Chapter 142 Anger boiled inside Stella.
She could sense that the man in front of her was enraged.
His hand pinned her shoulder down so hard it felt like he intended to break her bones.
Weston held her tightly in his arms, wishing badly that he could keep every piece of her to himself.
He couldnât contain his rage at the sight of her smiling at the guy. It was only after they kissed that he felt somewhat better.
As he smooched her, his hands couldnât stop moving around her body. In utter disgust, Stella shoved him away with all her might. âLet go of me!â
She was really fighting hard to not let him touch her anymore.
His kisses and affection only repelled her.
But the more she resisted him, the more enraged he became. âSo youâre willing to degrade yourself in order to satisfy him and his son, but wouldnât do it for me?â
His voice boomed. âHow old is he?â 40? His kid is barely 10 years younger than you! Come be my sonâs stepmother if you like being ine.â
As he spoke, he started to tear her shirtâs button.
Stellaâs trembled with fear, and without thinking, she slapped him hard on the face. Weston wasnât prepared for that. A loud crisp smack echoed in the room.
He looked up slightly and held himself up.
She jerked back as soon as she opened her eyes. She could see his face through the gap in her palm.
Aside from the smack she gave him earlier, there were additional bruises on his face, such as a bruised corner of his lips. She didnât know who he was fighting with, but she didnât care. She just thought what he said before was awful. âIâd rather die than be your and Guinevereâs sonâs stepmother!â Iâll never forget how my kid died.â It was that kid again.
Weston shut his eyes as the memories haunted him.
He knew Stella dreaded the kid the most, and it had turned into a vengeance she harbored. But it wasnât like he was feeling any better about it. He clenched his fist and suddenly slammed it on the wall.
A stream of blood cascaded down his fingers and down the wall. The dense bloodstains formed a beautiful but frightening pattern.
The room went quiet.
Their heavy breathing was the only thing that could be heard. Stella avoided his gaze. When he has calmed himself, he looks at her coldly before taking off his jacket and throwing it at her.
âWear this.â
She didnât catch the jacket, nor did she move an inch. She just stood there and stared at him quietly.
Her crystal-clear eyes were filled with hatred, with her unkempt hair hung down the sides of her face.
Even in the little light, she was stunning.
Weston shifted his gaze away. âIf you donât want people to see you like that, put on the jacket.â She smiled and mocked, âIâm in this state because of you. Youâre always like that. You were wrong at first but pretended to show a bit of kindness.â