After a brief silence, Stella heard Weston chuckle softly. The sound was unexpectedly close, and it caught her off guard. A strong scent of cedar filled the air, and she heard him murmur, “It is a little effective.”
Stella blinked, stunned by his reaction. She looked up at him, still dazed, unable to fully comprehend what was happening. Her nose was still red, her eyes bloodshot, and her delicate skin appeared almost translucent, as if she were fragile and vulnerable. A few days ago, Weston might have kissed her, might have sought comfort in her tears. But now, everything between them had shifted. The intimacy that once seemed so effortless between them felt distant.
Weston leaned closer, his gaze locked on the tear that was threatening to fall from her eye. “I’ll go soft on you this time. Don’t give me any trouble, okay?”
Stella nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”
He gave a cold, humorless smile as he straightened, his posture casual as ever. The top two buttons of his white shirt were undone, and his suit jacket hung lazily over his arm. “This method does work, but I prefer your obedient side. So, be good.”
Stella was discharged from the hospital soon after. Her health was fine, though the blood donation she had made to Guinevere earlier in her pregnancy had left her weakened. She had recovered enough to leave the hospital but knew she still had a long way to go.
Zeta met her at Roger’s ward while doing her rounds, greeting her with a friendly smile. “You look great. I presume you’ve decided to keep the baby?”
Roger, who had been lying on the bed quietly, suddenly turned toward Stella with a sharp look. “What baby?”
Stella bit her lip and remained silent, the tension in the room palpable. Zeta glanced between them, her awkwardness evident. “His condition is stable, so I’ll be going now,” she said quickly, eager to exit before things became more uncomfortable.
Before she left, Zeta couldn’t help but mutter to herself as she saw the tension between Stella and Roger. “Why do I always say the wrong thing…?”
Inside the ward, Roger’s voice broke the silence. His eyes were hard, fists clenched under the blanket. “A baby? Don’t tell me it belongs to Weston.”
Stella, who had sat down beside him, kept her calm demeanor, though her heart sank. “It’s my child alone,” she said softly, yet firmly.
Roger’s disbelief turned into anger. “How can you have a baby on your own? Do you think I’m an idiot?! What’s going on with Weston? He doesn’t want you and isn’t willing to take responsibility, but now he wants you to carry his child?”
Stella’s patience began to fray. She raised her voice to cut him off. “I wanted to keep the child! He didn’t want it, but I begged him to let me keep it…”
Roger’s eyes softened with confusion, and he asked quietly, “Why…?”
Stella stared at her stomach, her voice barely above a whisper. “I have a unique constitution. This might be the only child I can ever have.”
Roger’s anger seemed to drain from him, replaced by exhaustion. His eyes reddened as he clenched his fist and slammed it onto the bed in frustration. The sound of his fist hitting the mattress echoed through the room.
Stella watched him quietly, her own emotions threatening to spill over. She had never intended for him to be so affected, but her heart ached seeing him like this. Her voice cracked as she spoke again. “Roger, you can’t tell anyone about this. You must keep it to yourself. This is my child alone, do you understand?”
Roger, still shaken, took a deep breath and nodded, his body shaking slightly. “I understand…”
After calming Roger, Stella made plans to leave the hospital. She needed to pack her things before Weston arrived with the divorce papers. She didn’t know when that would happen, but she knew she needed to prepare. The idea of being thrown out of the mansion without any place to go haunted her.
As she passed the hospital’s rear garden, she noticed a man in a wheelchair slowly rolling along the cobblestone path. Something about him felt familiar, and she instinctively slowed her steps. This was the man she had seen briefly before fainting a few days ago. His back seemed familiar, and there was a quiet recognition in the way he moved.
When the man heard footsteps behind him, he stopped and turned around. Their gazes met, and Stella’s heart skipped a beat. Unlike before, she could now see his face clearly. He was handsome, with gentle features and a warm, approachable smile.
“It’s you,” the man said with a slight smile, confirming her recognition.
Stella stepped forward. “Hello. I haven’t had the chance to apologize for bumping into you that day. I’m sorry.”
The man pushed his wheelchair closer. “You already apologized when you bumped into me.” He looked at her with a certain calmness, as if observing her carefully. His demeanor was bold but his ethereal presence made it feel gentle rather than intrusive.
“It was quite frightening when you suddenly fainted in front of me,” he added.
Stella’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to faint, either.”
As her nerves settled, she grew more aware of him. “I didn’t crush you, did I?” she asked, half-joking.
The man laughed softly. “I may be sitting in a wheelchair, but I won’t be crushed by someone with a small frame like yours.”
Now, he was directly in front of her. After a moment, he studied her intently before asking, “Don’t you know me?”
Stella paused, her brow furrowing as she searched her memory. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”
The man tilted his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “My name is Henry Moore.”
The name didn’t ring a bell. Stella opened her mouth to say she didn’t recall it, but before she could, Henry added, “Didn’t Weston ever mention me to you?”
Stella stiffened, her heart racing. The sudden shift in her emotions was hard to contain. She clenched her fists, trying to remain composed. “So you’re his friend,” she said, her voice steady but cold.
Henry noticed the change in her expression and chuckled softly, finding it amusing. “He saw me when I was carrying you to the doctor. He looked pretty angry back then, as if he didn’t like me helping you.”
Stella’s surprise deepened. “What? He didn’t tell you about me after you woke up?”
Henry raised an eyebrow, amused. “No, he didn’t.”
Stella frowned, confusion written across her face. Before she could respond further, she turned to leave, but Henry reached out, grabbing her wrist with a reflexive motion.
“Are you in a rush?” he asked, his grip light but firm.
Just as Stella was about to answer, a low, detached voice came from behind them. “Don’t tease her. She’s not your type.”
Stella froze, her heart pounding as she recognized the voice. It was Weston’s.
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