Left Them Loved Myself (Stella Spencer) novel Chapter 18

Chapter 18

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All because she had thrown a tantrum for oatmeal, her mother had rushed to prepare it–ignoring her own scalding injury -just to make her happy. Only after Irene finished eating did Stella tend to her own burns.

That’s how she got that fierce, permanent scar across her back. Even the best creams could only fade it slightly; it never truly disappeared.

Now, the little girl stared up with watery eyes, on the verge of tears. But for the first time, Stella felt no ache in her chest- not even the urge to comfort her.

The “new mom” appeared daily in her Instagram–Irene talked about her constantly. The so–called “old mom” was only remembered when needed.

How ironic.

Stella shook her head with a faint, tired smile. Without another word, she stepped around Irene and headed toward the bed.

Ernest probably wasn’t coming back tonight. Maybe she could finally get some rest.

But Irene wasn’t having it. Furious that her mother hadn’t given in, she rebelled with everything she had.

“I don’t care! I want a story! Mommy, read to me!”

She snatched her storybook, ran to the bedside, and began shaking Stella’s arm relentlessly. Her high–pitched voice was grating. “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care! I want it!”

“Yeah,” Irene replied plainly.

Stella rubbed her throbbing temple, her voice hoarse and sharper than intended.

Irene froze–then her eyes welled up. She squeezed them shut and screamed, “I hate you, Mommy! I don’t want you to be my mom anymore! I want Sylvia to be my mom!”

The words hit Stella like a physical blow. Her lips paled, trembling slightly.

Reading those “new mom” posts online was one thing–but hearing it aloud, in her daughter’s voice, cut deeper than any knife.

For a moment, even Stella’s numb heart felt ripped open–as if by a blade. The wound left behind was raw, deep, and agonizing–the kind even time would struggle to heal.

‘I don’t want you anymore… I want her instead‘

So, in her eyes, the mother who had cared for her all these years meant less than a woman who didn’t even prioritize her safety?

Stella almost laughed. She felt like the biggest joke in the world.

At first, Irene had felt a little guilty–afraid her mom would scold her or lecture her. She hated lectures.

But when she saw Stella actually smile, that guilt turned to rage.

“Stella Spencer, I hate you! You’re not my mom anymore!”

Choking on tears, Irene turned and ran out of the room.

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Chapter 18

Though her daughter’s words had chilled her to the bone, Stella couldn’t deny the truth: Irene was still her child, her responsibility–one she couldn’t simply walk away from.

Lloyd Manor was vast, and with Grandpa’s fragile health, the household was kept quiet at night. Only a few staff members remained on duty, mostly for emergencies.

If Irene ran off now, there was no telling what might happen–and no one might notice until it was too late.

Pushing down the hurt and frustration, Stella hurried out into the hallway.

The second–floor corridor was dimly lit by warm–toned night lights, casting long, shifting shadows that felt almost eerie.

Yes, there were cheaper options that wouldn’t cause allergic reactions–but would Irene ever eat them?

Seven years. Seven years she had looked after him, waited for him–hoping, even if he never looked back, that he might at least treat her with a little dignity. Not like this. Not with a cold, dismissive “I’ll freeze her cards.”

Just as she was about to turn away, unable to bear any more, a name she knew all too well–one she could never forget, even in her dreams–reached her ears.

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Chapter 18

“By the way,” Kourtney’s voice carried clearly, “what’s really going on between you and that Sylvia?”

When he spoke of her, Ernest’s tone softened almost imperceptibly. “It’s exactly as it seems.”

Kourtney frowned. “I don’t usually interfere, but I have to remind you–Sylvia may be talented. She’s a rising star in the jewelry world, and plenty of influential people admire her. But her background… it’s not exactly respectable. If you insist on being with her-”

“Enough.” Ernest’s voice turned cold. “I know what kind of woman I want.”

“Fine.” Kourtney didn’t press further.

She had never liked Stella, but she didn’t think much of Sylvia Jansen either–a woman tainted by a dubious past.

But what could she do? The Lloyd family might appear to be led by Sebastian, but ever since Ernest took over the company and led it to new heights, the title of “family head” had become little more than a courtesy–a role they keep him happy.

Real power rested solely in Ernest’s hands.

Whatever he decided, whatever he did–even if someone objected–it wouldn’t matter.

Kourtney had said what she felt was necessary. That was all. In the end, whether he changed wives or not–it wasn’t really her

concern.