Guinevere noticed the subtle shift in Stella’s eyes and straightened up, her voice softening. “Ella…”
Stella quickly regained control of her emotions, her face a mask of indifference. She rested her chin on her hands and asked coolly, “Ms. Cohen, why are you telling me all of this?”
Guinevere’s breath, which had been held tight at the sight of Stella’s reaction, finally relaxed. This Ella was a strange one—there was something about her that reminded Guinevere of Stella. But now, seeing her indifferent response, it was as if Ella genuinely didn’t care about Stella’s past.
Guinevere opened her mouth, a soft laugh escaping. “Pardon me, it must be because you look so much like her. I couldn’t help but share a little more…”
Stella cut her off firmly, “There’s no point sharing all of this with me. I’m not her.”
Her voice turned colder. “Also, I’m not that close to you, Ms. Cohen. Not everyone chases after famous celebrities, hoping to hear such meaningless gossip. If you have something important to say, please don’t bother me while I’m at work.”
Without another word, Stella stood up, took some bills from her purse, and placed them on the table under her coffee cup. “This should be enough for my share.”
Turning on her heel, she exited the café, leaving Guinevere staring at her retreating back with a scowl.
The Stella of the past would never have spoken like that, not with such biting tone. Guinevere’s lips curled into a sneer as she eyed the money under the cup, and she closed her eyes in frustration.
A moment later, her eyes snapped open, and her hand brushed across a strand of hair. She had an idea, her thoughts turning cold. A simple DNA test could confirm whether the two women were, in fact, the same person.
The workday was nearing its end, and Stella had just packed up when she heard someone calling out from behind. “Teacher Ella!”
She turned to see the woman who had been gossiping about her earlier in the day. Joyce Duxton smiled, but there was a distance in her eyes. “What’s the matter?” Stella asked, her tone flat.
Joyce hesitated before asking, “What did Guinevere Cohen want with you today?”
Stella raised an eyebrow, amused by her question. “What’s it to you?”
Joyce had been gossiping about her all morning and now acted as if they were close friends. Stella could barely contain her irritation.
Joyce’s smile faltered as she responded with a slight edge to her voice, “It was just a casual question. Must you be so proud and haughty? Just because you have more students than the rest of us…”
Stella couldn’t be bothered with the nonsense. Without a word, she stood up and walked away, leaving Joyce to mutter under her breath.
Once the door was closed, Joyce’s voice rang out angrily, “That whore! What’s there to be proud of?”
The insults echoed in Stella’s ears as she walked away, but she refused to let them affect her. She had more important things to focus on.
Stella arrived at the traffic junction, ready to hail a taxi, when she was stopped by the unmistakable sight of a Rolls-Royce Cullinan pulling up in front of her. The window rolled down, revealing Weston’s dark, handsome profile. He rested a hand casually on the steering wheel, raising an eyebrow.
“Get in,” he ordered, his voice calm but firm.
Stella frowned, refusing to acknowledge him as she continued walking ahead.
Weston’s patience quickly wore thin. He leaped out of the car, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her into the vehicle without hesitation. The door slammed shut behind them.
“What exactly do you two want?!” Stella shouted, her voice filled with anger. Her eyes blazed as she glared at him, her hatred evident. “Weston Ford, you’re the one who wanted me out of your life! Can you stop showing up in my world like some irritating fly?”
His grip tightened on her wrist, painful enough to make her flinch. His voice, low and cold, was like ice as he spoke. “What did you say I am?”
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