Stella didn’t notice anything unusual in Weston’s voice, nor did she want him to know where she was. So, she quickly hung up the phone, hoping to keep the conversation with Roger private. Just as she set the phone down, she felt a warm, familiar embrace from behind. Weston had been in the living room earlier, organizing his papers. She hadn’t noticed when he had silently approached. Now, his arms were securely wrapped around her waist.
“Who did you call?” he asked in a low, almost calm voice, his breath warm against her ear.
Stella’s heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to steady her breathing before answering, “Roger.”
“Really?” His expression remained unchanged as he tightened his hold on her waist. “I thought it was Justin.”
She closed her eyes briefly, then held out her phone to him. “You can check if you want.”
Weston didn’t hesitate. Without a word, he unlocked her phone, brows furrowed in concentration as he checked the call history. After a moment, he handed it back to her, the coldness in his gaze revealing that trust was something he didn’t give easily. It was clear to Stella now: he saw her as little more than a caged bird, under his complete control.
“Are you satisfied now?” she asked, her voice tinged with frustration.
“Cut all ties with Justin,” he demanded, his voice firm. But instead of answering her question, he leaned forward, dropping a kiss on her neck, a gesture that seemed more possessive than affectionate. He pulled her into his arms at times, kissed her occasionally—but that was the extent of his interest. He seemed to be holding back, playing a game he had no intention of letting her win.
Stella tried to push back against the tension. “Will I be able to go to work regularly tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Weston replied coolly. “I’ve already arranged for a driver.”
He pushed her hair aside, his gaze trailing over her pale skin. Without warning, he moved her, pressing her against the railing, his body close behind hers. The shift in position made her breathing catch in her throat.
“Let’s go to the room,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice strained.
Weston paused, then let out a laugh, the sound full of amusement. “I wasn’t about to do anything to you, but you seemed eager.”
Her eyes flickered to him, irritation flaring. “Isn’t that what you want? Why act so gentlemanly now?”
Weston’s grin faded, replaced by a sharp intensity. “I was never a gentleman,” he said, his grip tightening on her chin. “However, I dislike coercion. I’m not interested—especially not when I see your face like that.”
Stella couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out bitter. “You don’t like coercion? Is that why you’re keeping me here? This is forcing me.”
Weston’s expression hardened, but his voice remained low and measured. “When did I force you?” he murmured, his fingers softly rubbing her chin. “You came back with me willingly. Don’t forget, you had a choice.”
She fixed her gaze on him, her eyes flashing with quiet fury. “How can you say that? Did you ever truly give me an option? You’ll hurt the people I care about if I don’t do what you want. Is that the ‘choice’ you gave me?”
Weston’s eyes darkened, but his voice remained steady. “If you care about the innocent, you must accept the burden. This is your decision.”
Stella fell silent, closing her eyes. There was no point in arguing with someone like him—someone so shameless, so convinced of his own control.
Weston, sensing her retreat, sighed. “You don’t seem to understand the situation yet.”
“I understand more than you think,” Stella replied, her voice tired but resolute. “You want me here. You want me to stay.”
Weston’s tone softened, though the hardness still lingered beneath. “I want you with me, Stella.”
She forced a smile, but the effort felt hollow. Before she could respond, he interrupted, his voice snapping, “I don’t want to see that fake smile. It’s worse than when you cry.”
Her eyes widened with surprise, and a bitter laugh escaped her. “Then what do you want from me?”
Weston’s gaze sharpened, studying her face with intensity as if searching for something. He didn’t immediately answer, but when he finally spoke, his voice was measured, almost casual. “Why did Roger contact you just now?”
Stella paused, unsure why he was asking. “He said he’s waiting for me at home.”
Weston’s eyes narrowed, his thoughts clearly turning inward as he processed her response. “Who cooks at home?” he asked, his tone almost curious.
Stella, confused by the question, answered without hesitation. “He eats at the café. If he gets home early, I cook and he helps.”
Weston’s face remained unreadable. “Nothing,” he said shortly, turning to face the kitchen. “I just remember you having excellent cooking skills.”
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