Lucas waited for his wife to sit before taking a seat opposite her, his expression stoic and unchanged the entire time.
“She’s Yvonne’s friend,” Lucas explained to Weston as he sat down. “Don’t mind it too much.”
Stella frowned ever so slightly when she heard Weston’s use of the word “stranger,” but she still refused to look at him. She sat stiffly at the dining table, her mind reeling from the absurdity of the situation. Never in a thousand years would she have guessed that Lucas’s guests were Weston Ford and Guinevere Cohen.
The moment she entered the room, Weston had locked eyes with her. Naturally, Guinevere had done the same. As soon as she saw Stella, her body froze, sure that she had just seen a ghost. Blood drained from her face, and she stared at Stella with a predatory focus. Only when they were all seated did she realize that her skin was covered in goosebumps.
That face… there could be no mistake. She would never forget that face. But how could Stella Sealey be here? Wasn’t she dead?
Although Guinevere’s back was soaked in a cold sweat, she had been in the entertainment industry for many years, and she knew how to keep her composure. Once she regained her senses, her first instinct was to check Weston’s reaction. When she saw that his eyes were glued to the woman the entire time, her fists clenched, and her teeth ground together.
Could she still be… alive?
From that moment on, Guinevere’s mind went blank. All she could do was stare vacantly at Stella, unable to process what was happening.
The drastic shift in the atmosphere didn’t go unnoticed by Yvonne. She could sense something was off but was utterly confused by the strange interaction.
“Do you know each other?” she asked, glancing between Guinevere and Stella.
“No,” Stella answered simply, shaking her head. She appeared calm on the surface, but beneath the table, her fingernails dug into the flesh of her thighs so hard she nearly drew blood.
Guinevere, after regaining her composure, forced herself to look away from Stella. She turned her gaze toward Yvonne.
“Who is she?” Guinevere demanded sharply, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Yvonne, taken aback by Guinevere’s strange behavior, instinctively backed away. Lucas noticed this and frowned, his frustration evident. He stepped between his wife and Guinevere, shielding Yvonne from the malicious glare he sensed emanating from Guinevere.
“Miss Cohen,” Lucas said in a firm tone, “you can speak to me directly if there’s an issue. There’s no need to glare at my wife like that.”
Though Yvonne and Guinevere weren’t particularly close, Yvonne knew Guinevere because of Lucas’s work as Henry Moore’s attending doctor. Henry Moore was close to both Stella and Guinevere, so Yvonne considered Guinevere more of an acquaintance. However, she found Guinevere’s behavior offensive. Still, as the host, she wanted to avoid causing any drama and let the matter slide.
With a forced smile, Yvonne introduced her friend. “This is Ella Steele,” she announced. “She’s a dance teacher at my training center.”
Ella Steele… Guinevere repeated the name silently in her mind. The name left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she gradually calmed herself. She took another long, scrutinizing look at Stella. She no longer believed that this was Stella Sealey. But there was something uncanny about the resemblance. Not only did they look alike, but their voices were identical, and even their names were eerily similar.
Serious doubts began to cloud Guinevere’s mind. She couldn’t help but glance at the man beside her. To her surprise, Weston was completely calm and indifferent. He showed no visible reaction to the woman before him.
How could he be so unaffected by the presence of a woman who looked exactly like his wife? If he was so indifferent now, why had he fallen into despair when Stella had “died”?
Now, Guinevere’s concern shifted. She was more worried about Weston’s coldness than about the mysterious appearance of this woman.
“Ella… Steele?” Guinevere asked in a hoarse voice after a long pause. “Is she called Ella Steele?”
“Yes,” Yvonne answered, still too bewildered by Guinevere’s behavior to ask further questions. She added, “Do you know her?”
“No,” Guinevere replied, shaking her head. Her face had gone ashen, and she forced a weak smile. “She just looks a lot like someone I knew.”
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