Weston muttered, his voice low but full of derision. “He only knows how to sound tough, but what does it matter?” His lips moved up Stella’s cheek, slowly making their way to her ear.
To Stella, he was no better than a devil. Her body trembled with fury as she hissed, “You disgust me! I really wish I had never met you.” She had said those words countless times before, and each time, they were honest. But this time, the venom in her voice was impossible to ignore. “I will kill you!” she spat through gritted teeth. If she had the chance, she would make him suffer for every ounce of humiliation she was enduring at that moment.
She had lowered herself for him, taken in all the pain, the shame, yet he still pushed her to this breaking point. He had been reckless before because she had loved him, but now, she no longer cared for him, and still, he wouldn’t let her go.
Her eyes burned with rage as she glared at him, her voice a strained whisper, “I hate you, Weston. I hate you!”
Weston sighed, unfazed by her words. “Then so be it,” he said nonchalantly, adding, “At least it’s better than nothing.”
Outside, Justin’s anger was rapidly building. He could hear the faint sounds from inside the room—whispers, muffled cries. And then, the unmistakable sound of a woman weeping. His heart raced, knowing all too well what that noise meant. As a man in his forties with a teenage son, he had heard all the rumors, the jokes about how “no” could sometimes mean “yes,” how men would force themselves on women while insisting that it was what the woman wanted.
But this wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t some rumor. Justin knew, deep in his gut, that Stella was in there. He could feel her fear, her terror, and the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He should have been more vigilant the moment she mentioned Weston’s return. He had been naive to think Weston wouldn’t dare do anything in such a public place.
The rage inside Justin boiled over. “Weston, I know you’re inside! Let go of Ella!” His voice, though controlled, was strained with frustration. He wanted to break down the door, wanted to storm in, but he forced himself to keep calm, for Stella’s sake.
Inside, Weston chuckled darkly, his gaze never leaving Stella’s face. “You like losers like him? Tell him to get lost,” he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain.
Stella could do nothing but shut her eyes tightly. The fear that gripped her body was uncontrollable, her frame trembling violently with every word that Weston uttered. Her skin was pale, her heart sinking into despair. Everything around her felt sickening.
She was disgusted by Weston, repulsed by the situation, and utterly loathed her helplessness. At that moment, she hated herself—hated the world that had led her to this point.
The thought flashed in her mind: Would things have been better if she hadn’t been saved that day? If she had just let go? She couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps, in some twisted way, it would have been easier if she hadn’t been rescued.
As the noise from inside the room ceased, Justin could no longer stand by. His patience snapped. With all his strength, he kicked the door, his foot slamming into the wood with force. The sound echoed down the hallway, reverberating through the tense silence that followed.
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