“Would you not defend your own woman?” Weston Ford asked in return, his tone quiet but firm.
Xavier Ford blinked, then let out a low chuckle. “Well, of course. I’m always good to my women. Every single one who’s dated me ends up thankful they did. We’re men, aren’t we? Generosity and charm—those are our trademarks. But…”
He turned toward Weston, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Tell me, is your woman anything like the one I used to have?”
Weston didn’t respond right away. His eyes remained fixed on Stella Sealey, who was still by the pool table, determinedly trying to perfect her stance. She kept practicing the posture he had shown her, repeating the movement until she finally began to understand the technique.
His gaze softened, distant now, as if pulled into a memory he had long tried to bury—only to find it slowly resurfacing against his will.
“She’s not all that different,” he finally murmured.
At the table, Stella had just corrected her posture. She selected a few balls and tested her strikes from a new angle. Her focus sharpened, every bit of her attention channeled into the cue stick in her hands. She struck—but the distribution was still uneven. The balls rolled sluggishly across the table, a few finding their way into the pockets, but lacking the precision and speed of Weston’s earlier guidance.
She didn’t give up. After several rounds of diligent practice, her hands began to find their rhythm. Eventually, her strikes turned clean and sharp. Beads of sweat glistened on her brow, but there was a flicker of joy in her expression—fulfillment, even.
When she finally paused and turned around, a contented smile on her face, she found herself staring into a pair of deep, mesmerizing eyes.
Weston had been watching her. Who knew for how long.
Her smile faltered slightly, and she quickly wiped the sweat from her brow, trying to act as if she hadn’t noticed.
“What are you getting nervous about?” Weston asked, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a sip, his gaze never leaving her.
“I’m not nervous,” Stella replied, shaking her head.
“If you’re not, why look away?” he countered smoothly.
Caught off guard, she paused for a moment—then swiftly met his eyes. “I’m not looking away.”
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