Stella's POV
When I woke up the next afternoon, Adam had already gone to work. I vaguely remembered his goodbye kiss at dawn, when I was still too groggy to properly respond. My body carried a pleasant soreness, and the sheets still held the scent of his cologne.
My phone was filled with notifications:
Birthday wishes from Manhattan's elite (probably hoping to score points with Adam)
Gossip vultures trying to figure out who arranged the fireworks
Social climbers suddenly remembering my existence
James texted: \[Is someone courting you? Your birthday was days ago!\]
\[No one is courting me,\] I replied honestly.
His response? He blocked me. I rolled my eyes—what was his problem lately?
Social media was abuzz:
\[@ManhattanSociety\]: All of Manhattan knows it's Stella's birthday now!
\[@NYCGossipQueen\]: Who is this goddess Stella, worthy of such a romantic fireworks display?
\[@LoveGoals\]: Now we have to be jealous of other people's birthdays .
\[@WitnessingMagic\]: Saw it in person - a super handsome guy and a stunning lady. This must be what fairy tale love looks like!
I scrolled through the comments, feeling a strange unease. Last night had been perfect—too perfect. For the first time in my life, someone's kindness made me nervous. Not because I couldn't accept it, but because I was afraid of losing it.
When had I become so dependent on his presence? When had his attention become as essential as breathing?
My fingers unconsciously traced the mark he had left on my collarbone—a spot he had recently become particularly fond of. He seemed overly eager to mark his territory.
As I checked my schedule on my phone, I saw a message from Adam:
\[Dinner tonight. Wear something easy to take off, not another gown.\]
I felt my cheeks heat up but couldn't help smiling.
\---
In the morning , I came to the Splender set.
"I understand I may not have enough experience for the Deputy Director position, but Stella? She only graduated a year ago! What qualifies her to be my superior?"
I stopped outside the *Splendor* production office, immediately recognizing Anny Brown's voice. Of course she was here—and predictably complaining about my appointment. Some people never change.
"Ah, Stella!" Director called out when he saw me enter. "Perfect timing! Anny has some concerns about our staffing arrangements. Perhaps you could share your qualifications with her?"
I met Anny's challenging stare, remembering our last encounter during the GT Group interviews. "Long time no see, Anny. Looks like we're moving from alumni to colleagues."
The room fell silent as I began listing my credentials. With each achievement I mentioned—ten major projects during my studies, costume design for three award-winning period dramas, full industry certifications—Anny's expression grew increasingly sour.
*Still can't accept losing to me*, I thought, *just like at GT Group*.
"I believe that answers your concerns about my qualifications?" I maintained a professional tone, though I couldn't completely hide my satisfaction at her discomfort.
A petite figure suddenly bounded in front of me, practically vibrating with excitement. "Oh my god, you're even prettier in person! I'm Lisa, your assistant stylist, and I can't believe I get to work with you!"
Her genuine enthusiasm caught me off guard. After dealing with Anny's hostility, Lisa's warmth was refreshing. Still, I couldn't help but wonder if she'd been assigned to spy on me. In this industry, enthusiasm often masked ulterior motives.
Throughout the day's meetings, I could feel Anny's gaze burning into my back. Every time I spoke, she'd make a small noise of disdain. By afternoon, even my legendary patience was wearing thin.
*Stay professional*, I reminded myself, *you're the deputy director now. Act like it*.
\---
That evening in my hotel room, Joseph called.
"Madam, will you be returning to the manor tonight?"
"No, I'm staying at a hotel near the studio. We start filming tomorrow."
A brief pause. "I see. Mr. Lancaster has returned to the manor."
*Damn*. I had completely forgotten to tell Adam about this temporary assignment.
"I'll call him now," I quickly hung up.
My finger hovered over Adam's number. One ring. Two rings. Three. Just as I was about to give up, he answered. The line remained silent.
"Adam..." I began, hating the uncertainty in my voice. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. Everything was so rushed this morning."
"So I'm just your one-night stand?" His voice was deceptively calm, but I knew that tone. He was angry.
"This is the *Splendor* project assigned by GT Group. I thought you knew." I couldn't keep the frustration from my voice. "People report to you when I have lunch with Sam, I don't believe no one told you about this project."
I heard him light a cigarette, followed by a slow exhale. Great, smoking meant he was really upset.
"Besides," I added, "you're always so busy. I didn't want to bother you."
Wrong thing to say. The silence on the line grew heavier.
"Get some rest." He hung up before I could respond.
I stared at my phone, torn between calling back and throwing it against the wall. Why did every conversation with him lately feel like walking a tightrope?
\---
The next morning's opening ceremony went smoothly until a commotion erupted near the private dressing rooms. Lucy had arrived, surveying everyone like a queen.
"Miss Winston!" Anny's voice dripped with honey. "What a coincidence! Did you know Stella's working here too? As Deputy Styling Director!"
I watched Lucy's hand pause on her dressing room door handle. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
Anny's eager expression froze. "I'm Anny Brown, from—"
"You want to use me against Stella?" Lucy's laugh was sharp. "Know your place."
Watching Anny's humiliation, I couldn't help but smile. *Trying to ally with Lucy? Amateur move*.
\---
By midday, Lucy cornered me near the dressing room vanity.
"Stella," her voice carried that familiar poisonous sweetness, "how does someone who doesn't even know their birth parents dare to celebrate birthdays?"
I focused on organizing my makeup brushes, refusing to react to her provocation. She'd played this game too many times.
"Speaking of celebrations," she continued, "you need to have Rouge's owner apologize to me. They actually blacklisted me!"
"Sorry, that's the club owner's decision," I replied calmly. "I have no authority there."
"Then have Sam handle it! Rouge's owner clearly favors her—there must be something going on between them!"
I almost laughed at her speculation. If only she knew who really owned Rouge...
"If you're willing to apologize to Sam first, perhaps Rouge's owner might reconsider."
Lucy's face twisted with rage. "You—"
"Miss Winston!" A production assistant called out. "You're needed on set!"
*Saved by the bell*, I thought, watching Lucy storm off.
\---
The afternoon shoot was torture. The temperature hovered near freezing, but Lucy insisted on having me personally handle her makeup.
"Director," she called out sweetly, "could Stella do my touch-ups? We're old friends, and I'd love to give this newcomer some practice."
For the next three hours, I stood in the biting wind while Lucy found endless faults. Her headdress was loose. Her mascara was running. Her gown had wrinkles.
Meanwhile, she had heating pads under her costume, with assistants rushing forward with down jackets between takes. I watched them fuss over her, remembering how she always played the delicate flower at the Winston house.
"Stella, are you okay?" Lisa whispered, noticing my trembling hands. "You're freezing!"
"Thanks for your hard work today, Stella!" Lucy called out as she left. "I hope you can maintain this level of *professionalism* throughout filming!"
*At least someone's enjoying themselves*, I thought bitterly.
\---
Back in my hotel room, I soaked in a hot bath, trying to chase away the bone-deep chill. My throat felt like sandpaper, and my head was pounding. I'd just taken some cold medicine when my phone rang.
"What's wrong with you?" Adam's voice was sharp.
"Caught a cold," I mumbled, already feeling drowsy from the medication. "Did you need something?"
"Wrong number." The line went dead immediately.
I stared groggily at my phone, unsure if I'd imagined the concern in his voice. As sleep overtook me, I thought I heard my phone vibrate again, but I was too far gone to check.
In my dreams, I felt warm hands smoothing back my hair, caught that familiar cologne that always made me feel safe. But that was impossible—Adam was probably still angry with me.