Weston was entirely enveloped in darkness, his presence radiating a heavy, solemn aura. It was a chilling atmosphere that made the woman in front of him shrink back in fear.
“Mr. Ford…” she spoke, her voice laced with deliberate femininity and gentleness, a stark contrast to Stella’s tone.
Weston’s eyes turned ice cold in an instant. “Shut up.”
Belle immediately fell silent, not daring to utter another word. Her sudden retreat in fear seemed all too familiar to Weston, reminding him of how Stella had once reacted. His grip on her chin tightened, causing her to yelp in pain.
“Mr. Ford!” she gasped.
Weston yanked her head down with more force. “Be good.”
The pain in her scalp was intense, and Belle didn’t expect him to be so forceful. She could only kneel submissively before him, as this was the unspoken rule in Lowe Garden. Many things were left unsaid, but everyone knew what was expected. Trembling, she reached for his buckle. Weston’s gaze lowered to the top of her head as he imagined the scene earlier with Stella, a haunting thought that caused his chest to tighten.
It was just a face he desired. Just one Stella Sealey.
There were many women like her—more beautiful, more obedient, more willing to kneel and serve him to his satisfaction. They were all replaceable. Why did Weston Ford insist on one woman?
His blood raced through his veins, and yet, as his anger deepened, his face grew colder. The scene before him was not so different from his memories, but something felt off. Belle’s movements were practiced and skilled, clearly more experienced than Stella’s. Her actions were pure yet seductive in their own way. Objectively, she was more charming than Stella.
But just as her hands moved upwards, Weston’s eyes snapped open. He grabbed her hair and threw her aside with cold fury.
“Scram. Scram far away.”
He had no idea where his fury was coming from. It had been a long time since he had lost control like this. The violent anger bubbling inside him made him want to destroy something—anything—but not these imitation women before him. Everyone in the room could tell that he was genuinely and thoroughly enraged. No one dared to provoke him.
In a fit of anger, Weston kicked the table in front of him, cursing under his breath, “Stella Sealey…”
Meanwhile, Stella had finally regained control of herself after leaving the hospital. It was already well past midnight when she stood on the quiet streets. Behind her, Justin emerged from the hospital doors, holding a bag of medicine.
Stella turned to face him. “Thank you, Mr. Hall. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what I would have done today.”
Justin avoided her gaze, the gratitude in her eyes making him uncomfortable. He didn’t want her to see how much he had initially hoped to take her home himself. Instead, he simply nodded, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.
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