Dear Ex-wife Marry Me

Stella had just settled into her room for the night when the commotion outside began.

First, it was Bonnie's voice, loud and clear, followed by Morgan's deep tones. Stella simply rolled over, choosing to ignore the disturbance. It seemed Bonnie wanted to be heard, her voice deliberately raised.

After their raucous activity, Bonnie tried to enter Stella's room, only to find it locked from the inside. Frustrated and fuming, she started kicking the door.

"Stella, get out here now!" she demanded.

But Stella, accustomed to falling asleep amidst chaos, merely closed her eyes tighter. The month she'd spent with the Sanders family had been the most peaceful of her life. Here, she didn't have to worry about a neighbor breaking into her place in the middle of the night, hiding in a cramped bathroom to call the cops, muffling her sobs, or hearing whispers that she must have done something to provoke such behavior.

In this house, at least, she could sleep without those fears.

Bonnie continued to bang and kick, but the door remained closed. She turned to Morgan, buttoning up her shirt in frustration.

"This little witch is getting bold, ignoring us now?" she spat.

In the past, a command from Bonnie would have Stella mimicking a dog without hesitation. But now, separated by a mere door, Stella dared to disregard her.

Morgan, wrapping his arms around Bonnie, yawned.

"Bonnie, it's late. Let's just go to sleep," he suggested.

Bonnie's expression was venomous. "Fine, we'll sleep. But tomorrow morning, she's mine."

The next morning, around 6 AM, Beck descended the stairs only to hear from a servant that someone was sitting at the front gate. Brow furrowed, he opened his living room door and found Stella seated on the marble steps. "What are you doing here?" he inquired.

Stella rose, dusting off her jeans.

"Just came for breakfast, Beck. Your place serves the best breakfast," she said with a grin.

Beck wasn't one to turn someone away, especially not over something as trivial as breakfast. He sighed, running hand through his hair as he headed to freshen up. From the bathroom, he heard the servant mention, "Miss arrived at 5 AM."

Five in the morning? What was she doing here so early, or was she avoiding someone?

After spitting out his toothpaste and changing clothes, Beck came downstairs to find Stella curled up on the couch, asleep in a protective position. He remembered from a psychology class he'd taken with Dylan that such a sleeping posture indicated a deep-seated lack of security.

The chef was already preparing breakfast, and Beck, intending to cover Stella with a blanket, bent towards her. She woke up instantly, creating distance between them.

Beck frowned, tossing the blanket at her. "Cover yourself or don't."

Realizing her mistake, Stella quickly smiled. "Sorry, Beck. Thought you were someone else."

Beck wasn't in the mood for her excuses; he knew her too well. He grabbed his laptop to check on the revenue of the hotels he'd invested in. His wealth was vast, accumulated through various.

ventures with friends over the years.

Despite the stereotype of aimless

wealthy heirs, he and his peers

managed to keep their fortunes

growing.

As a servant brought him black coffee, Stella, mistaking it for hers, took a sip and immediately regretted it, grimacing at the bitterness. "What's this? It's awful!"

Beck chuckled, "Country bumpkin, ever had coffee before?"Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Stella grabbed a piece of fruit, trying to get rid of the bitter taste. "Nope, never understood why people enjoy torturing themselves with bitterness."