Weston combed his fingers through her hair, his touch lingering as if savoring the feel of it. He seemed to derive some strange satisfaction from playing with her hair, as though he wanted to keep it in his hands indefinitely.
Stella, however, despised anyone, especially strangers, touching her hair. It had always been a symbol of something precious, something her parents had cherished. When she was young, she’d grown up surrounded by privilege, indulged in habits that many would call squeamish. But life’s harsh realities had since smoothed away those luxuries, leaving behind only the bare essence of who she was.
Weston noticed her stillness, her obedience, and his own tension seemed to ease just a little. He softened his approach, as though waiting for her permission to proceed.
“What movie do you want to watch?” he asked, carrying her toward the movie room.
Their mansion had everything one could imagine, even a nursery. Stella had once enjoyed decorating every part of their home, but Weston had never been to the nursery, unaware of what lay behind its door.
As they passed by, Weston paused, instinctively glancing at the door. Stella noticed and smiled. The smile, though small, held a deeper meaning—something unspoken.
“In the future, you can bring Stella and your two children here,” she said, her voice laced with a hint of mockery. “After all, it would be a waste for this room to just sit empty.”
Her words weren’t just casual remarks. She knew how much Weston adored their children, how they had been treated as royalty from the moment they were born. The nursery, decorated with care and love, was meant for children who would never understand the sentiment behind it. And yet, she said it anyway, hoping that the irony of her words would sink in.
Though their relationship had soured, leaving little room for grievances, there was one thing Stella couldn’t shake—the memory of the child they had lost. She had craved a family, wished for just one member to call her own. But her rare blood type had ensured that she could only bear one child, and now, that dream was gone. How could she simply move on from it?
She caught a glimpse of Weston’s face, his expression unreadable. Perhaps he sensed the bitterness in her words, for he quickened his pace, heading toward the movie room without saying another word.
“What do you want to watch?” he asked, deliberately avoiding any mention of the baby.
Since their reunion, Weston had taken to avoiding this painful subject. For him, it wasn’t that he couldn’t face the past—no, Weston Ford wasn’t the type to shy away from responsibility. He’d always borne the consequences of his actions, never once looking back with regret.
But this… this was different. He could feel the grief Stella carried, the loss that still haunted her. And as much as he tried to push it away, he, too, felt the sting. The dreams of their unborn child, the constant reminder of what they had lost, gnawed at him in the quietest of moments. But Weston, ever stoic, never allowed his emotions to show. He wasn’t a man who dwelled in the past, not like those who wallowed in cowardice.
His only goal now was to earn her forgiveness.
He chose a random movie, placed the remote on the side, and sat down next to her. Stella, resigned, stopped resisting and settled beside him.
The moment the movie began, a familiar face appeared on the screen.
Stella’s eyes lit up as she looked at the stunning woman on the screen, a faint smile curling at her lips. “No wonder Guinevere is the best actress. She looks even more beautiful on screen.”
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