Stella’s thoughts were consumed by Roger, the only person who truly mattered to her now. He had grown stronger, his health improving as he returned to school. Her death, though devastating, wouldn’t break him—he would move on, have a bright future. She would be a distant memory to him, her presence insignificant in the long run.
A profound despair weighed down on her heart. She could feel it pressing in from every side, suffocating her. Weston, perhaps sensing her despair, seemed to calm in the wake of it. His anger, which had flared so fiercely moments before, dissipated completely.
Without a word, he released her, his body sagging slightly as if the weight of his emotions had drained him. He rested his forehead against her shoulder, his breath ragged. Gritting his teeth, he slowly unclenched his fists, his movements heavy. “Let’s both take a step back…” His voice was quieter now, laced with a surprising vulnerability. “Stella, I won’t trap you forever.”
“What do you mean?” Stella whispered, unsure if she even wanted to hear his answer.
Weston propped himself up, his gaze suddenly intense as he looked straight into her eyes. “Just stay with me for a while. I’ll hide your identity—no one will know about us. We’ll go back to how we were when we were married. After that time, I’ll let you go. You can even make a request of me.”
“Why should I agree to that?” Stella’s voice trembled, her heart thumping erratically in her chest.
Weston’s eyes darkened, his jaw tight. “Because this is your only option. No matter what happens, you’re mine.”
The words hit her like a slap, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. He was trying to make her a prisoner once again, binding her to him with promises that felt empty. Was this really the only way to escape him? To be with him on his terms, and then walk away when he was done with her? She couldn’t understand why he was doing this. Why was he so desperate to have her back in his life?
Stella’s thoughts were a storm of confusion and pain as she stepped out of the car and made her way home, each step heavy with the weight of Weston’s words still echoing in her mind. How could he have the audacity to make such demands? It was as if her own will didn’t matter at all. She had no choice—only his terms.
“Are you alright?”
Roger’s concerned voice broke through her spiral of thoughts. He had just emerged from the kitchen, glass of water in hand. He immediately noticed her expression and set the glass down, walking toward her.
“Are you tired from work?” he asked, his voice soft, filled with care.
Stella forced a smile, the kind that barely touched her eyes. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired. I’ll go get some rest.”
Roger didn’t leave, lingering behind her with a quiet persistence. “Should I call the doctor?”
She shook her head, her voice tight. “No, thank you. I’ll just take a quick nap.”
She didn’t want to burden Roger with her struggles. He had enough on his plate, and she couldn’t bring herself to worry him more. Stepping into the bedroom, she collapsed onto the bed, her body heavy with exhaustion.
Could she really submit to Weston’s demands? Or would it be better to fight—to resist with everything she had left? A dark thought crossed her mind: What if she married someone else? Weston, with his pride, would never be able to accept that. Maybe, just maybe, that would make him lose interest in her. But even that seemed impossible—he was relentless, and she wasn’t sure if there was a way to escape him without breaking everything she had left inside.
Meanwhile, Weston’s drive back to his apartment was filled with a simmering rage that wouldn’t let go. As he pulled into the underground parking lot, the sight of the large black cars parked there only deepened his frustration. His eyes turned cold, his posture rigid as he stepped out of the car. When he entered the apartment, his gaze immediately locked onto a figure on the sofa—someone he hadn’t expected to see.
“You’re back,” Guinevere’s voice broke the silence, laced with a hint of embarrassment, though she masked it with a calm, neutral expression.
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