That was why when everyone saw him enter the room again, they were all struck with fear
The room was thick with tension, no one daring to make a sound, unsure whether Weston had returned to settle scores. His presence filled the space with a cold, foreboding aura that made everyone uncomfortable.
“Bring some women over,” Weston ordered, his voice cold and detached. “I want women who know how to serve well.”
The manager stood frozen for a moment, wondering if he had misheard. This was Lowe Garden, a place known for its array of beautiful women, a mini version of the entertainment industry. On any other day, such a request wouldn’t have been surprising. After all, it was common for significant figures in the entertainment industry to come here to indulge in the finest company. But Weston Ford was different. He wasn’t the type to surround himself with a crowd of women. Most of the time, he didn’t even bother to attend such gatherings. The fact that he had specifically asked for women now was rare.
The manager hesitated before speaking, “Mr. Ford, what kind of women do you like? I’ll make arrangements pronto!”
Weston glanced at him, his expression unreadable, and the manager immediately understood. “Send the most beautiful women we have for Mr. Ford’s selection! The cleanest and prettiest, do you hear me?”
Weston shut his eyes, trying to calm himself. He couldn’t shake the image of Stella’s face—the way she had looked at him earlier. He rubbed the back of his hand across his brows in frustration, then suddenly flung a wine glass to the floor, the sharp sound breaking the silence in the room.
Everyone fell still, not daring to speak.
A few moments later, the door to the private room was thrown open, and a line of women entered, all standing neatly in a row. Weston’s gaze swept over them, his face growing colder with every passing second.
“Scram,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the room like ice.
The manager froze, caught in an impossible position. The women he had brought in were of the highest quality, including some well-known starlets from the entertainment industry, all of whom were willing to attend because of Weston’s reputation. Yet, none of them seemed to catch his interest. His fiancée, Guinevere Cohen, was a top beauty in the entertainment world, and it was understandable that these women didn’t measure up. But even with that in mind, there was only one Guinevere Cohen in the world, and finding someone who could rival her beauty was no easy task.
Some of the women who had entered earlier weren’t lacking in looks—they were beautiful in their own right, but they lacked the aura that Guinevere possessed. The manager was now at a loss, not knowing what Weston was truly looking for.
Just then, someone in the room leaned over and whispered something in the manager’s ear. He looked at the person with doubt, but after receiving an affirming nod, the manager decided to leave the room. A short while later, he returned with a new group of women, all of whom had delicate, fresh features—faces that looked pure and innocent, reminiscent of Stella Sealey.
Weston looked over the new women briefly, and instead of dismissing them, he pointed at one standing in the center. “Come over,” he commanded, his tone softer, more approving.
The manager breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the tension lift. The man seated beside him exchanged a knowing glance with the manager. Seeing Weston return without a woman confirmed his guess about what had happened. Weston likely preferred women who resembled Stella in some way, and the woman before them now was no exception. Even her mannerisms—the way she walked—seemed to mirror Stella’s.
Weston’s brows twitched slightly, and he asked, his voice deep and curious, “What’s your name?”
The woman lowered her head shyly and spoke softly, but Weston lifted her chin gently. “Did you say Bella?”
The woman hesitated, a nervous tremor in her voice, “No, Belle…”
Weston’s eyes narrowed coldly, and he leaned in closer, his gaze sharp. The woman quivered, faltering for a moment before she quickly corrected herself. “No! I meant yes, Bella…”
Weston’s expression softened into something more satisfied as he repeated the name to himself, “Bella.”
Skip to content