Chapter 75

Weston took a sip from the wine glass Stella held to his lips,

However, Stella’s hand shook and some of the wine spilled out, staining Weston’s pristine white shirt

Instead of making the shirt look dirty, the dark red stains added a dangerous, menacing aura to
Weston.

He was half-shrouded in darkness, and the other half under dim light. He looked just like half an angel
and half a devil.

Stella immediately put the glass down. “I’m sorry about this.”

She pulled out some napkins, intending to clean up the mess.

Her hand suddenly paused in mid-air as she hesitated, “Mr. Ford, perhaps you should do it yourself.”

Weston kept silent and stared right into her eyes. He reached out, grabbed her wrist, and maneuvered
her hand to press the napkin onto his shirt.

The positions of the stains were slightly awkward.

Stella pulled her hand back instinctively, but Weston held her hand in place forcefully.

He led her hand in wiping his shirt, stroke by stroke.

He fixed his dark, black eyes so intensely on Stella that it made her ears turn red. The sight made him
hook his lips, satisfied with her reaction. “Be more careful. If you spill a second

time, I won’t let you off so easily.”



Stella heard his innuendo filled remark, and was left confused.

What in the world was he thinking now?

She clenched her first, Just then, his phone rang like a police siren that cut through the air.

She listed her gaze and saw him furrow his brows, clearly displeased. He simply glanced at the
incoming caller and flung his phone aside.

Despite how quickly he did so, Stella still managed to see the name on the screen.

The name pulled her rudely back to reality as she sneered at the man before her. “Not picking up the
call?”

“Not even if it’s Guinevere calling?”

Her voice was thick with provocation

Weston felt frustration simmering in him.



He evaded Stella’s gaze, but sull did not pick up his call. He simply picked up the wine glass on the
table and took a sip. A while later, the phone stopped buzzing, indicating that Guinevere had most likely
given up. “It’s already so late. Mr. Ford, aren’t you intending to go home and keep your wife and child

company?” Her words made the temperature of the air in the private room drop by a few degrees. By
the time she turned to look at Weston again, the lazy and leisurely atmosphere was all but gone, and
there was only cold distance left in his eyes. He released his grip over Stella, and she immediately got
off his lap. She sat to one side and straightened up her clothes, not looking at him at all.

Weston saw the contempt and disdain in her demeanor and had a sudden urge to smoke a



cigarette.

He wasn’t addicted to smoking, but ever since the day Stella jumped off the building, he would fall back
into his smoking habit.

He lit up another cigarette. Flinging his lighter onto the table which made a clunking sound of metal as
it hit the glass, he said out of the blue, “I’m not married.”

He spoke in a deep, low voice, yet despite the noise and chaos around them, Stella could hear what he
said loud and clear. Her fingers stiffened up for a split second before she smiled gently. “Indeed. You’ve
re married, in fact.”

Weston’s eyes turned cold as he glanced at her. “You know what I mean.”

Stella’s nails dug into her flesh.

She knew, yet she did not.

Or rather, she did not want to know.

All along, a question had always been on her mind: Why was Weston able to appear so openly and
calmly before her?

Between herself and Guinevere, he chose Guinevere without hesitation and simply let her walk to her
own death. Yet, right now, he was pestering her blatantly and without shame. What right did he have to
behave as he pleased?

Silence ensued between them.

Fatigue washed over Stella. “What exactly do you want?” After stubbing out a cigarette when he was
done with it, he looked deeply at her, “Come with me.”






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