After Weston left, Henry couldn’t suppress a quiet snicker. His voice, rough and taunting, echoed in the room. “What do you know? She can’t possibly die.” He sneered, his words laced with bitterness. “That woman… she’s like a cockroach. How could she die?”
The shadows seemed to swallow his words as he fell back into his thoughts. The sunlight outside the window was warm and inviting, but it could never reach him. The sunlight cut the room in two, splitting it into stark halves of light and shadow. He lingered in the darkness, stretching his hand out as if trying to touch the warmth, but it remained just out of his reach—an unreachable barrier.
Later in the afternoon, Stella texted Roger: “I need to go on a business trip this evening, so I can’t go home. Please be good when you’re at home alone.”
She had enjoyed a long lunch and a heartfelt chat with him earlier, and he was content with her words, saying nothing more, just reminding her to take care of herself.
Stella let out a sigh, feeling the weight of the evening. She thought for a moment before telling the chauffeur to take her back to the villa. Weston hadn’t returned yet, and Joan was busy cleaning the house. When Joan noticed Stella sitting on the sofa in a daze, she approached with a gentle question.
“Ms. Steele, would you like to eat something?”
Stella shook her head. “No, I’m fine.” Her eyes lingered on the clock for a moment. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost dinner,” Joan replied. “I’ll cook after I finish here.”
Stella hesitated for a beat before standing up. “No, go ahead and do your own thing. I’ll cook.”
Joan was taken aback. “This isn’t in line with the contract. Mr. Ford hired me to take care of you. How could I let you cook?”
Stella paused, then smiled warmly at her. “He told you to take care of me, so shouldn’t you listen to me?”
Joan was caught off guard by Stella’s playful tone but hesitated for a moment. However, Stella was already ushering her out of the kitchen. “Don’t worry. He won’t say anything.” She closed the kitchen door behind her.
Some vegetables were already prepared in the sink, presumably by Joan for dinner. Stella decided to make use of them and quickly set to work, preparing a simple yet heartfelt meal.
By the time Weston returned to the villa, Joan was there to greet him. “Mr. Ford…” She whispered in his ear, her words quiet but urgent, telling him about Stella’s strange behavior that day. Weston frowned in confusion.
“She cooked dinner herself?” he asked, surprised.
He had expected her to still be angry with him, thinking it would take some time to smooth things over. But now, she had gone as far as to cook for him. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He couldn’t deny that her gesture flattered him.
He handed Joan his suit jacket. “I’ll reward you with a bonus.”
Joan blinked in surprise, quickly expressing her gratitude before leaving with a smile.
As Weston entered the house, the warm, inviting aroma of food greeted him. Stella’s cooking had a distinct fragrance that seemed to fill the room with a sense of home.
He stood by the door for a moment, silent, watching her move gracefully around the kitchen. After a few seconds, he slowly walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close.
“Why did you decide to cook today?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.
Stella froze, caught off guard by his sudden closeness. She composed herself before responding, her voice calm. “I came back early. Since there was still time, I thought I’d cook first.”
Weston leaned in, planting a soft kiss on her cheek. “You weren’t even willing to make me pasta before.” He nibbled on her ear, a playful hint of grumbling in his voice.
Stella frowned slightly but said nothing, focusing on her task. Weston showed no signs of letting her go, his hold tightening just slightly as he pulled her into him even more.
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