Chapter 920

A possessive man by nature, Weston was now more possessive of her than ever.

Stella merely kept quiet and pulled up her hair.

Her hair was in a mess, no thanks to all that running and the favor she did him earlier.

Weston took the wedding dress from the shelf next to her, held her waist, and helped her put it on.

The tailor–made wedding dress perfectly complemented her figure.

He was stunned the moment she put it on. He turned her around and asked her to look in the mirror.

“Look at how beautiful you are.”

She didn‘t say a word.

Seeing this, he pinched her cheek and lifted her head, and looked at her in the mirror. “If you run away
today, you won‘t be able to see yourself like this.”

He had spoken calmly, yet, she could feel the mixed emotion and anger in his tone.

It was as if his anger had reached its peak, but it was suppressed and turned into other emotions that
were so

deep it suffocated her. “Weston...”

She finally spoke, her voice a little weak, “I...” The man stared at her fixedly. “If there is anything else you
want to say, it‘s better to say it now. We‘ll go up and take the oath later. There‘s not that much time left
for you.”



Saying that, he turned his head and kissed her on the cheek, but there was no warmth in his eyes.
“Remember this. You‘ll have no freedom in the future. You‘ll only have me.”

Stella closed her eyes as her eyelashes trembled violently.

Her face now as pale as a sheet, the makeup failed to cover her fragile state.

After a long while, she shook her head. “...I have nothing to say.”

“Sure?”

A sneer appeared on Weston‘s face.

He suddenly tore off his tie, brought her wrists together, and tied them firmly. Instantly her eyes widened,
and panic surged into her heart. “What are you doing?!” She watched in horror as he wrapped the tie
around her

hands. Without the slightest gap, she couldn‘t struggle free. “Are you crazy!”

“Let go of me!” Stella shrieked, struggling hard to free herself.

He squatted in front of her, lifted her skirt, and lifted her ankle in his palm.

Not knowing what he would do, she subconsciously pulled her foot away.

But he held her in his iron grip.

His palm was so hot that it made her feel uncomfortable.” Weston, you...”

“Don‘t move,” the man warned in a low voice.

He held her feet and took out a pair of shackles from nowhere.



She was stunned for a moment, thinking she had seen it wrong. “What on earth are you trying to do?!”

He clamped her ankles hard and cuffed them on her.

A crisp noise sounded.

She felt a chill on her skin. “You cuffed me?”

“I‘m not your prisoner. Why handcuff me?” She quickly retracted her foot. Only then did it become clear
that these were not shackles but chain – like shackles.

It seemed they had been specially designed and was used for decoration. But there was a tiny lock on it,
and a thin chain was strung together between the two feet. As it dragged on the ground, it gave off a
sound that sounded like a warning.

It sounded pleasant yet cruel.




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