"Go out with hands like that, and people will think I—your brother-in-law—bully you at home."
Stellan’s gaze flickered toward the blood-soaked gauze Elara had tossed into the trash. A trace of something—guilt, perhaps—flashed in his eyes, but it was gone before it could take root.
His expression darkened when his gaze landed on Elara’s desk. Without warning, he strode over, his movements sharp with anger.
Elara’s heart clenched.
His hand reached toward the appointment form—
But then, his fingers bypassed the document entirely and picked up a photograph instead.
"This is the man you've been thinking about all these years?"
His voice dripped with accusation.
Elara’s stomach twisted as she saw what he was holding—a picture from her college days, a group photo with her classmates.
Stellan’s grip tightened as he yanked her closer, his eyes boring into hers as if trying to see through her soul.
"Elara, are you that desperate? After all these years, you still can't forget a man?"
Elara met his gaze, unflinching.
"I'm not. That’s just my classmate."
Her voice was steady, but the defiance in her dark eyes only seemed to provoke him further.
Without thinking, Stellan lowered his head and kissed her.
Elara immediately turned away, but that only fueled his anger.
"Aren’t you cheap? Didn’t you miss a man? Then I’ll satisfy you today—"
With that, he shoved her onto the bed, his presence suffocating, his weight pressing down on her. Elara opened her mouth, about to fight back, to tell him the truth—
But then, a voice rang from outside.
"Stellan, my stomach feels a little uncomfortable… I wonder if the baby is hungry."
Juliet.
Stellan froze.
In the next second, he pushed Elara away as if burned.
"You’re nothing special."
The words cut through her, peeling back layers of pain and humiliation and throwing them into the gutter.
He stood, his face cold, his presence even colder. When he reached the door, he glanced back, his tone emotionless.
"Go to the kitchen and make something for Juliet."
Then he was gone.
Through the crack in the door, his voice drifted down the corridor, soft, gentle—so unlike the man who had just been in this room.
"Juliet, you’re pregnant and you’ve sprained your ankle. If you need anything, just ask your useless sister to do it. Just rest."
Elara sat up slowly, the weight in her chest suffocating.
Her gaze fell on the appointment form.
This time, there was no hesitation.
She picked up a pen and signed her name.
After tending to her wounds, she went to the kitchen, prepared a bowl of noodles, and carried it to Juliet’s room.
The door was slightly ajar.
Inside, the two figures on the bed were entwined.
"Stellan, the doctor said to be careful in the first three months," Juliet’s voice was sweet, coy. "Can you be a little gentler?"
Stellan’s deep voice murmured against Juliet’s neck, “Juliet, I love you.”
Elara clutched the bowl of noodles so tightly that tears slipped from her cheeks and fell into the broth. Outside, fireworks lit up the sky, but inside the mansion, she felt utterly alone—a discarded soul amidst the celebration.
The next day, Elara went downstairs and found the old nanny, Celeste, bustling in the kitchen.
“Miss, please wake up. I made chicken soup for Miss Juliet. Would you like some?”
Juliet shook her head and prepared to head out. Celeste’s eyes fell on the bandaged wound on Elara’s hand, and she sighed.
“Miss Elara, what about your hand? Aren’t you going to explain what happened to the team leader?”
Celeste, a long-serving member of the Whitmore household, had once been destined to return to her hometown when things went awry. But Stellan, fearing that Juliet wouldn’t adjust to life on her own, had asked her to stay and care for her instead.
For a moment, Elara remembered the echo of “I love you” that Stellan had whispered to Juliet. The memory only deepened her sorrow.
“There’s no point in explaining,” she replied quietly, resigning herself to her fate.
With that, Elara gathered her resolve, left the mansion, and went to the hospital to hand in her appointment form.
