Stella's POV
The night air had grown colder, prompting me to wrap my robe more tightly around myself. "I should go back inside. Thank you for... looking out for me, Mr. Black. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Miss Winston," he replied, remaining motionless as I walked away.
Back in my suite, I carefully closed the door and unrolled Adrian's gift on the desk. It wasn't a poster as I'd assumed, but a photograph—professionally printed and mounted on thick, high-quality paper.
The image showed a small figure in a black raincoat standing in pouring rain, their back to the camera. The child—for it was clearly a child—stood alone at what appeared to be the entrance to an amusement park, shoulders slumped beneath the weight of the downpour. The composition emphasized the isolation of the small figure against the abandoned fairground, creating a powerful sense of loneliness.
This is...
My hands began to tremble as I stared at the photograph, memories suddenly flooding back with breath-stealing clarity.
I was eight years old, and Anna had reluctantly agreed to take my brother and me to the amusement park. It was supposed to be my special day—a reward for perfect grades. Everything changed when my brother fell and scraped his knee on the pavement.
"This is your fault!" Anna had hissed, her fingers digging painfully into my shoulder. "You never watch out for him properly! Now we have to go to the hospital."
"But what about me?" I'd asked, my voice small and frightened.
Anna had looked at me with cold contempt. "Wait here. We'll come back for you."
They never did. I waited from morning until nightfall, the sky eventually opening up into a torrential downpour that emptied the park of its last visitors. Security guards passed me repeatedly, assuming I was with parents nearby or simply not noticing the small girl huddled on a bench.
As darkness fell completely, a teenage boy appeared, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old. Without speaking, he had placed a black raincoat around my shoulders, the material far too large but mercifully dry.
"Choose," he had said, extending both hands toward me. In one palm rested a brightly wrapped candy; in the other, a small pocket knife.
Confused and frightened, I had reached for the candy without hesitation.
"Good choice," he had said, his voice neither approving nor disappointed. "No one is coming for you. Go home by yourself. Walk straight ahead and don't look back."
I had obeyed, clutching the candy like a talisman as I navigated the empty streets, the oversized raincoat dragging on the ground behind me.
Damn, that was Adrian? How is that possible?
My eyelashes fluttered rapidly as I stared at the photograph, my chest constricted with a mixture of bitter memory and sudden realization. This wasn't a random artistic creation. This was documentation of that night, taken from someone who had witnessed my abandonment.
Adrian was that teenage boy. He had been there, had given me the raincoat, had offered that strange choice between candy and knife. He had known me long before I ever knew him.
Shit, it all makes sense now. This is why he's been so attentive, why he helped me at the auction... he's been that person all along, and I never recognized him!
I carefully rolled the photograph and tucked it into a drawer, my mind racing with questions that would have to wait for morning. Despite the revelations and unanswered questions spinning through my thoughts, I found myself growing unexpectedly drowsy as I returned to bed.
Strange, I should feel more troubled by all of this... but I'm inexplicably calm.
Perhaps I should have been disturbed—by the day's events, by the online vitriol, by Adrian's mysterious connection to my childhood. Instead, I felt a strange sense of peace as sleep approached. Adam had promised to handle the situation, and somehow that was enough.
With him, I feel safe. With his promise, I fear nothing.
Warmth. That was my first sensation as consciousness gradually returned—Adam's body familiar and comfortable around mine, his steady breathing brushing against my neck, his arm possessively draped over my waist.
I blinked slowly, letting the soft morning light filter through my eyelashes, realizing he was actually here, in our bed, when I distinctly remembered falling asleep alone.
When did he come back? I wondered, trying to shift without waking him.
But that slight movement was enough for him to notice. His arm instinctively tightened, pulling me closer against his chest. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice particularly deep and sexy from sleep.
I turned to face him, my eyes tracing the strong lines of his face, the shadow of stubble on his jaw, and those green eyes that seemed unnaturally alert even in the first moments of waking. "You're back. When did you return?"
"After you fell asleep." His fingers traced absent patterns along my spine, sending small shivers through my body. "I had some things to take care of."
Definitely dealing with that Lucy situation online. I could easily imagine Adam working through the night, making calls, issuing commands, orchestrating an elaborate response to protect me.
But instead of pressing for details, I leaned forward and gently pressed my lips to his. "Morning kiss, Mr. Lancaster," I whispered, hoping he understood the unspoken gratitude behind the gesture.
His response was immediate and far more intense. One hand cupped the back of my neck, drawing me into a deeper, more demanding kiss. His tongue traced the outline of my lips before sliding inside, tangling with mine in a dance that was becoming increasingly familiar yet never lost its thrill. The initial tenderness quickly evolved into something hotter, more urgent.
I felt his desire pressing hard against my thigh, firm and insistent. My body instinctively responded, warmth pooling low in my abdomen, but my mind flashed warnings—we had plans, appointments, and a pile of complications waiting beyond this room.
"You..." I pulled back slightly, my breathing already quickening.
Adam's eyes darkened as his gaze followed mine downward. "Isn't this a normal physiological reaction?" he asked, with a hint of amusement in his voice, despite the tension clearly visible in his jaw.
"Maybe you should..." I vaguely gestured toward the bathroom, my cheeks flushing. "Go take care of that?"
He studied my face for a moment, clearly recognizing the conflict between desire and practicality. With a sigh that sounded both frustrated and slightly amused, he pressed one more quick kiss to my lips before sliding out of bed. "As you wish, Mrs. Lancaster."
I watched him walk toward the bathroom, admiring the play of muscles across his bare back, wondering if I was making a mistake in letting him go. God, this man is fucking sexy even from behind. But we had too much to deal with today—Lucy's video, the social media fallout, Emma Davis's unexpected arrival—getting distracted now would be irresponsible.
When did I become the responsible one in this relationship? I thought with a wry smile, reaching for my phone on the nightstand.
The screen immediately lit up with notifications, so many that for a moment I thought the situation had worsened overnight. But as I began scrolling, a very different picture emerged.