Adam's POV
"Lucy Winston wants to play with fire," I stated, my voice dropping to a dangerous register. "Let's see how she handles getting burned."
No one hurts what belongs to me. She'll regret crossing this line.
The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam as Stella emerged wrapped in a plush hotel robe, her hair damp and her face free of makeup. Despite the day's events, she looked remarkably composed—a quality that had attracted me from the beginning.
"Any plans for the evening?" she asked casually, reaching for her phone on the nightstand.
I intercepted the device before she could grasp it. "Sleep," I said simply. "It's been a long day."
Stella narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Is there something on my phone you don't want me to see? Online discussion about today's events, perhaps?"
"Nothing worth your attention," I replied, setting her phone aside. "It can wait until morning."
"Adam," she sighed, "I appreciate your protective instincts, but I need to know what's happening. Those photos, the audience reaction—it affects my professional reputation."
I moved closer, gently pulling her into my arms. "Stella, give me a chance to handle this for you. Trust me."
She studied my face for a long moment before a small smile curved her lips. "You can fix this? You're sure?"
"Mrs. Lancaster," I affected mild offense, "are you questioning my capabilities?"
"Fine," she relented, leaning her head against my chest. "I trust you."
Once Stella had fallen asleep, I carefully extracted myself from her side and stepped into the adjoining room to make several calls.
The expression of calm reassurance I had maintained for her benefit immediately hardened into something colder, more dangerous. Lucy Winston had made a critical miscalculation, and by morning, she would understand exactly what it meant to challenge a Lancaster.
This foolish woman is about to learn a harsh lesson about power.
Stella's POV
I waited until Adam closed the door behind him before sitting up, my feigned drowsiness instantly vanishing. I retrieved the tablet I had hidden under my pillow earlier—a precaution that now seemed justified given Adam's confiscation of my phone.
He's always like this, such a damn control freak, thinking I need to be protected from the harsh realities of the world.
The online discussion was exactly as I had expected—vicious, judgmental, and largely uninformed. Comment sections overflowed with theories about my relationships with both Lancaster men, most of them unflattering. Lucy's video had clearly struck a chord, presenting her as a sympathetic victim while painting me as a calculating social climber.
It's fucking ridiculous, these people know nothing about me.
Strangely, I felt almost nothing as I scrolled through the vitriol. These strangers knew nothing about me, nothing about the complex circumstances surrounding my relationships with Brian and Adam. Their opinions were meaningless noise, incapable of touching the life I had built.
Think whatever you want. I used to care more about public opinion, but now? This is such trivial nonsense.
I closed the tablet and set it aside, sliding out of bed to stand by the window. The city lights sparkled below, countless lives unfolding in illuminated rectangles across the skyline. Somewhere out there, Lucy was likely celebrating what she perceived as a victory, unaware that Adam was already mobilizing resources to respond.
I needed air, needed to clear my head beyond these walls. I grabbed a thin robe to layer over my nightgown and quietly left the suite, taking the elevator to the hotel's garden terrace. The night air was cool against my skin, carrying the scent of nearby flowering shrubs. I wandered along the illuminated path, my bare feet silent against the smooth stones.
"Miss Winston!"
The familiar voice startled me from my thoughts. Adrian sat in his wheelchair at the far end of the garden, positioned beneath a small arbor. His silhouette was distinctive even in the low lighting, his posture unnaturally perfect despite his seated position.
Damn, how did he find me here? I should have guessed this weird man wouldn't give up easily.
I considered pretending not to hear him and returning to my room, but curiosity won out. "Mr. Black, what are you doing here? It's quite late."
"I came to see you," he replied simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be waiting in a hotel garden past midnight.
"How did you know I would come out?"
Adrian's smile was enigmatic in the shadows. "I didn't. I was watching your window, hoping for a glimpse. Finding you here is... a pleasant surprise."
The admission should have disturbed me, but somehow it didn't. "Mr. Black, you don't need to worry about today's events. I'm not particularly troubled by them, and my husband is already working to resolve the situation."
I regret mentioning Adam. It clearly makes him uncomfortable.
"You seem determined to maintain distance between us," Adrian observed, wheeling his chair slightly closer. "Is that because of your husband?"
I straightened, suddenly irritated by his presumption. "Mr. Black, we aren't family or old friends. Your behavior at the auction and your apparent interest in me are confusing. I appreciate your generosity, but I don't understand your motivations."
Adrian nodded slowly, reaching beside his wheelchair to lift something that resembled a rolled poster. "This is for you," he said, extending it toward me. "I hope you'll like it."
I hesitated, uncertain whether accepting the gift would encourage his unusual attention.
This man is so strange. Doesn't he understand I'm married? Or does he simply not care?
"It's nothing valuable," he added, perhaps sensing my reluctance. "Just something I thought might interest you."
Against my better judgment, I accepted the roll. "Thank you."
"You should return inside soon," Adrian said, his eyes moving to my bare feet. "The stones get quite cold at night."
I nodded, but made no move to leave. Instead, I found myself studying the prayer beads wrapped around his left wrist. "Mr. Black, are you Buddhist? I've noticed you always wear those beads."
A slight smile touched his lips. "No, not particularly religious. Perhaps I wear them hoping they'll make me a better person."
"I remember you once mentioned your name was given to you because of a little girl," I said, the question that had lingered in my mind finally finding voice. "Did you ever see her again?"
"Yes," he answered, his expression softening. "I did."
"Does she remember you?"
Adrian's smile turned sad. "She never remembered me."
Something in his tone made me pause, a strange familiarity tugging at the edges of my consciousness. "But she's doing well now?"
"Very well," he confirmed, his voice warming with what seemed like pride. "She's grown into a remarkable woman. She's no longer easily bullied, and rarely falls ill. If she could be a little harder-hearted, she'd be perfect."
"Harder-hearted?" I echoed, surprised. "My husband has said the same thing to me. Is that a universal male perspective?"
Adrian's fingers suddenly curled inward at the comparison, a movement so subtle I might have missed it in the dim light. "Perhaps similar minds recognize similar truths," he said after a moment, his voice carefully controlled.
That statement sends a strange chill through me. Something isn't right.