The moment Stella stood up, Justin quickly rose to his feet and, without thinking, reached out to grab her wrist. “Ella!”
Startled, Stella jerked her hand away as if it had been burned. “We’re at school, Mr. Hall! Please control yourself.”
With that, she walked away, leaving Justin standing there. He took a step after her but paused, staring at her retreating back. His feet felt rooted to the ground as a sense of helplessness washed over him. He stood in the gazebo, lost and filled with despair.
What he didn’t know was that in a hidden corner nearby, a man had just snapped a photo on his phone, capturing the moment when the two had been too close—Justin holding her wrist.
In the hospital ward, Xavier had initially planned to visit Henry, but after what had transpired on the balcony, he was eager to leave. He quickly found an excuse to depart. Henry, meanwhile, was absentmindedly tinkering with a potted plant that Weston had brought him.
Suddenly, Henry spoke up. “Your uncle is rather obtuse.”
Weston didn’t even glance up from the newspaper he was reading. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing much. He was just probing.” Henry pushed his wheelchair forward, positioning the potted plant in the shade before returning to his seat. “Don’t bring me these again. I don’t like them.”
Weston placed the newspaper down and rubbed his forehead. “What do you like, then?”
“Generous of you… Will you give me whatever I want?”
“Say it,” Weston replied flatly.
“Are you as generous with those women of yours?”
Weston raised an eyebrow, a slight hint of curiosity in his eyes. It was rare for him to discuss this, but Henry’s tone had piqued his interest.
“Which woman?” Weston sniffed, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Henry sneered but didn’t respond directly. “You’ve been out of line lately. Guinevere won’t just sit by and watch.”
His words hung in the air, a suggestion, a warning. Weston’s eyes darkened, his gaze sharp and intense, but he said nothing in return.
Instead, he muttered, “Get it together. After all, I was the one who let you have her. Be kind to her.”
The indifference in his voice made it sound as though the matter wasn’t important, but Henry wasn’t so easily deterred.
Weston shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I can’t hear how serious your advice is.”
Henry raised an eyebrow. “Did you mean it when you said you’d give me anything I wanted?”
Weston smirked. “You’re a Moore. Do you really need me to buy you anything?”
Henry grinned. “Oh, don’t be humble, Mr. Ford. Everyone knows that Weston Ford is one of the wealthiest men in the country. You were generous enough to give a bar girl in Lowe Garden a villa without a second thought.”
Weston finally understood what Henry was alluding to, and he chuckled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Guinevere came to you?”
“I didn’t say anything,” Henry responded innocently, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m always tight-lipped. I don’t talk about other people’s secrets.”
“I know,” Weston replied with a nod as he stood up and threw his suit jacket over his arm. He patted Henry on the shoulder. “Thanks for that.”
“No problem,” Henry said, shaking his head. “It’s got nothing to do with me. But if she finds out about it, she’ll be devastated. Can’t you just behave yourself?”
Weston’s expression shifted, his eyes turning cold. “You don’t know what happened that year.”
Henry studied his sullen, dark expression, sensing the shift in the mood. He opened his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off.
“I’ll keep an eye on that little bodyguard for you,” Weston said, his tone as sharp as ever. “But don’t get your hopes up. She’s probably already…”
He trailed off, not finishing the sentence, but the implication was clear.
Henry’s face grew colder, his understanding of the situation evident. Weston left without saying another word, his footsteps echoing in the silence.
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