Stella felt disgusted by everything Weston did. A wave of repulsion washed over her as goosebumps prickled her skin. She was like a hedgehog, every part of her on high alert. When Weston forcibly took control of her, it felt like every instinct within her was ready to lash out. His touch made her recoil, but it was a futile resistance.
Suddenly, Weston seemed to lose interest. His eyes closed, and he ordered in a calm, detached tone, “Go to the bathroom to clean up.” Then, without another word, he turned and left the room.
Just as he was about to exit, a thought crossed his mind, and he paused. “You only have half an hour. Come to the bedroom in half an hour. Otherwise, I don’t mind bathing you myself.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and Stella let out a long, weary sigh. Her body trembled slightly as the emotional exhaustion hit her. She raised her head and, with a hollow expression, sank to her knees, letting her forehead rest against the coffee table. After a long moment, she dragged herself up, feeling like every step was a mountain to climb, and stumbled her way into the bathroom.
She knew Weston wasn’t joking. His threat was real, and she couldn’t afford to ignore it. The pressure weighed heavily on her as she climbed into the bathtub and submerged herself in the warm water. For a brief moment, she considered sinking deeper, letting the water envelop her completely, and just sleeping there. But she couldn’t. She still had Roger to think about. She had to keep going for him.
Stella had never seen herself as strong, but after all that had happened, she realized that she was no longer mourning Weston’s actions. Instead, his behavior left her drained, frustrated, and numb. What used to make her cry now just made her feel empty.
The bathroom was silent, the sound of running water gone. Meanwhile, Weston sat on the bed in a silk bathrobe, his hair damp from a quick shower. Water droplets slid down his chiseled profile, but he didn’t notice. He was deep in thought, feeling a rare emptiness inside. He’d never had to wait for Stella before.
In the past, it was always Stella who waited for him. After her bath, she would be curled up on her side of the bed, a soft and peaceful figure. When he came out, she would look up at him with eyes full of love and shyness. He hadn’t seen that look in a long time, and it stirred something in him that he didn’t want to acknowledge.
He closed his eyes, trying to shake the thoughts that lingered. But just then, a sharp ringtone sliced through the silence. He opened his eyes to glance at his phone, his gaze falling on the name flashing across the screen. Suddenly, an inexplicable irritation stirred inside him, and for no apparent reason, he felt anger bubbling up.
Stella had just stepped out of the bathroom when she saw the phone ringing, but Weston made no move to answer it. She stood there for a moment, watching. The scene was oddly familiar to her, bringing back memories she wasn’t ready to confront.
There had been a time when she had called Weston just like that—tentatively, with hope in her heart. Most of the time, there was no answer. If there was, it was Ben who picked up and explained that Weston was too busy. After a while, Stella had stopped calling altogether, not wanting to disturb him.
She had once believed that Weston’s affections were all for Guinevere, but now, watching him ignore a call from someone, she couldn’t help but wonder—what was Guinevere thinking at this moment?
Guinevere had always been so high and mighty, constantly belittling Stella. Yet now, Weston was ignoring her calls entirely. Would Guinevere be restless, wondering why Weston wasn’t answering? Would she be sleepless, lost in frustration?
Stella thought she would feel some measure of satisfaction from seeing the tables turned, but the small glimmer of happiness quickly faded, leaving her with an overwhelming sadness that seemed to stretch on forever.
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