Guinevere had been putting on a brave face for so long, pretending that everything between her and Weston was fine. But deep down, she knew the truth—there was a massive divide between them. The appearance of Ella that day had been like a jarring alarm, triggering insecurities she couldn’t ignore. Even though Ella hadn’t done anything but simply show up, it was enough to shake Guinevere’s world and her relationship with Weston to the core.
She held him tighter, desperately searching for reassurance. “Do you still blame me?” she asked softly.
Weston stayed still under her grip, neither returning the hug nor pushing her away. His response was cool, as always. “Why would I blame you? You did nothing wrong.”
But despite his words, Guinevere’s heart grew cold. She refused to let go, her fingers digging into his waist as she gritted her teeth. “About Stella Sealey… you still blame me for it, don’t you?”
For a brief moment, Weston stiffened, but it was only for a split second before he spun around to face her. His gaze was piercing, though his voice remained steady. “You were a victim in that incident. Why would I blame you?” His tone was low and flat, impossible to decipher, but Guinevere could feel the weight of his words. Despite his reassurances, guilt gnawed at her, and a cold shiver ran down her spine.
“Do you still find it hard to forget about Stella Sealey? Do you still have feelings for her? She’s dead… does that make you feel guilty?” Guinevere’s voice trembled as she finally dared to speak the words that had been suffocating her for so long.
For the first time, Weston’s eyes flickered with something—perhaps surprise, perhaps frustration. His brows knitted, and his voice dropped further, colder than before. “Back then, I had to choose one of the two of you. I chose you. Gwen, what else do you want?”
His words cut through her, his eyes as cold as ice, like he was trying to see right through her. At that moment, Guinevere felt like a fool. She had achieved her goal—Weston had chosen her over Stella. That should have been enough to put her at ease, yet all she felt was an overwhelming sense of insecurity.
She stepped back, her hands falling limp at her sides. She wanted to speak, but her throat felt tight, and the words wouldn’t come. The truth was, Weston had picked her. He had made his choice. So why did she still feel so small in his eyes?
Meanwhile, at the hospital, the man in the wheelchair was quietly toying with a potted plant, completely disregarding the woman standing beside him. Guinevere, clearly frustrated, shot him a glance. “Henry, are you even listening to me?” she snapped.
Henry finally looked up, his expression calm. “Gwen, you shouldn’t be airing your problems with Weston to someone like me. And even if you do, I can’t help you with your relationship issues.”
Guinevere shot him a look, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “Aren’t we good friends? We grew up together.”
“Yes, but if you don’t come clean, there’s nothing I can do to help,” Henry replied coolly. He wheeled his chair closer to her, pausing to pull out a tissue and casually wipe his fingers. “Did you come here today just to complain about how Weston doesn’t care about you?”
Guinevere’s face hardened, and she let out a hollow laugh. “Even you can see it so clearly, yet he can’t.”
She clenched her fist, her gaze sharp as she turned to face Henry. “Tell me honestly—does Weston have feelings for Stella Sealey?”
Henry’s expression shifted slightly, his eyes revealing a flicker of uncertainty. Before he could answer, Guinevere pressed on, her voice tinged with confusion. “Is she more beautiful than I am?”
Henry let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Since when did you become so insecure, Gwen? Who in the entertainment industry would dare say they’re more beautiful than you? You’ve put in the money, time, and effort, not to mention your excellent genes. If you’re not at the top in beauty, then everyone’s money is wasted.”
Guinevere couldn’t help but feel a small sense of comfort from Henry’s words. Yet, the pit of unease in her stomach remained. No matter how much she tried to convince herself that she was enough, doubt continued to creep in—especially when it came to Weston’s past.
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