She had fallen in love with Weston first—Guinevere had long accepted that.
The one who loves first, who loves deeper, always ends up getting hurt the most. She knew this truth intimately. And now, after all she had invested—emotionally, mentally—there was no turning back.
She had come too far.
“I’m going to see a psychiatrist today,” she said calmly, placing her teacup down. “Mom, if it’s okay with you, could you come with me? Weston’s busy with work.”
Wendy’s hand froze for a moment.
The word “Mom” caught her off guard. Her gaze lifted slowly, eyes narrowing in quiet doubt as she looked at Guinevere.
But Guinevere smiled as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Her tone was soft, natural, almost affectionate. “What’s wrong, Mom?”
Wendy pulled her eyes away and set her fork down on the plate. The food before her suddenly seemed tasteless. Her appetite vanished entirely.
Still, Guinevere waited for an answer.
After a pause, Wendy nodded. “Alright. But next time, remember to ask Weston to go with you.”
“I will,” Guinevere replied quickly. “When he’s less busy, I’ll talk to him.”
Wendy rose from her chair. “I’m done eating. I’ll go check on Zack.”
For a split second, Guinevere almost offered to come along—but the thought of what had happened yesterday stopped her.
She gave a faint smile and sat back down. “I’ll see him when I’m feeling more stable.”
Wendy said nothing and walked upstairs without looking back.
Guinevere’s smile faded as she watched her leave. Her gaze dropped to the untouched breakfast on the table. A strange emptiness settled inside her. She had no appetite either.
Meanwhile, across town, sunlight streamed through the curtains of Stella’s apartment.
She stirred from sleep, blinking against the soft light, and heard sounds coming from the kitchen. Curious, she rubbed her eyes and walked into the living room.
Roger came out holding a tray of breakfast.
“You’re up?” he asked with a warm smile.
Stella yawned. “Why are you awake so early?”
Her expression turned serious in a second. “Don’t you have class?”
Roger let out a helpless chuckle, as if expecting the question. “No morning classes today. Did you forget?”
Stella turned to glance at the class schedule pinned on the wall. “Really? No Monday classes?”
“We have alternating weeks. No morning classes on odd weeks,” he reminded her casually.
He took off his apron and handed her a bowl. “Go wash up. I made you breakfast.”
The day was beautiful—the sun spilled across the table, casting a golden glow on everything.
Roger sat across from Stella and watched as she tasted the soup. “Well? Be honest. How’s my cooking? Have I lost my touch?”
Stella looked into the bowl, a soft smile forming. “It’s just soup. How can I tell?”
“You can’t taste the love I put into it?”
She burst out laughing. “When did you become so dramatic?”
Before their parents passed, the two of them had always bickered like siblings do. But in the years that followed, living under the same roof, relying on each other for strength and comfort, they had grown closer—more thoughtful, more understanding. Still, the occasional teasing never disappeared. It reminded them that they were still family, still themselves.
Being with Roger made life feel colorful again.
It was the kind of life she wanted—not one spent chasing after Weston, devising strategies to please him or run from him, nor living in fear of Guinevere’s sudden appearances.
But Roger noticed something was off.
He set his glass down slowly, observing the quiet shadow that passed across his sister’s face.
“Sis… has something been bothering you?” he asked softly. “You just got back from your business trip, but… you seem distracted lately.”
Stella shook her head. “The training center’s closing next month. I’ve been thinking about finding another job.”
“Didn’t we agree yesterday?” Roger frowned. “Why not pick something easy?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” she replied vaguely, then hesitated for a moment before speaking again.
“What do you think… about me acting?”
Roger stared at her, stunned. “Acting?”
He stood up quickly, eyes wide in disbelief. “Why acting, of all things?”
Stella raised an eyebrow, confused by his reaction. “I was just asking.”
Roger let out a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Why are you suddenly asking something like that?”
“I just wanted to know,” she said softly. “If I wanted to become an actress… would you support me?”
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