Stella had heard rumors that Weston had married a woman on a whim to provoke someone, but she had never thought much of it—until now.
Weston grabbed Guinevere’s wrist and gently pushed her away, making her sit beside him.
“An unimportant person,” he muttered.
Guinevere’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and a slight smile tugged at her lips.
“I’m very satisfied with your answer,” she said, her voice laced with playful satisfaction. “So I’m giving you a reward.”
With that, she leaned in, clearly intending to kiss him. Her red lips looked inviting, but Weston’s expression darkened, and he subtly turned his head, avoiding her.
“You’ve got something on your mouth,” he said, his tone flat.
Guinevere froze, surprise flashing in her eyes before she chuckled, clearly unfazed. “It’s just lipstick,” she said, then pouted slightly. “Fine. I know you’re a germaphobe. I’ll take off my makeup first.”
Weston grunted in reply and moved to get up, grabbing the suit jacket draped over the back of the sofa. “I have something to do. Rest well.”
Guinevere leaned back against the sofa, a faint smile on her lips. “Where are you going?”
“I have something to do,” Weston replied, his voice curt.
She teased, her voice tinged with mock curiosity, “Something to do? What is it that you can’t tell me about?”
But Weston didn’t answer. He simply opened the door and left, leaving her alone.
The smile on Guinevere’s face faded the moment the door shut behind him. She clenched her fists, her expression shifting into something darker.
Just as Weston closed the door and turned to leave, he almost ran into Roger.
Roger stood there, his face flushed with anger, his chest heaving with barely contained rage. His veins were bulging on his neck as he glared at Weston.
“Who was that woman?!” Roger shouted, his voice shaking with fury. “How could you do this to my sister?!”
Without warning, he raised his fist and lunged toward Weston.
Stella returned to the mansion, the emptiness of the space hitting her harder than she expected. This place was about to stop being her home.
She quickly tidied up a little, her movements robotic, before retreating to the bathroom with the pregnancy test kit. She read the instructions carefully, not wanting to miss a single word.
The waiting was excruciating. Each second seemed to stretch into an eternity. The test strip in her hand was both a lifeline and a heavy burden. Would it show one line or two? The uncertainty gnawed at her.
Just as the results were about to appear, her phone rang.
The ringtone—set exclusively for Weston—sounded startlingly loud in the quiet bathroom.
For a moment, Stella froze, instinctively hiding the pregnancy test in her hand. Her heart pounded as she checked the caller ID, only to see his name flash on the screen.
Feeling a mix of surprise and frustration, she answered the call, her voice tight. “Mr. Ford…?”
“Hurry to the hospital now,” Weston’s voice was cold, short, and commanding.
Before she could even ask what was going on, he hung up.
Stella’s mind raced. Was something wrong with him? Was there an emergency?
She barely had time to process it before she felt a wave of anxiety take over. She had to go to the hospital, and fast.
When Stella arrived at the hospital, Weston’s assistant was waiting for her at the entrance. Without a word, he led her to the topmost floor.
Upon hearing her footsteps, Weston turned away from the balcony and strode over to meet her. His eyes were icy, distant, as if this were just another business matter.
“Are you a Bombay blood type?” he asked abruptly.
Stella was taken aback. Bombay blood, or “Dinosaur Blood,” was one of the rarest blood types in the world—rarer than a panda. She had never been asked this before, but instinctively, she nodded.
Before she could ask why, Weston’s assistant spoke up.
“Ms. Cohen has the same blood type,” he explained. “But we don’t have this blood type in storage here—it’s too rare.”
Stella’s stomach sank.
Then Weston’s voice broke through her thoughts, cold and determined. “Roger injured Gwen. She might lose the baby. She needs a blood transfusion, and you’re the only one who can help.”
Stella’s eyes widened in shock, her mind whirling.
Weston’s gaze hardened as he took a step closer, his tone firm. “If you don’t want Roger to go to prison, you know what you need to do.”
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