They had agreed to stay together for a year. During this time, Stella had to keep up the facade of who she once was, at least outwardly. Deep down, she knew she could never be the woman she had been before. Weston, too, understood that things could never return to what they had been, but he was willing to go along with the pretense, as long as she was.
“Nothing,” she replied coolly. “I was just curious. You seemed a little tense when you answered the phone earlier.”
Her words were more than just a casual remark—they were a challenge, a way to provoke him.
Stella knew exactly how to shift the focus away from uncomfortable topics. Mentions of Guinevere were enough to send Weston retreating into silence. He understood what she was doing; she had steered the conversation away from something he didn’t want to address. Rather than reacting with anger, he simply smiled and brushed a hand through her hair. “You’re getting bold,” he remarked, his tone almost admiring.
It wasn’t the first time he’d said that about her.
She rested her chin on her hand, turning her gaze toward the window. As they drove down a familiar road, a soft laugh escaped her lips.
“What’s so funny?” Weston asked, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.
Stella shook her head, still smiling. “Do you remember this road? It was here that you left me and drove away,” she said, her voice light, yet there was a heaviness beneath it.
The words landed like a blow to Weston’s chest. In a split second, he slammed on the brakes, causing the car to screech to a sudden halt in the middle of the road. The dark night seemed to close in around them, and his face became unreadable, a mix of anger and regret flickering in his eyes.
After a moment of silence, he lit a cigarette, the ember glowing brightly as he took a long drag. “You haven’t forgotten, then,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Stella wasn’t one to hold grudges, but something about her words hinted at a lingering resentment.
She watched him, the smoke curling from his cigarette, casting a shadow over his features. The soft glow illuminated his face, making him seem even more enigmatic. Weston was always dressed in dark colors, making it difficult to know what he was thinking. The old Stella would have spent hours trying to decipher his moods, but now, she knew how to push his buttons—how to make him uncomfortable.
With a half-smile, she added, “I couldn’t forget, even if I wanted to. I walked home alone that day. Not everyone gets left like that.”
It was a small lie, an exaggeration. Weston could tell. After he’d left her that day, he’d called Xavier to pick her up, though he couldn’t explain why he hadn’t done it himself. Maybe it was because they had been in the middle of an argument, neither willing to take the first step toward reconciliation. Or maybe he just didn’t want her to realize that he had no other options.
Now, Stella had learned how to manipulate the past to get what she wanted. She was playing a game, but Weston could see right through her. She was trying to guilt-trip him, to make him feel bad enough to give her what she desired.
She was like a novice at mind games, trying to get the upper hand, but Weston wasn’t fooled. He saw through her every attempt.
Yet, part of him didn’t want to know. It was easier not to acknowledge that she no longer cared for him, that everything she said and did was part of a calculated act.
She wasn’t trying to cheat him; she was trying to leave him.
Frustration boiled up inside him. With a sudden jolt, he pressed his foot hard on the gas pedal, the car surging forward. Stella was thrown back into her seat, unprepared for the force. Her body jerked with the acceleration, and she blinked in surprise.
The expression on Weston’s face was one of fierce anger, as if a wild animal had been cornered. Stella, stunned by the sudden change, could only stare at him in confusion. His mood had shifted so drastically that she couldn’t understand what had triggered it.