Stella paused for a moment, a small smile playing on her lips as a thought crossed her mind. “A child.” She said the two words deliberately, locking eyes with Weston as she spoke.
The moment the words left her mouth, Weston instinctively released her wrist. Stella, searching his gaze for any hint of emotion, found none. There was no sorrow, no guilt. Instead, she realized with a pang of bitterness that she was foolish to expect anything from him.
He didn’t care about her child. He only cared about the child he shared with Guinevere. To him, she and her child were insignificant—mere ants under his heel, easily crushed and discarded.
“Mr. Ford, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be going,” Stella said, pushing him aside. But before she could take a step, Weston grabbed her wrist again.
Her patience snapped. “What exactly do you want?” she snapped, frustration lining her voice. “Don’t tell me you’re here just to reminisce about the past.”
Weston saw something in her eyes—an intensity, a coldness—that struck him unexpectedly. For a moment, he hesitated, swallowing the words that hovered on his tongue. Instead, he said, “Remember your position. Don’t cause trouble for me.”
Stella’s eyes turned even colder. “Of course, Mr. Ford. I don’t need your reminder. But I do hope you can control your wife. She accosted me in the washroom, asking if I’m Stella Sealey!” Her words hit him harder than she intended. He stood frozen for a moment, his expression darkening. Whether it was her provocations or something else, he didn’t respond immediately.
Stella glanced down at his hand, still gripping her wrist tightly, before meeting his eyes once again. She lifted her hand casually, her voice dripping with disdain. “Do you still insist on holding onto me?”
Before Weston could reply, she noticed a figure approaching behind him—a graceful, familiar shape. Guinevere, her face flushed and her steps quickened, was walking toward them with visible anxiety.
A small, almost imperceptible smile curved Stella’s lips. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph. Guinevere, the seemingly unshakable star of the entertainment world, was so unnerved by the mere appearance of someone resembling Stella Sealey.
Weston followed Stella’s gaze, his brow furrowing slightly as he saw Guinevere. When he turned back to Stella, she had already pulled her wrist away from his grip and was turning to leave without a second thought.
The sight of her walking away without hesitation gnawed at him. His gaze darkened as he watched her disappear into the shadows.
Behind him, Guinevere’s hurried footsteps drew closer. She stopped in front of Weston, catching her breath. “Weston, why are you here?” she asked, her voice shaky.
She had seen Ella just moments ago, but she didn’t question him about it. Deep down, she couldn’t ignore the unease that gnawed at her whenever Stella’s doppelgänger appeared. Seeing someone who looked so much like her had thrown her into a whirlpool of emotion.
Weston remained composed, his eyes distant. “Nothing,” he replied curtly, without even looking at her.
“Let’s go back,” he added, already turning away.
Guinevere reached for his arm instinctively, but he had already moved too far ahead. Watching his retreating figure, her expression grew darker, colder.
Why? she thought, her mind racing. What went wrong? They were back to what they had been in the past, yet everything felt different. Something had shifted, but she couldn’t quite place what it was.
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