"No, he wouldn't... Stefan isn't like that. I know him..."
Margery swayed, barely able to stand. The words spilled out in a whisper, a desperate refusal to accept what Fidel had said.
"You know him?" Fidel's laugh was cold, sharp as a winter draft. "What do you really know? Perhaps his pursuit of you, all that devotion and care, was just for your money. Now that he's found a better option, he discards you without a second thought. Margery, it's a pity. Your genuine heart was simply wasted."
She shook her head, her reason insisting that Stefan's care before his imprisonment had been real, not some calculated scheme.
Yet, as she saw him stand there, unmoved and offering no explanation, her heart felt like a stone sinking into cold depths.
"Stefan, tell me it isn't true. Please?"
Her plea was teary-eyed as Margery searched his face for any sign of denial.
"What's between us is over," he said flatly, his tone devoid of warmth. A faint, mocking smile touched his lips as he glanced at Fidel, as if observing a particularly deluded clown.
For money? Hah.
Stefan almost wondered what expression Fidel would make if he revealed the several hundred million dollars in his accounts.
Not that he'd bother with such a pointless gesture.
"You said you needed to discuss something? Let's go." Stefan turned to Sara, effectively dismissing the scene behind him.
Sara gave a slight nod, leading the way into the Southlake Pavilion.
As they walked away, Fidel's voice rose in a frantic, bitter snarl behind them. "Miss! Stefan's character is despicable. You'd do well to remember that. When something better comes along, he'll kick you aside just like he did Margery!"
Neither Stefan nor Sara broke stride, nor did they acknowledge the outburst. No response was given.
He wasn't worth one.
*****
Upstairs, a private room bathed in soft light was quiet and peaceful. The faint scent of sandalwood filled the air, matching the warm decor—perfect for quiet, comfortable conversation.

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