Before Stella could react, Weston had already lifted her and was carrying her back to the bed. Her mind was stunned as she stared at his dark expression.
“What are you planning to do…?” she asked, struggling to comprehend his actions.
Weston pressed down on her shoulder, his fury evident as he spoke with a low growl, “I should be asking you. What were you planning to do?”
He was close enough that his breath brushed against her skin. His grip tightened around her waist, and Stella could feel the tension radiating from him. His presence was overwhelming, leaving her breathless.
After a moment, as she understood his accusation, she found herself oddly amused. “Let me go!” she demanded, trying to pull her wrist free, but his grip was unyielding.
Her jaw tightened as she lifted her head to meet his dark eyes. Her hands slowly curled into fists. “I was just enjoying the breeze. I wasn’t trying to commit suicide, so relax,” she said, trying to remain calm despite the situation.
Weston didn’t immediately release her. Instead, he stared at her, silently scrutinizing her for any signs of deception. After a long pause, he let out a soft snort and released her chin, giving her a warning glance.
“Indeed. You wouldn’t try to seek death with Roger around,” he said, before letting her go entirely.
Stella steadied herself, her body still tense. She looked at him, her eyes cold. “Don’t worry, Mr. Ford. I wouldn’t seek death just because of a divorce,” she said, her voice firm but quiet.
Her gaze shifted downward, and she refused to meet his eyes. Weston didn’t say anything else on the matter. Instead, he changed the subject abruptly, his tone colder than before.
“Have you thought about the issue with the child? A doctor will be coming over in the afternoon, so be mentally prepared,” he stated, his words cutting through the air.
Stella’s pupils dilated at the mention of the child. She looked up at him, her expression filled with confusion and fear.
“Why should I be mentally prepared?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly.
“I thought you’d already thought it through a few days ago,” Weston said, his voice tight with frustration.
“Is there no room for discussion…?” Stella asked, her hand subconsciously brushing over her stomach as her voice trembled.
Weston didn’t hesitate. “No,” he said firmly, his gaze unwavering.
Before he left, he paused at the door, his back to her as he spoke one final time. “After this is over, someone will come to pick you up for the divorce procedures,” he said coldly.
His words hung in the air, his tone indifferent, even cruel. As the door clicked shut behind him, Stella sat motionless, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on her. Her fists, still clenched tightly, slowly relaxed, revealing the red marks left on her palms.
Their marriage had become nothing more than a cruel joke, and it seemed like only she had yet to wake up from it.
At the office, Guinevere stood up from the doctor’s consultation, a smile immediately forming on her face as she turned to Weston.
“Thank you, Doctor. I will take note of everything you said,” she said sweetly, her eyes shining with anticipation.
Weston entered just as Guinevere was finishing her conversation. He barely glanced at her as he asked, “Is it over?”
Guinevere eagerly latched onto his arm, her smile widening. However, Weston frowned imperceptibly, his eyes darkening as he stared at their linked arms. He didn’t say anything, but his annoyance was clear.
“Let’s go,” he muttered, clearly disinterested.
Guinevere’s smile faltered slightly, but she nodded obediently. “Okay.”
Once inside the car, Guinevere, unable to contain her excitement, began talking nonstop about the checkup. “Weston, the doctor said our baby is doing so well! It’s growing perfectly.”
She leaned against him, her eyes sparkling with hope. “I don’t want to know if it’s a boy or girl yet… Do you have a preference?”
Weston, looking irritated, pushed her away gently. “Sit properly. We’re leaving soon,” he said, his tone firm.
Guinevere, noticing the change in his mood, hesitated before asking, “Weston, are you in a bad mood?”
He’d seemed off ever since the moment he left Stella’s. Though Weston was known for his composed demeanor, Guinevere could tell something was weighing on him.
She pressed on, “Are you thinking about Stella?”
The mention of Stella’s name caused Weston to stiffen, his gaze sharpening for a brief moment. He clenched his jaw, veins throbbing on his temples as if he were trying to suppress something.
After a long pause, he finally muttered, “Don’t mention her name.”
Guinevere held back the words she wanted to say, seeing the solemnity in his face. She kept her emotions in check, her voice barely above a whisper. “Alright, let’s not mention her anymore. Weston, let’s forget about the past and start fresh.”
Weston didn’t respond. He only closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as if trying to escape the turbulence inside his head. His mind was clouded, memories of Stella flashing before him like a broken record.
The child… It was an accident. It would only complicate things for both him and Stella. Yet, despite all of his objections, he couldn’t shake the image of her—a pregnant Stella. The thought gnawed at him, leaving him with a sense of unease that he couldn’t place.
Weston suddenly unbuttoned his collar, loosening his tie. The air felt thick, oppressive, and it became harder for him to breathe. It wasn’t just the child, it was everything.
The Golden Eve Apartment, nestled in a quiet, upscale neighborhood away from the city’s hustle, was a place Weston frequented when he needed solitude. The top two floors were his regular retreat. Today, however, as Weston stood outside, a strange restlessness clawed at him.
Guinevere, sensing the moment, spoke up. “Weston, I’ve never been to your apartment. We’ll be getting married soon, so could I take a look?”
Weston, aware of the subtle hint in her words, refused without hesitation. “You’re pregnant. The apartment isn’t suitable for you. There are people at the family mansion who can look after you. I’ll have the driver take you back.”
Guinevere’s face fell instantly, but she forced a smile. “Alright, I understand.”
As Weston watched her get into the car, he felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He stood there, unsure of what to say or do. The car’s engine hummed in the distance as it disappeared into the night.
The streetlights cast a warm glow, and a familiar image flashed before Weston’s mind. It was Stella, standing at the gate of their old home, waiting for him to come back. The vision vanished almost instantly, and Weston’s chest tightened, irritation bubbling to the surface.
Inside his apartment, Weston poured himself a glass of aged red wine, the bottle a gift from a business partner. He sat at the bar, leaning his elbow on the cold counter. The silence in the room was suffocating.
Before he took a sip, a voice echoed in his mind, soft and gentle. “Are you drinking? But it’s very late now. Drinking too much isn’t good for your health…” The voice was unmistakable. It was Stella’s.
He could almost feel her presence beside him. Her affectionate tone, the subtle traces of care that she could never fully conceal. “If you must drink, could I make you some tea to help you sober up?”
Weston closed his eyes, the memory lingering in his mind. For a moment, he didn’t realize it was only an illusion, a hallucination of his yearning for a time that no longer existed. He murmured a word in response, “Sure…”
Silence followed. His eyes shot open. Stella was gone. The voice was gone. He was alone.
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