Stella's POV
"Deputy Styling Director?" I repeated, hardly believing what I'd just heard.
"Yes, Ms. Winston," the HR person confirmed. "*Splendor* would like to offer you the position. The production begins filming next Friday with costume fittings and promotional photos. I'll email all the details shortly."
I hung up, a sense of accomplishment washing over me. This position wasn't connected to the Winston name or my marriage to Adam—it was based purely on my professional skills.
"*Splendor* hired me as their Deputy Styling Director," I told Sam, who was sprawled on the couch beside me.
"Congratulations! My Stella is the best!" Sam bounced up excitedly. "We should definitely celebrate today! It's your birthday too—double celebration!"
My smile faltered. "Sam, today might not actually be my birthday."
Sam leaned over and hugged me tightly. "Darling, your birthday is whenever you want it to be."
I knew she was right. Birthdays were just ceremonial markers, but they mattered.
"You're right," I decided. "Let's celebrate today!"
I'd celebrated twenty birthdays already. Why should I suddenly surrender this day to Lucy? Today wasn't exclusively hers.
As Sam made calls to arrange our celebration, I thought about previous birthdays—elaborate Winston family parties that were really just business networking events disguised as celebrations. The guest lists were filled with potential investors rather than my friends.
The real celebrations had always happened afterward with Sam—midnight cake in her apartment, sincere gifts, laughter until dawn. Those were the memories I treasured.
"I've already arranged everything at Rouge," Sam announced. "The private room is ready, and I've ordered your favorite cake."
\---
Sam's convertible pulled into Rouge's parking lot, which was unusually full of luxury vehicles.
"Someone's throwing quite an event," I remarked, scanning the crowded lot.
"Probably some corporate party," Sam shrugged, finding a spot near the VIP entrance.
The bouncer recognized us immediately—as he should—and was about to wave us through when a group emerged from the entrance.
"Stella! What a coincidence! Are you here for my birthday party?"
Lucy stood before us in a ridiculous white feathered dress that looked completely out of place in a nightclub. Classic Lucy—trying to maintain her "delicate flower" image even at Rouge.
One of her friends—some reality show contestant whose name I couldn't remember—clung to her arm. "You're Stella, right? Rouge has been reserved by Lucy's boyfriend Brian tonight. Everyone here is either Lucy's friend. Someone like you..." she paused dramatically, "...doesn't really belong here, does she?"
I felt my jaw tighten but maintained my composure. They had no idea this was my territory—Rouge was mine.
"Stella, you can see my friends feel it would be inappropriate for you to join," Lucy added with fake concern. "Brian will be arriving soon, and I know you still have feelings for him. To avoid any misunderstandings, perhaps you should leave."
Her words were carefully calibrated—appearing sympathetic while actually being malicious. Her transparent tactics almost made me laugh.
"Oh my god! You're so shameless!" Lucy's friend exclaimed. "You stole Lucy's position for twenty years, and now you want her boyfriend too?"
The small crowd at the entrance began whispering and pointing. I'd become the villain in Lucy's little drama. How predictable.
"Lucy, are you delusional? I'm not a recycling center—why would I want your garbage?" I almost laughed at the absurdity of her accusation.
The situation was escalating exactly as Lucy wanted—creating a public spectacle where she could play victim. I had no intention of giving her that satisfaction.
I subtly nodded to one of Rouge's security staff—indicating that Lucy's group should be contained without making a scene.
"Come on, Sam. Let's go," I said, pulling my friend away from the brewing drama.
Once we were safely inside, Sam fumed. "Lucy's barely been back in town and she's already throwing around her 'birthday' to seem important!"
"Did you notice her entourage?" I asked, my irritation fading. "All C-list celebrities and reality show contestants. I didn't see a single A-lister. She's clearly not doing well in the industry."
"True," Sam admitted. "I recognized a few faces, but they were all hanging back, doing their own thing. Lucy's trying to break into the heir circle, but she's nowhere close."
We walked a few more steps before Sam stopped abruptly. "I still want to kick them all out! It's not like we need their money!"
"Don't be angry," I said, patting her arm. "Money is money. Let's have the bartenders recommend the most expensive bottles. Make them pay."
Sam looked at me incredulously. "Stella, you're loaded now. Why are you still being so frugal?"
"What do you mean 'loaded'? Do you know how expensive research equipment and materials are? Everything costs more than pure gold!" I defended myself. "Especially with Adam as a point of comparison—I feel like I'm practically broke."
"Darling, you're his wife," Sam pointed out logically. "What's his is yours. If you ever divorce, you'll be incredibly wealthy!"
She suddenly sat up straighter, eyes widening. "Wait! I just remembered something! When you brought me that scarf, you sent me a photo first. In the corner, I saw a man's hand wearing a watch!"
I froze, caught off guard by her observation.
"That was Adam, wasn't it?" Sam's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Tell me the truth!"
"Would you believe me if I said no?" I asked weakly.
"Do you think I'm stupid?"
I never lied to my best friend. "Yes, it was him."
Sam's eyes lit up mischievously. "He went shopping with you? You two must be getting along well! Any... developments?"
I felt my cheeks warm. I clapped my hands together once, making a decisive sound. "We've done it many times."
"Wow!" Sam's initial shock quickly transformed into teasing delight.
Despite her playful nature, Sam knew when to stop prying. She truly wanted my happiness, and I could see she was genuinely pleased about my developing relationship with Adam.
\---
The private room at Rouge had been transformed with roses and baby's breath—exactly how I liked it. A crown-shaped cake sat on the center table, twenty-five candles waiting to be lit.
As the birthday song played, I closed my eyes and made a wish before blowing out the candles. For once, my birthday wish wasn't about discovering my origins or finding my place. It was simpler, more immediate—almost possible—to have a happy life with my beloved.
My phone buzzed with a text notification.
"Mark says he just saw me and wants me to come out for a present," I told Sam, confused.
Sam looked equally puzzled. "Mark? He and James have been inseparable since childhood. You and James hate each other! Why would he give you a gift?"