her. But since Stella’s arrival, her confidence had faltered. The mere idea of another woman made her uneasy, and she found herself questioning Weston at his office.
She knew Weston hated such confrontations, but her insecurities had gotten the better of her. She had become the type of woman men despised—controlling and overpossessive.
Weston didn’t immediately answer her. Instead, he smirked, his lips curling slightly. “Who told you?”
Guinevere pressed her lips together, her face showing a fleeting vulnerability. “That’s not the point. Is it true?”
“It’s true.” Weston’s voice was unflinching. “I was with a woman.”
Guinevere’s heart sank at his unreserved admission. She had expected him to lie, to shield her from the truth. But his openness felt like a blow. It was more than she could bear.
“Why? Didn’t you say we should forget the past? Didn’t you say we’d start over?” she demanded, her voice trembling.
Weston drummed his fingers on the desk, his gaze never leaving her. “You’re already staying in the Ford Mansion and have borne Zachary. Now, everyone thinks you’re Mrs. Ford. What more do you want?”
Guinevere’s breath caught in her throat. She stood up suddenly, her hands trembling as she met his gaze. “I want your love!” she exclaimed. “I want us to be like we used to be.”
Weston looked at her as though she were a stranger, a cold distance in his eyes. After a long pause, he slowly pulled his hand away from his arm and said, “We’ve always been like this. You forgot.”
“Guinevere, think carefully. How different are we now?”
He stood up, pushing her hand away as he walked to the window. As he lit a cigarette, the white smoke swirled around him, making his tall figure appear even more distant, more isolated. He had everything—a life at the top of the world, above everyone else. He stood on the pinnacle of success, surrounded by power, resources, and status that most could only dream of.
And yet, despite all that, he remained more alone than ever before.
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