Stella almost laughed out loud at the absurdity. Did Weston truly think she would believe that? If she were the only woman in his life, then where had Guinevere’s child come from?
The words stung, not just because they were untrue, but because he was treating her like a fool.
“I have no intention of interfering in your private life,” she said steadily, her eyes locked on his. “You can have as many women as you like. Just… please, don’t interfere with my work.”
The air in the car grew heavy. Whatever warmth had been in Weston’s expression vanished in an instant, replaced by a steely coldness.
“So this was all just a ploy to convince me to let you work?” he asked, his voice sharp with warning.
“Yes,” she answered, bracing herself.
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped Weston’s lips.
“Go on, then,” he challenged. “Tell me what kind of job you’d risk everything for.”
Stella hesitated for a beat. She had planned to keep it from him a while longer, but from the look on his face, he already knew. If that was the case, then coming clean might soften the blow—or at least prevent his temper from flaring even worse.
“I auditioned for Bradley Lane,” she admitted. “And I got the part. I start tomorrow.”
Weston tugged at his collar and scoffed. Just as he had suspected.
He’d known something was off when Stella told him she was going to the restroom earlier. A gut instinct had led him to request the club manager pull the surveillance footage from the hallway.
Though her voice in the video had been hard to catch, Weston could read lips. He knew what she’d really been saying. That’s when it all clicked—she hadn’t been going to see Roger at the university all this time. She’d been on a film set.
“Well played,” he said coldly. “You really managed to pull the wool over my eyes.”
“I didn’t mean to deceive you,” Stella said, her voice soft but steady. “If I did, I wouldn’t have told you just now.”
“You only confessed because you realized you couldn’t hide it anymore,” Weston snapped. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly what’s going through your mind.”
His eyes bore into her, furious and accusing. For a moment, he hated how clearly he could read people—especially her. He stared at her, the woman who once looked at him with love and longing. Now, all he saw was distance.
“You went and did exactly what I told you not to, didn’t you?” he growled.
Stella instinctively wanted to push his hands away, but the intensity of his gaze froze her in place. She closed her eyes, steadied her breath, then reached up and gently kissed the space between his brows.
“I didn’t mean to lie,” she whispered. “I just couldn’t find the right time to tell you.”
Her sudden boldness stunned him.
One soft kiss—and the fury that had been boiling within him suddenly stilled. He should’ve lashed out, raised his voice, but all he could do was stare.
Still, he wasn’t going to let her off that easily.
“Did you think that’d be enough?” he asked, his voice low, the fire in his eyes not yet extinguished.
But Stella wasn’t finished.
She tugged at his collar, leaned in until her lips were just shy of his, then brushed a kiss along his jaw. Slowly, almost teasingly, she moved to his neck, planting featherlight kisses with practiced ease. Her touch was soft, deliberate, and maddening.
They’d shared intimacy before—many times. But it had always been Weston who initiated, always him taking control. Stella had rarely taken the lead, and even when she did, it was never like this.
Now, each kiss, each touch, burned him from the inside. She wasn’t resisting. She was seducing.
And Weston realized with a startling clarity: he was completely at her mercy.
His desire, his restraint, his fury—they all hung by a fragile thread. A thread she now held tightly between her fingers.
“Don’t try to distract me,” he growled, voice hoarse with tension.
He tried to push her back, but she melted into him, arms wrapping around his body like silk.
“I just want to give it a try,” she murmured. “Bradley Lane said I have potential. I want to see how far I can go. Please?”
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