Stella couldn’t find the words to describe the shock that hit her when she saw the divorce agreement. She sat down, her hands instinctively gripping the hem of her shirt.
“W-why?” she asked, her voice faltering as she finally dared to look him in the eyes.
Until now, she had never looked directly at him—not even when they were intimate last night. There was always a cold, imposing distance in his eyes, a kind of icy detachment that made her feel small, invisible. His gaze was like an unyielding iceberg, one that no one could ever melt or break through.
Even his staff seemed afraid to meet his eyes.
But now, with the divorce hanging in the air, she had to know why. Even if she didn’t have the right to refuse, she deserved some kind of explanation.
“There’s no reason,” Weston replied, his tone devoid of emotion.
He stood up slowly, casting a quick glance at her, radiating an overwhelming, oppressive presence.
“Sign it after you’ve read through it.”
Stella’s eyes dropped to the divorce agreement. She didn’t reach for it. Instead, she lowered her head, feeling a cold wave of numbness sweep over her. Her face had drained of color, and the silence between them felt heavy.
Weston watched her, noticing how pale she had become. But still, she remained silent.
He thought back to last night. He had held her with such force, making it clear that he was in control. She had looked uncomfortable, but even so, she never uttered a word. Her fingers had gripped the sheets tightly, as though clinging to something for support. Despite her obvious distress, she remained quiet, as if submitting to his will.
The windows had been left open, but the curtains were drawn, fluttering lightly in the breeze. Moonlight spilled across Stella’s frail figure, but Weston couldn’t decide if the pale glow of the moon was making her look weaker or if it was simply her own fragility showing through.
His gaze softened, and his brow relaxed.
“I’ll give you time to adjust,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You can stay here for the time being.”
Even after Weston left, Stella remained in her chair, curled up and staring at the divorce papers. Her eyes felt dry, her thoughts swirling in a haze of uncertainty.
At least he had offered her some time. For someone as distant as Weston, that was as much mercy as she could expect. Still, was that enough? Should she be grateful for it?
At the hospital, Stella couldn’t afford to dwell on her pain. Roger Sealey, her brother, was still undergoing treatment. She stood outside his ward, watching the frail young man lying in bed. Exhaustion, bitterness, and a hint of fear weighed heavily on her chest.
She stared at her phone, hesitant. After a moment, she called Weston. The divorce had given her a strange surge of courage. Maybe, just maybe, he would come. He was still her husband, after all. But the busy tone echoed on the line—her call unanswered.
Stella leaned against the cold hospital wall, feeling the helplessness rise within her.
Suddenly, a woman’s voice broke through the quiet—a sharp, indignant tone.
“Weston Ford, I’m at the hospital now. If you don’t want anything to happen to the child in my stomach, you’d better come see me.”
Stella froze. Her mind spun as she tried to process what she had just heard. Weston… Ford? Was it really him?
She glanced up, her heart racing. There, in front of her, stood the woman—the celebrity she instantly recognized. Guinevere Cohen, the up-and-coming star who had recently made headlines.
As the woman’s words rang in the air, a bitter knot formed in Stella’s chest. Her fists clenched at her sides as jealousy and hurt surged within her.
Had Weston been seeing her? Was this the reason for the divorce?
Skip to content