What else could Stella do? Weston seemed to anticipate her resistance. He didn’t rush, though—he simply followed behind her, his steps measured and deliberate.
As they exited the parking lot, the sunlight hit Stella’s face, forcing her to squint. Weston, however, wasn’t concerned with her discomfort. He opened the car door, approached her with purpose, and grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t challenge my patience,” he warned, his voice low.
Stella jerked her arm away, frustration bubbling up inside her. “What else can I do? Why won’t you just let go of me?”
She had asked him this question countless times, but each time, Weston only ignored her and shoved her into the car without a word.
Stella, small and frail, lacked the strength to fight him off. He easily tucked her into the passenger seat and, as she attempted to push herself up, he pressed her back down with one firm hand on her shoulder.
“Sit properly,” Weston ordered, his proximity too close for comfort. Standing outside the car, he loomed over her, his posture tall and unyielding. With one hand, he kept her in place, while his other hand casually reached for the seatbelt.
His fingers brushed across her slightly heaving chest as he fastened it. Whether intentional or not, he lingered there for a moment longer than necessary. Finally, he secured the belt and looked up, meeting her angry gaze.
For a split second, something akin to surprise flickered in his eyes—he had noticed the humiliation in hers.
He quickly masked his emotions, his tone softening as he stroked her cheek. “I know you don’t like this, but I hope you’ll get used to it. We have a long time ahead of us. If you don’t relax, it’s you who will suffer.”
The coldness in his voice sent a shiver down Stella’s spine. “Must you force me like this?” she asked, the words trembling with disbelief. “What did I ever do to you?”
She didn’t want to dwell on the past—she just wanted peace, a simple, quiet life. But Weston’s relentless pursuit threatened to tear that away from her.
“Why? Did I murder your family in my past life?” Stella’s voice cracked as her frustration reached its peak. “Why must you torture me like this?”
Weston stared at her for a long, steady moment, but he remained silent. Then, without a word, he got into the car and started the engine. The car pulled out, and the scenery rushed past outside the window. The man’s dark fringe cast a shadow over his eyes as he focused on the road ahead.
The silence stretched on between them, thick and suffocating. Finally, Weston spoke, his voice low and heavy.
“Consider it a debt you’re paying for killing my family in your past life.”
Stella closed her eyes, the weight of his words suffocating her. With a choked cry, she shouted, “You have no shame!”
But Weston didn’t flinch. “I only want you.”
Her anger, once fierce and uncontrollable, felt like it had been frozen in place. The icy sting of his words snuffed out her fire, leaving only the hollow emptiness behind. Her heart, once burning with rage, lay cold and lifeless.
After a long, painful pause, Stella spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “But I don’t want you.”
She almost begged him, her voice hoarse with emotion. “Why must you do this to me? I haven’t done anything wrong. You have Guinevere, and a son. There are plenty of other women around you. Why can’t you just let me go?”
Weston’s gaze remained blank, inscrutable, as he drove with steady hands on the wheel. His eyes, however, betrayed the turmoil inside. He wanted to ask her the same question.
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