Stella’s throat tightened, the weight of Weston’s words sinking in slowly, almost too difficult to bear.
After a long pause, she managed to speak, her voice trembling, “Roger doesn’t even know Ms. Cohen. How could he possibly harm her…?”
Weston interrupted her sharply, his impatience evident. “Weren’t you the one who told him?”
Stella froze. Her mind raced, struggling to catch up. “I didn’t tell him anything!” she protested, but the doubt lingered in her voice.
As her words hung in the air, her gaze drifted to Weston’s face, and she noticed the small bruise near the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t too obvious, but it was enough to make her stomach tighten. It seemed likely that Roger had struck him, though Weston’s flawless appearance was hardly affected. He still looked as pristine and commanding as ever—dignified, untouched by the chaos around him.
Stella forced herself to breathe, focusing on calming the rising panic in her chest. She needed clarity.
“Where is Roger?” she asked, her voice steady but low. “I want to see him.”
“He’s fine for now,” Weston replied, his words clipped. “You can see him once Gwen is safe.”
He’d deliberately added the phrase ‘for now.’
Her fists clenched at her sides, her anxiety mounting. “I want to see Roger. Or I won’t donate blood. The hospital wouldn’t force me to, would they?”
Weston’s sharp gaze slid over her, appraising her for a moment. This wasn’t the Stella he was used to—the quiet, obedient woman. She was pushing back now, standing her ground, and it caught him off guard.
He smirked, a low chuckle escaping him. “Give me a reason why you refuse.”
Stella’s heart skipped a beat. She had no clear answer, only a mess of emotions swirling inside her. If she was pregnant—if the test results were what she feared—would donating blood hurt the baby? But at the same time, she couldn’t let Roger suffer, not like this. She had no power to go against Weston, even if she wanted to.
After a long silence, she spoke, her voice wavering but resolute. “Mr. Ford, you must promise me—if I donate my blood to Ms. Cohen, you won’t hold Roger accountable anymore.”
Weston studied her intently, his gaze unwavering, darkened with some unreadable emotion. She was nervous, desperate even, but still, she found a way to strike a deal. He didn’t speak for a moment, then lifted her chin with one finger, his eyes narrowing as he replied in a low tone, “Sure.”
He released her gently, his command clear. “Take her there.”
There was no time for tests, no time for any kind of preparation. The urgency of the situation pressed on, and before Stella knew what was happening, she found herself in a sterile chair, her slender arm exposed with a plastic tube tied around it.
“You’re too skinny…” the nurse muttered under her breath, clearly struggling to locate a vein.
Stella stared down, her eyes unfocused, lost in her own thoughts. She could feel the sharp tug as the nurse prodded her arm, searching for the right spot. Her heart was racing—her body already on edge.
And then it came.
A tiny, but unmistakable sharp pain, the needle piercing her skin. Stella recoiled instinctively, the world tilting slightly as the pain reverberated through her. Her eyes stung, filling with tears she refused to let fall.
She hated needles. Hated them.
The fear was visceral, overwhelming. Her skin went cold, and her hands trembled. She’d always been afraid of injections, ever since she was a child. There had always been someone there before, someone to hold her, to soothe her as she wailed and struggled. But not now. Not today.
“I didn’t use that much force, so why are you shaking?” The nurse sounded flustered, her words disjointed as she saw the color drain from Stella’s face.
“You even shook the needle out. We’ll have to do it again…” the nurse muttered, sounding more and more anxious.
Stella could only nod, though her stomach churned at the thought of doing this again. She could see the needle now, sitting there like a monstrous thing. Her breath hitched as she tried to hold herself together.
And then, just as she felt the edges of her vision go blurry, her world began to tilt. Darkness crept in from the edges, and the overwhelming sense of fear and weakness washed over her.
In that moment, a steady hand appeared in her line of sight, covering her eyes gently. Weston.
“Don’t look if you’re afraid,” his voice was low, surprisingly gentle as he shielded her from the sight of the needle.
Stella’s breath caught in her throat. The warmth of his hand over her eyes felt like an anchor in a sea of turmoil. She was afraid. She was terrified, and for the first time, she wasn’t alone.
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