The next second, the door burst open with a violent crash, as if something heavy had slammed to the ground. The fire extinguisher rolled across the floor, clattering against the wall.
Justin’s eyes, bloodshot and heaving, scanned the room.
It was dark inside. Clothes were scattered on the floor, evidence of the chaos that had just unfolded.
Weston sat on the sofa, his gaze fixed on Justin, his expression unreadable, emotionless. A petite figure, wrapped in a large coat, sat trembling in his arms.
Without a second thought, Justin marched forward, his voice firm and demanding, “Give her back to me.”
Weston’s hard stare met his, unyielding. “She was always mine.”
The two men faced off, neither willing to back down. Justin’s patience snapped, and he took a step forward, trying to forcibly pull Stella from Weston’s grasp.
But Weston was quicker. He ducked, grabbing a bottle of red wine from the table and slamming it into Justin’s skull with a sickening crack.
Blood immediately streaked down Justin’s face, but he didn’t seem to notice. The warm liquid trickled into his left eye, but he shook his head, fighting off the dizziness. Despite the pain, he didn’t let go. He was determined.
“Don’t you see she’s crying?” Justin’s voice was raw with emotion. “Why are you forcing her to be with you when she doesn’t want to?”
“Because I can.” Weston’s voice was cold, devoid of the gentleness he’d shown Stella. His oppressive presence filled the room, making the air feel colder, heavier. It was as though the very temperature dropped in response to his dominance.
Justin, standing before Weston, felt the fury inside him smothered by Weston’s sheer will. He didn’t need to resort to violence—one look was enough to put Justin on the defensive. Weston was in control, and Justin could feel it.
“I warned you,” Weston said, his tone ominous.
Stella’s eyes widened, and she immediately looked up, pleading with Justin. “He’s innocent. Don’t drag him into this!”
Justin’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice. Even though he knew it was Stella, hearing her say those words made everything painfully real. His resolve strengthened.
“Don’t compromise,” he urged, his voice thick with emotion. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, like he was transported back to that day—trapped in the car while Stella was taken away. The helplessness, the agony—it all came flooding back.
“I will find ways to fight him. Don’t compromise.”
His words were like a lifeline, and Stella could feel the strength in them. She trusted him, but…
She clenched her fists, her body shaking, and leaned toward Weston, her voice cold and resolute. “Don’t drag him into this, or I’ll really die.”
Her tone was calm, but there was an undeniable determination behind it. She meant every word.
Weston stared at her in shock, his mind racing. He hadn’t expected her to say something like that—to stand up for the man she clearly cared for. For a moment, he hesitated, his grip loosening as the weight of her words sank in.
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