Stella felt like a mere trophy in the middle of this battle—a pawn in a clash of egos between two men. She had no voice, no right to decide her fate. Even though she desperately wanted no part in this confrontation, she was still trapped, pulled into the whirlwind of their rivalry.
For a moment, it seemed like Justin had managed to widen the gap between the two cars. He took a sharp turn at the next junction, sending Weston’s car far behind them. But Justin didn’t relax. His grip on the wheel tightened, and he kept his speed relentless. His focus remained sharp, but then he glanced at Stella, offering her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We’ve shaken him off.”
Just as he spoke, a massive crash reverberated through the air. The car jolted violently from the impact. Justin’s eyes went wide in disbelief as he saw Weston’s black car now ahead of them, a cold, unflinching expression on his face.
Weston looked almost amused, a trace of disdain flickering in his eyes. His car was like a predator, stalking its prey. After closing the distance between them, he struck, landing the blow that sent Justin’s car spinning. The impact was quick and precise, a calculated move. Weston didn’t need to do anything more—he simply waited, watching as his target struggled.
Justin fought against the forces, slamming his foot on the accelerator, desperately trying to escape. The wheels screeched, and the car bucked under his command, sparks flying across the road. But it wasn’t enough. Weston wasn’t finished.
Without a second thought, Weston let off the accelerator, then slammed into Justin’s car again—this time with lethal precision. The impact flipped Justin’s car, sending it tumbling through the air and crashing onto its side. The car came to a halt, wedged between two roadblocks.
“Damn it!” Justin cursed, his anger boiling over.
Trapped in his seat, the car was completely wrecked. The angle of the crash pinned him down, and every slight movement caused sharp pain in his body. The front passenger seat, now raised high, was a stark contrast, facing outward.
Despite the pain, Justin gritted his teeth, unbuckling his seatbelt, determined to free himself. But just as he was about to make a move, Stella, with a worried look on her face, urgently stopped him. “Don’t move! You might lose your leg if you move!” she warned, seeing a metal rod jutting out dangerously in front of him.
Stella, unbuckling her seatbelt, started to crawl towards him, determined to help. But before she could reach his side, she heard the sound of steady footsteps from outside.
The door to the car was yanked open, and a rush of cold night air flooded in. Standing tall above them, Weston loomed like a towering figure, his dark trench coat billowing around him. His cold, calculating gaze was fixed on the two of them inside the car, his presence more intimidating than ever.
Weston’s eyes flicked toward Stella, and before she could react, he grabbed her by the collar, pulling her out of the car with an iron grip. His body shielded her from the outside world, and his broad coat enveloped her in a tight embrace.
“You’re mine now,” Weston’s voice was low and husky, like a promise—like a declaration of ownership. His words were final, spoken with a certainty that left no room for refusal. He held her close, his grip unyielding, as though he had already decided her fate.
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