Adam's POV
"Listen," his tone softened slightly, "she obviously doesn't want to see you. Accept it and move on."
I looked down at the drinks in my hand, then glanced at the building, wondering which window might be hers. Was she watching from above? Did she know I was here?
"I won't go up," I finally conceded. "But could you at least give these to her?" I held up the tray.
His expression remained cold. "I'm a security guard, not a delivery service."
I nodded, accepting defeat. There was no way forward here. With one last glance at the lit windows above, I turned and walked back to the parking lot, my chest tight with discomfort.
Does she really hate me that much? Enough to refuse even a soda?
Taylor was waiting by the car, his expression neutral as I approached.
"Sir," he began, "Mr. Anderson called. There's a situation requiring your decision... regarding Miss Davis."
I looked past him, staring at the building, my eyes fixed on a particular illuminated window. Was that her room? Was she in there now, perhaps reading or preparing lecture notes?
Is she right behind that window?
"Sir?" Taylor prompted again.
I forced myself to look away. "Tell him to meet me at the hospital."
"Let's go," I finally said, turning away from the building and the painful reminder of what I couldn't reach.
As I got into the car, I couldn't help taking one last look at that window, its warm light now seeming to mock me, so close yet untouchable.
\---
Stella's POV
I sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at my phone screen where "Adam" flashed. The fifth missed call today, twenty-third since our confrontation by the lake. Each time the same internal struggle—the urge to answer versus my determination to maintain distance.
After several rings, the phone went silent again. I swiped away the notification, then deleted the call record, just as I had with all the others. Out of sight, out of mind—at least I tried to convince myself.
Adam, I won't forgive you so easily.
A gentle knock at my door interrupted my thoughts.
"Professor Winston?" The security guard's voice was slightly muffled through the door.
"Coming," I called, setting aside my phone to answer.
The elderly guard stood in the hallway, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "A man came looking for you earlier," he reported. "Well-dressed in an expensive suit, looked like a Wall Street type. I didn't let him up, just wanted to let you know."
My heart tightened. Adam had been here.
"Did he... did he say who he was?" I tried to keep my voice casual.
The guard snorted. "Said he was your husband, can you believe that! As if a young professor like you would marry someone like him." He shook his head. "Don't worry, I sent him away, told him you didn't want to be bothered."
I forced a smile, ignoring the twinge of guilt. "Thank you. That was indeed the person I mentioned might come around. I appreciate your help."
"Just doing my job," he replied, straightening with professional pride. "If he comes back, I'll keep blocking him! No one harasses our faculty on my watch!"
After thanking him again and closing the door, I leaned against it, a hollow feeling spreading through my chest. Adam had actually come—not called, not sent a message, but physically come to see me. And I had guaranteed he'd be turned away.
Am I being too harsh?
Maybe he really wanted to explain? Maybe things aren't what I thought?
No, he chose her. He chose Grace.
Suddenly it occurred to me that I should have taken that last call. Maybe he wanted to discuss the divorce.
Adam's POV
The hospital's VIP waiting area was eerily quiet. I stood by the window, watching the city lights while waiting for Mark.
"Adam." Grace's voice came from behind, soft and low. "Thank you for coming."
I turned to face her, noting her perfectly styled hair and flawless makeup—though meant to appear vulnerable, it seemed too deliberate for someone who had supposedly been at her mother's bedside for hours.
This woman is quite the actress.
"Where's your mother?" I asked directly.
She looked slightly taken aback. "She's resting. The doctors say she's stable now."
"Good," I replied curtly, turning back to the window.
"Adam," she moved closer, stopping just short of touching my arm. "Mark said you were upset about the livestream. I'm so sorry—I was just talking off the cuff, I didn't think... I never mentioned your name."
I remained silent, waiting. After hesitating, she continued, her tone carrying that familiar false contrition.
"I was too casual during the broadcast, I'm sorry... I had no idea it would create such a stir or affect you."
Before I could respond, the door opened and Mark entered, nodding to me with a serious expression, then glancing at Grace.
"You're both here. Good," he said, placing a tablet on the small table. "We need to address this situation immediately."
Grace's hands twisted together, feigning anxiety. "Mark, I already told Adam. It's all just a misunderstanding..."
"Is it?" Mark asked casually, opening a file on the tablet. "Because the marketing account that originally posted those photos of you and Adam at the hospital revealed something interesting."
Grace's expression froze. "What do you mean?"
Mark turned the tablet toward us, showing screenshots of messages. "According to them, you knew about the posts before they went live. In fact, you approved them."
I watched her face, noticing the momentary panic before she regained composure. "That's not true. They must be trying to save themselves."
"Grace," I finally spoke, my voice deliberately even, "enough. You know exactly what you've been doing."
She looked at me, then at Mark, before her shoulders slumped slightly. "Adam, Mark, I admit I was too casual during the broadcast. I spoke without thinking... I'm truly sorry for any confusion caused."
She's so good at this act.
I turned to Mark. "Have PR issue a statement denying the rumors."
Mark shook his head. "We've tried that approach. It only fueled more speculation—people wondering why the company was addressing your personal life."
I considered for a moment. "Then I'll do it myself. Register a social media account in my name. Make sure it's verified."
Grace's eyes widened. "Adam, you hate social media. You've always said it's a waste of time and invades privacy. You don't need to go that far—"
"The marketing account manager and Mia," I interrupted, returning to the previous topic. "They're your friend, aren't they? Someone who's helped you before?"
She hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes... she's helped me with publicity before. I didn't think it would be such a big deal—"
"You didn't think," I repeated flatly, "or you simply didn't care about the consequences."
"Adam, please," she moved closer, softening her voice to that intimate tone she often used. "I know you value your privacy, and I'm truly sorry. I had no idea things would escalate this way. Please don't be angry."
"I'm not angry, Grace."
Her expression brightened momentarily. "You're not?"
"No," I met her eyes directly. "Stella is angry with me."
Stella wants to divorce me.
The mention of my wife visibly startled her. "Adam, you never used to care about these things. You always dismissed it as nonsense before. I thought you didn't mind."
"I've told you many times," my voice hardened, "Stella is my wife."
Grace's expression shifted, a flash of frustration visible before she masked it. "I'm sorry, Adam, I didn't consider things thoroughly. I'll personally apologize to Stella."
"You will address her as 'Mrs. Lancaster,'" I corrected, my tone leaving no room for argument.
"What?" She blinked, caught off guard. "But Adam, I don't want to—"