In the stillness of the heavy night, a low voice gradually quieted.
The faint rustling of sheets echoed as the man shifted in bed. Stella Sealey’s gaze lingered on the scratch marks on his back. A sudden impulse surged through her, and without thinking, she grabbed his wrist.
“Could you stay here tonight?” she asked softly.
Weston paused. Without turning to face her, he kept his back exposed, his muscular frame illuminated in the dim light. He buttoned his shirt with a calm precision.
Stella’s heart raced. Her fingers tightened around the already wrinkled sheets, crumpling them further. She held her breath, waiting for his response.
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
“Okay.”
Stella exhaled a sigh of relief, and her eyes welled with unshed tears.
Weston turned to face her. His tall frame was striking, his features sharp and handsome, and his deep eyes resembled the starry night sky.
This man—her husband, Weston Ford—was everything. The sole heir of Ford Corporation, he had topped the Fortune 500 at a young age and was known as one of the most prestigious businessmen globally. He frequently graced the finest banquets and events.
A man of his caliber belonged to her.
Stella sat up and looked into his eyes, trying to find the right words.
“Can I help you change into something more comfortable?” she asked softly, her fingers brushing lightly against the collar of his shirt, seeking his permission.
Weston’s eyes darkened, but he made no move to stop her. Though there was a hint of reluctance, he allowed her to unbutton his shirt.
Stella let out a quiet sigh, a mix of relief and bittersweet emotions stirring within her.
During their marriage, Weston had been nothing short of perfect—a wealthy and respectful husband. He treated her with the dignity of his wife, offering her a life of security. But sometimes, Stella couldn’t help but wonder why he had chosen her in the first place.
Still, she didn’t have time for such thoughts. She needed money, and Weston was her only support. He was her only pillar, so even though they were husband and wife, she couldn’t afford to take him for granted. She tried her best to gain his favor, always careful around him.
Despite her doubts, Weston had been good to her. He had given her the position of being Mrs. Ford, a title that allowed her to breathe in the rigid world they inhabited.
There was just one thing—he never spent the night with her. But tonight was different.
It was the first time Weston had stayed with her, and for once, he slept soundly.
But Stella couldn’t sleep. She longed to reach out and touch his face, to feel the warmth of his skin.
The man shifted in his sleep, frowning as he turned over, his back now facing her. Stella froze, her hand suspended midair. After a moment, she slowly withdrew it and closed her eyes, trying to fall asleep.
The next morning, Stella woke up early to prepare breakfast for Weston. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail, the delicate curve of her neck exposed.
When Weston woke and entered the kitchen, he was greeted by the sight of her busy at the stove. Stella smiled when she heard him.
“You’re up,” she said softly.
Weston grunted in response.
“I made breakfast. It’ll be ready soon. Can you wait in the living room?” she offered.
“Okay.”
Stella worked faster, and soon breakfast was ready. In the living room, the two of them ate in silence. There was nothing to say. Stella had always been skilled at cooking, and she took quiet satisfaction in watching Weston eat the meal she had prepared for him.
Weston’s upbringing showed in everything he did—his elegance, his dignified manner, even in the way he ate.
When he finished, he set down his utensils and glanced at her, his gaze sharp.
“There’s something I want to tell you,” he said.
Stella paused, her hand hovering over the plates she was about to clear. She looked at him, waiting for what was coming next.
With a deliberate motion, Weston tapped his slender finger on the table before sliding something toward her—a divorce agreement.
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