Stella finally understood what Weston meant. He was talking about what had happened the previous night.
Guinevere’s words echoed in her mind. “Your parents gave you both a room. You’re engaged now. You may not be married yet, but like you said, it’s only a matter of time. There’s nothing wrong with living together.”
Stella had thought it was almost laughable. She forced a bitter smile.
But before she could say more, Weston suddenly gripped her chin tightly. His expression darkened, and without warning, he bit down on the corner of her mouth—roughly, with restrained anger.
“You’re not saying what you truly feel,” he said coldly. “I don’t like it when you act like this.”
His eyes burned into hers, sharp and unreadable.
Stella drew a shaky breath, calming her emotions. She lifted her eyes to him with a quiet smile. “Sorry… but I meant what I said. Didn’t you once like how understanding I used to be?”
“Were you really like this?” Weston cupped her face more firmly, forcing her to look directly at him.
It was as though he wanted to see through every emotion she hid behind her calm.
“If I had spent the night in the same room with another woman back then, would you have just smiled and said it was fine? Would you really have had no problem with it?”
Faced with his unrelenting gaze, Stella no longer avoided his eyes.
“I know you want me to be who I was before,” she said evenly, “but I’m not the same person anymore. I used to have the right to question you. But now? That right belongs to Guinevere, not me. Do you understand?”
“You do have the right,” Weston interrupted, his voice suddenly rough with emotion. His hands pressed slightly harder against her face as he leaned in, speaking by her ear. “You can question me. I’ll give you that right.”
Stella was pulled closer, her face resting against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady. She clenched her fists, suppressing the ache in her chest, and responded flatly, “Okay. I’ll ask you next time.”
Her voice was calm, almost robotic. She did everything he asked—never resisting, yet never truly drawing close either.
Still, Weston seemed satisfied just having her near.
He kissed the corner of her mouth softly, then said, “In this year, you’ll be with me just like how you used to be. If not, I might consider extending the arrangement.”
“You…” Stella looked up at him in disbelief. “You promised. A year is a year.”
“I did,” Weston replied without hesitation. “But I also said you had to behave like you did when we were married. Right now, all I see is Ella. I want Stella.”
“You can’t be so greedy, Weston!” she snapped, her voice sharp with suppressed fury. “You want a new version of me, but you still expect the old one to come back. You’re asking for too much.”
“I am greedy,” Weston admitted, pulling her into his lap with one swift motion. He held her firmly. “Let me hold you a little longer.”
The car began to move, the scenery outside the window fading into a blur. Stella closed her eyes, feeling a deep chill seep into her chest.
There was no longer any warmth in her heart—only cold silence.
Back at Ford Mansion
Guinevere stood in Weston’s study, staring at the empty desk. She was lost in thought, unmoving.
Outside, the sun shone gently, casting warm light through the windows. A breeze drifted in, brushing against her skin like a whisper, but it only made her feel colder.
She closed her eyes and stood there for a long time.
“Miss,” the nanny called softly from outside. “The weather’s nice, but it’s still a little chilly. You’ll catch a cold standing there.”
Guinevere’s fists curled slightly at her sides.
Miss. That was what they still called her.
Without a marriage certificate, she would never be Mrs. Ford.
A glint of resentment flashed in her eyes, but it vanished just as quickly. She turned with a gentle smile, all traces of displeasure gone.
“Alright,” she said kindly. “Thank you for your concern. Please bring me a blanket.”
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