The living room door was still open, and a cool breeze drifted in, swirling around George as he stood in the doorway. He froze for a second, his gaze fixed on the beautiful girl, before managing a gentle smile. “Oh. Okay.”
With the words out, Marguerite felt a wave of relief. Now he definitely wouldn't kick her out. “Well, I’m going to bed. By the way, I don’t know if Louis is still awake, but could you let him know he doesn’t need to make breakfast for me tomorrow?”
The tall, slender man seemed to slump slightly. He adjusted his glasses, his voice betraying no emotion. “Alright.”
Marguerite smiled and turned, her footsteps light as she bounded up the stairs.
He watched her graceful figure disappear from view. The strength seemed to drain from his body, and he collapsed onto the green sofa. He took off his glasses, and the deep sorrow in his eyes was laid bare.
He hadn’t hidden it well enough, had he? His affection had become a burden to her. That’s why she had to make it clear, to tell him not to have any hope.
She didn’t like him.
She didn’t like Joshua, and she didn’t like him.
He had always known she didn’t feel that way about him, but to hear her say it out loud… his heart ached, squeezed tight by an invisible hand.
She had refused his breakfast, refused his kindness. Rejection was swift and clean. That was Stella. That was the Stella he loved.


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