Stella didn’t expect to wake up to find Weston peacefully sleeping beside her the entire night. He had done nothing inappropriate, only holding her in his arms, which, in comparison to past experiences, was a small relief. However, this didn’t improve her view of him. If anything, it only made her more suspicious of his true intentions.
What was his real motive?
It had been a long time since Weston had slept so soundly. As a result, he overslept the next morning. When he finally opened his eyes, he was met with a pair of defensive eyes staring back at him. For a brief moment, Weston thought he was still dreaming.
He reached out, his hand gently caressing Stella’s cheek. His voice was still rough from sleep, but it carried an unusual tenderness. “You’re awake?”
Stella met his gaze, her expression unreadable. “Why are you looking at me like that? Can’t I leave yet?”
His eyes widened slightly. He immediately sat up, then reclined back again, his arm resting on his forehead. He muttered, “Can’t we just stay like this? Isn’t this good?”
Stella frowned at his sudden question. She tried to push herself up, but before she could, Weston opened his eyes and pulled her back into his arms. Their faces were suddenly dangerously close.
Stella, feeling her frustration rising, made a move to elbow him in the chin, but Weston furrowed his brow and held her tighter, pressing her waist and refusing to release her.
They were so close that she could feel his reaction against her, and it only fueled her anger further.
“Weston!” she shouted, the irritation clear in her voice, almost like a prickly little hedgehog.
Weston, on the other hand, seemed amused by her reaction. He chuckled softly, a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “Haven’t you seen it before? Men do that in the morning, don’t you know?”
Stella’s hands tightened, and she turned her head away, trying to push him off. But Weston was relentless, holding her firmly in place.
Stella, no longer naive, knew exactly what his intentions meant. When they were married, despite Weston’s cold attitude toward her, their relationship had been more or less normal, even if he didn’t stay with her often. They had acted like a couple, doing everything a couple does.
She knew his behavior when he wanted intimacy, and she knew exactly what his current reaction meant.
Stella closed her eyes, trying her best to suppress her disgust. With a determined look, she questioned, “If we do it just once, will you leave me alone and never come back into my life?”
She stared into his eyes with sincerity, as though this could be the final line between them—a chance to sever their bond for good.
Weston’s expression slowly tightened. He lifted her chin and asked, “What if I say no?”
Stella’s gaze turned icy. She glared at him with hatred burning in her eyes. “Don’t make me hate you.”
Weston’s voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “I thought you already hated me.”
Stella shook her head. “I don’t love you, and I don’t hate you.” The truth was far more complex. He hadn’t just killed any love she might have had for him; he had made it impossible for her to feel anything. It was because of Weston that Guinevere had become so unhinged, but he wasn’t the root cause of the pain. No, that was on Guinevere and the kidnappers. Weston, however, had broken his promises since their reunion, repeatedly forcing himself upon her.
And still, Stella remained indifferent, as her emotions were buried deep beneath the hurt.
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