It took Weston a while to grasp the meaning behind Stella’s actions. She continued eating, bite after bite, but her face contorted in discomfort, as though each mouthful was a struggle. Her expression was filled with pain, her features twisted in a way that made it clear the food was doing her no good.
“Enough,” he murmured, his voice low and tight. “It’s enough now.”
She stopped. Reluctantly, she placed the chopsticks back on the table and managed a faint, ghostly smile. Her face was so pale it was almost translucent, and her lips were an unsettling shade of bright red.
“I’ll vomit if I keep going,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her appetite had always been erratic, but since her miscarriage, every bite had been a battle. The nausea was overwhelming, making it impossible to eat without discomfort. Weston had arranged for a doctor to monitor her health, but tests had shown no major physical problems.
The frustration in his eyes was palpable. The anger and worry mixed in his gaze darkened the room, and for the first time, he seemed truly bothered by her condition.
He opened his mouth, his tone suddenly hard and demanding. “How did this happen?”
Stella knew exactly what he was asking—he wanted to know why she was unable to eat normally, why her body had turned against her like this. She had been fine before. If her health had been the issue, she should have returned to normal after taking proper care of herself. But why was she still like this?
Honestly, Stella didn’t know. Since moving to Fern City, she had hoped for a fresh start. Before meeting Weston again, she believed her life would continue quietly, day after day, until the very end. But every night, the same haunting dreams plagued her, the memory of the child she lost tormenting her. The agony was a shadow that followed her wherever she went.
Despite the outward appearance of strength, she had never truly healed. The pain was always there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting to resurface every time the night fell. She had learned to wear a mask of calm during the day, but come nightfall, the weight of it all crushed her once more.
Weston didn’t know any of this. He would never understand the physical and emotional toll he had inflicted on her. And perhaps that was the most painful part: knowing he would never realize the depth of the scars he had left behind.
Stella smiled, but it was empty, a hollow attempt to mask the sorrow she carried. Without another word, she picked up her chopsticks again and continued to eat, ignoring the pain that gnawed at her insides.
Watching her, Weston couldn’t help but move toward her, his hand reaching out to stop her. He took her wrist firmly. “Stop it. Don’t eat anymore.”
Stella looked up at him, her smile cold, almost mocking. “Didn’t you want to know what my favorite food is? These are all the foods I like. Why are you still upset when I’ve done what you asked?”
Weston’s face darkened at her words. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to suppress the frustration building inside him. When he spoke again, his tone softened, almost regretful. “I know now. You can stop.”
She shook her head, her voice tinged with sarcasm. “These are all your efforts. How could I disappoint you?”
His grip on her wrist tightened, a quiet desperation creeping into his voice. “Stella, don’t do this.”
She pulled her hand from his grasp, frustration boiling over. “What’s wrong with you? I did what you wanted, but now you’re still upset and you won’t even let me go. Weston, what do you want from me?” She threw the chopsticks aside, the clattering sound of them hitting the table echoing in the stillness of the room.
She exhaled deeply, her eyes tired as she regarded him. “What do you want me to do so that you’ll finally be satisfied?”
Her words, raw with confusion and hurt, hung in the air. She couldn’t understand it—how could a man who had never cared for her, never even truly loved her, now be so relentless? She had given him everything she had when she loved him, and yet, now that she no longer had any feelings for him, he refused to let her go. He seemed determined to ruin whatever was left of her life.
What had she done to deserve this?
Weston didn’t answer her. Instead, he reached for her hand, gently opening her palm and intertwining his fingers with hers, as if to hold on to her, unwilling to let her slip away.
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