As the image of Weston with Guinevere floated in her thoughts, a wave of nausea suddenly overcame Stella. She covered her mouth in distress and hurried outside. After a moment, the unmistakable sounds of retching echoed from the bathroom. Weston’s eyes darkened as he observed the untouched dishes on the table. He stood up and walked toward the washroom with quick, purposeful strides.
He squatted beside her and gently patted her back, his eyes full of concern. She continued retching, but nothing came out. Her stomach seemed to twist painfully, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she endured the discomfort. The sight of her in pain made something inside him tighten.
“I’ll fire Joan,” Weston said solemnly, his voice heavy with concern. He believed the reaction was caused by the dishes, unsure if they had upset her stomach.
But Stella, her face pale and teary, instantly grabbed his wrist, shaking her head. “It’s not… because of her,” she managed to say, her voice strained. “The dishes… she makes… suit my taste…” She paused between words, clearly struggling.
Weston, worried, immediately tied her hair back and handed her a glass of water. After she rinsed her mouth, he said softly, “Don’t force yourself. If you feel any discomfort, tell me.”
She nodded, wiping her mouth, and after a moment’s pause, she spoke. “It’s really not because of Joan. It’s my own problem…” She tried to stand up, but the pain seemed to linger. Weston didn’t move, still standing close by.
“I’m really fine. Don’t worry,” she insisted, offering him a strained smile, though the worry in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed.
His gaze remained fixed on her, the concern still evident. Seeing that her hair was sticking to her face, he reached out to help her smooth it back. His fingers lightly brushed her face, and in response, she grabbed his hands, her grip tight. “Let’s continue eating,” she said, though her words didn’t carry much weight.
Weston’s mood had darkened, and he couldn’t shake his unease. He barely touched his meal, watching Stella intently. It wasn’t until he saw that she seemed to feel better and was eating more than usual that he finally relaxed, though only slightly.
Meanwhile, Joan was on standby at the villa. When she heard about Stella’s reaction, she was understandably nervous. But after witnessing Stella eat with enthusiasm, Joan let out a sigh of relief.
Joan, unlike many in the service industry, wasn’t just a maid. She had a prestigious background, having graduated from a renowned school. Her dissatisfaction with her initial career choice led her to switch paths, and after years of study, she had earned a qualification as a certified nutritionist. She was well-regarded in her field, working for high-ranking individuals.
But Joan knew better than most that the world she worked in demanded discretion. She didn’t let gossip or rumors affect her, not even the whispers surrounding Weston. Whatever she saw or heard, it remained strictly confidential. As she cleared the table, she turned to Stella, offering a polite smile.
“If Ms. Steele has any dissatisfaction with the meals, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I’ll be happy to improve,” Joan said kindly. Stella nodded, appreciating her professionalism.
As Joan left the room, Stella felt a pang of envy. She admired Joan’s dedication to her work and her ability to focus solely on her career. She longed for that kind of drive, to be able to concentrate on improving herself, without the looming pressure of societal expectations.
For most women, the belief was that their primary focus should be on their families—husbands, children, and creating a sense of stability. But for Stella, it was work that gave her a sense of security, not the confines of a domestic role.
Weston may have provided her with a comfortable life, but she knew it was a gilded cage. No matter how stable it seemed, it kept her from growing, from finding her own place in the world.
After the meal, Weston kept his word and took her out in the afternoon. Though she had been in Anh City for a while, she rarely went out. Her life had become a repetitive cycle of training and returning home, leaving no room for fun or spontaneity.
The only time she had ever felt a spark of joy was when Yvonne had taken her to The Doghouse, a place where she could forget her reality, even if just for a moment.
Skip to content