Inside the café, a soft hum of chatter and clinking cups filled the air.
Stella sat quietly, her eyes scanning the familiar decor. Everything looked just the same—the warm lights, the cozy chairs, the subtle scent of roasted coffee beans in the air. But the mood today was entirely different.
The waiter arrived with two cups of cappuccino.
Stella wrapped her hands around her cup. She wasn’t really in the mood for cappuccino; she actually preferred espresso—the kind of bitterness that was sharp and undiluted. But she hadn’t mentioned that. She simply mirrored Yvonne’s order.
Yvonne had a known preference for sweet drinks. Stella could guess it from the smile she gave the waiter when placing the order—polite and just a touch warm.
This was the very same café where Stella had met Guinevere not too long ago. She never imagined she’d return, let alone sit at the exact same table.
Only this time, she was with Yvonne. And everything felt… strange.
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Yvonne looked uncomfortable, unsure how to begin. She had called out to Stella on impulse earlier, but now that they were face to face, she almost wished she hadn’t.
Still, seeing Stella visibly more anxious than herself helped her settle down. She took a small sip of her cappuccino and broke the silence gently.
“Do you want to talk about what happened… that day?” Her voice was calm, without judgment. She didn’t push for answers, still hoping it might all be a misunderstanding.
Stella’s expression darkened.
“I don’t know where to start,” she said quietly. “Even if I told you, you probably wouldn’t believe me. Honestly… even I can’t believe it myself.”
And how could she?
When she was married to him, Weston never truly treated her as a partner. At best, she was a fixture in the house—useful, quiet, and forgettable. He had divorced her without hesitation for Guinevere, without so much as a backward glance.
Even on that rooftop, when she was carrying his child and in danger, he had chosen Guinevere first. Without a second thought.
And now, that very same man had reappeared in her life—wealthy, well-known, and influential. Not to apologize. Not to make amends.
But to ask her to be with him again. Privately. Quietly. As if everything that happened before had never mattered.
How could she explain that to Yvonne? How could she say aloud that Weston Ford—the man the media praised, the man engaged to one of the most beloved stars in the industry—was the one cornering her into an impossible situation?
A man like him had surely met countless women. Guinevere herself was a celebrated beauty, admired on and off the screen.
Stella, on the other hand, was… ordinary. Not unattractive, but certainly not dazzling by comparison.
Even if Yvonne chose to believe her, Stella wasn’t sure she could believe herself.
Yvonne listened, trying to piece things together. Stella’s words didn’t provide clarity—but instead, only raised more questions.
After a long silence, Yvonne finally spoke. “You know… Weston and Guinevere were supposed to be getting married the day you came to my place. It’s possible they already are. Maybe they just haven’t made the announcement yet.”
Stella didn’t respond right away. Her gaze remained fixed on the cappuccino in front of her.
The foam had begun to melt into the coffee, forming an uneven swirl on the surface.
“I know,” she said softly, eyes unmoving.
“I never wanted things to become like this…”
Her voice trailed off in quiet frustration.
If any other woman had said those words, Yvonne might have scoffed. She didn’t like excuses, and she didn’t believe in playing the victim.
But looking at Stella now, hunched slightly, her voice nearly breaking—she wasn’t sure what to think.
Something told her this wasn’t a simple situation.
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