Mr. Ford Is Jealous Chapter 180

The living room with yellow lights was the only dimly lit spot in the mansion. Rain had started falling
outside, making the night seem colder. The pitter-patter of the rain resounded loudly in the ears. Stella
weakly shoved the man pinning her down. The jarring physical disparity between the male and female
bodies overwhelmed her. Her eyes trembled, marred with pain and heavy resistance. As if completely
oblivious to it, Weston held the back of her head and forced himself upon her. He was a very
aggressive man who desired control-Stella had already experienced his yearn

for domination just now.

She didn’t understand-if Weston’s sense of possessiveness was so strong over his own woman, why
did he allow Guinevere to be cast in the first place? From what she knew, the movie Guinevere had
acted in after clinching the Best Female Actor award was littered with intimate scenes that bordered on
obscene.

This was probably because she was a mistress, one stripped of any say and defense in the matter. Her
only role was submission.

Guinevere, however, was different. She was his lawful wife, and they were equals in their

relationship. Weston definitely treated Guinevere with respect and love, unlike the impudence he
displayed while manhandling her. After straightening out her thoughts, Stella put up no further
resistance and her arms plopped weakly by her side.

Weston observed the change in her stance and stopped.

Panting slightly, it was as though he was egging a response out of Stella to his action. Instead of
looking at her, he stood up and went straight to the washroom.



A moment later.

The sound of water falling from shower sounded. Stella curled up on the couch, hugging herself. She
shut her eyes and let fatigue wash over her.

Doubts started arising in her heart.



Just now, she had thought that Weston was all ready to go. It made her so tensed that she thought she
might break anytime. Yet, he stopped himself mid-way. Such a feeling of not knowing when the torture
would come was worse than having a knife on the neck

Stella was repulsed by the thought of being intimate with him, yet she had no choice but to force herself
to bear with it.

She did not want things to go on this way.

She slowly opened her eyes. As long as there was a chance to escape from Weston’s clutch, any
chance at all, she was willing to give it a shot. When the door of the washroom was opened from the
inside, Stella was still seated on the couch, unmoved.

Beads of water still hung on Weston’s body as he sat down before her and carried her in his arms all
the way into the bedroom.

It was the bedroom that Stella was familiar with. He laid next to her, his arm on her waist as he hugged
her from behind and shut his eyes.

It was when his breath started slowing down that Stella finally let her guard down. She was wide awake
till the middle of the night when finally, she could no longer take the fatigue and fell asleep.



The next day was the weekend. When she awoke, she realized that Weston was still in the room.

The moment she opened her eyes, she heard the flipping of a book’s pages.

She pulled open the sheets and sat up to see a man seating on the couch right opposite the bed,
holding up a book. With a black silken sleeping robe lazily draped over his body, his large hands
casually turned over the pages of the book. It was a rather pleasant sight to the eye. The sunlight
filtered in through the curtains and it glimmered against his dark, luscious hair. He lifted his eyes and
looked at Stella, a gentle look that was devoid of all of yesterday’s unhappiness. “You’re up?” Stella
nodded wordlessly. Slowly, she stood up and went to the washroom to freshen up.


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