Sam's POV
I glanced up from my laptop as Stella slipped into our apartment, her face a blank mask while she hung her jacket by the door.
"Adam?" I asked, catching snippets of her phone call from the hall.
She nodded, dropping onto the sofa next to me. "Yeah."
I waited for more, but she just stared at the wall, lost. "So? Were you really doing this divorce thing?"
Stella sighed, raking fingers through her hair. "It was the best way I could limit the damage at that time."
"Damage?" I echoed, shoving my laptop aside to zero in on her. "Stella, that was your marriage, not some PR mess."
"Wasn't it?" Her voice carried a sharp, bitter edge. "Loving someone who didn't love you back was a brutal hit. It was like slicing yourself open on jagged glass, over and over."
I scanned her face—dark circles under her eyes, shoulders tight with strain. "You were in love with him," I said flat-out.
"That was the kicker," she muttered, barely audible. "One-way love wore me out. I couldn't keep waiting for him to see me like I saw him."
"How did you know it was one-way?" I pushed gently. "He stood up from that wheelchair at William's party to shield you, ditching a secret he had guarded for years. That wasn't a guy who didn't give a damn."
"Caring wasn't loving," she shot back, locking eyes with me. "He cared about me as his wife, his duty. But Grace? She got his protection, his focus—dropped everything the second she called. She was his priority, Sam. I was just the obligation."
I wanted to fight her on it, list every way Adam had proved he was all in, but the hurt in her eyes shut me up. This wasn't about facts—it was her heart, her sense of worth in his world.
"So you were cutting it off then," I said softly.
"If he couldn't give me what I needed," she nodded, "yeah. A clean break hurt less long-term."
---
Adam's POV
"No," I snapped, hanging up on Mark. "Screw the board meeting. Move it."
Taylor shot me a sidelong look from the passenger seat but stayed quiet as I pulled into a little drink shop's lot near campus.
Stella's line about spoiled soda looped in my head: *Some things didn't last long.*
Our marriage wouldn't be one of them.
Ten minutes later, I was back in the car with a fresh case of her favorite sparkling water, hell-bent on delivering it myself this time.
I rolled up to her building and spotted the old security guard at his post. His face soured the second he clocked me.
"You again?" he barked, stepping up to block the door. "I didn't care how often you showed up—I wasn't letting you in!"
I closed in, hoisting the drinks. "I was here for my wife."
"Your wife?" He snorted, skeptical. "Buddy, I've heard every line—"
I dropped the case, yanked out my wallet, and flashed our marriage license right in his face.
His eyes popped wide as he leaned in, inspecting it like it was a forgery. "You—Winston was your wife? The professor was hitched?" He squinted at me. "This wasn't fake, was it? Faking that was a crime, you know!"
"It was real," I said, stuffing it back in my pocket. "Could I see her now?"
He softened a touch but held his ground. "I got it, but rules were rules. Even if you were her husband, no go without her say-so."
He nodded at the drinks. "Couples fought—you had to patch it up. Did you want me to run those up?"
Before I could answer, I caught Victor Moore striding up out of the corner of my eye, jaw set, aiming straight for the entrance.
"Let me guess," the guard hollered at him, "Miss Samantha?"
Victor nodded, not slowing down.
"Did you have a marriage license too?" the guard asked, eyeing us both.
Victor stopped, puzzled for a beat, then got it. "No."
"Then you were staying out too!" The guard folded his arms. "No license, no entry! Look at this guy—" he jabbed a thumb at me, "—he was already at ‘married-and-mad' with the professor! You were lagging, kid!"
Victor turned to me, a flicker of amusement cutting through his irritation. "Lancaster, she still hadn't made up with you?"
"You slipped past campus security," I dodged, "and Sam was still not with you?"
His smirk faded, that same stubborn glint from our late-night campus chat sparking back.
The guard, smug as hell with his gatekeeper gig, scooped up my drinks. "I'll take these to her, but that's it. You two figured out your love messes yourselves!"
He vanished inside with my peace offering, leaving Victor and me standing there—both locked out, split by our pigheadedness.
---
Stella's POV
A knock jolted me—way too late for that. Sam and I traded a "what now?" look before I headed to the door.
"Professor Winston," the building guard was in the hall, lugging a case of sparkling water, "your soda! Hubby sent it!"
I froze, face draining. "My—husband? How—"
"He flashed your marriage license!" the guard chirped, shoving the case into my arms. "Good-looking guy you've got! Seems he was sleeping on the couch tonight, though."
I grabbed it on autopilot, stunned. "He showed you our license?"
"Yup!" He beamed, all pep. "He kept him downstairs per the rules, don't worry. But you were legit married, so I figured I'd haul up his make-up gift."
He leaned in, all hush-hush. "Young couples had to work at it. Me and my wife? Forty-two years—fought plenty, but always patched up by bedtime."
"S-sorry for the hassle," I stammered, still reeling that Adam had whipped out our license.
"No sweat!" He waved it off. "My job was keeping this place tight and nudging young love along when I could!"
As he turned, he nodded at Sam. "Oh, miss, some guy was downstairs for you too! I didn't let him up either."
Sam's eyes widened. "Victor was here too?"
He was gone, and I was left gawking at the drinks, clueless what to do.
"Well," Sam cut in, "our pest count just doubled."
I plunked the case on the counter, cracked it open, and tossed her a can. "Ex-pest—soon ex-husband. Did you want one?"
Sam snagged it with a sly grin. "That classic Winston spite? Sipping his truce while plotting the split?"
"It was tasty soda," I shrugged, popping mine. "Why waste it?"
We hit the balcony, keeping back from the edge to dodge prying eyes below. Through the plants, I spotted two figures by the entrance—Adam and Victor, stuck together in their mutual mess.
The next morning, sunlight pried through the blinds, yanking me from fitful sleep. I dressed fast—Sam and I had planned breakfast at the café before my lectures.
"Set?" Sam asked as I stepped out, looking annoyingly chipper despite everything.
"Close enough," I said, snatching my bag.
We headed down, stepping into the crisp morning—and bam, there was Adam and Victor, both rough around the edges but still sharp in their suits.
My heart stumbled seeing Adam. Despite it all, despite my resolve to end us, he still got under my skin.
"Stella," he said, his voice gravelly with exhaustion, "could we talk?"