Stella’s POV
"Well, look who's here!" Lucy approached, dressed like she was heading to a photoshoot rather than a film set. "Samantha, visiting your dear friend? How touching."
Sam's expression instantly cooled. "Lucy. Still hanging around sets pretending to be important, I see."
"Actually, I have a legitimate role in this production," Lucy replied with her sickly-sweet smile. "Unlike some people who can only visit because they have nothing better to do."
Before Sam could deliver what would undoubtedly be a scathing comeback, I intervened. "Sam, don't waste your energy. Lucy, I think the director is looking for you—something about reshooting your scene."
Lucy narrowed her eyes suspiciously but took the hint and walked away, flipping her hair dramatically as she left.
"She's insufferable," Sam muttered.
"Forget about her," I checked my watch. "I need to get changed. The lead actress's dance double called in sick, and I volunteered to fill in."
Sam's eyes widened. "You're going to dance? On camera?"
I shrugged. "It’s just a simple dance. The scene’s more about the costume than the dancer’s face."
"Then I’m definitely staying to watch this!" Sam declared with a grin that sent a flicker of nerves through me.
---
Two hours later, I stepped out of the dressing room in a flowing red ball gown. The satin bodice hugged my torso, cool and smooth against my skin, while the layered skirt flared out, heavy with delicate lace trim that rustled with every step. My hair was swept into an elegant chignon, adorned with a single pearl comb that glinted under the lights.
The director glanced up from his monitor and nodded approvingly. "Perfect! Let’s see if we can nail this in one take."
As the orchestral music swelled—violins weaving into a lilting three-beat rhythm—I took my place center stage. The set hushed, and I felt every gaze settle on me. A jolt of anxiety hit hard; it’d been ages since I’d danced like this in front of anyone. But when the first notes rolled through, my body remembered what my mind had half-forgotten.
I extended one arm gracefully, imagining an invisible partner as the waltz began. The music carried me forward, my feet gliding across the floor in smooth, sweeping steps.
I turned, the red skirt billowing out like a flame, each spin blending strength and elegance in that effortless way a waltz demands. The fabric caught the air, tracing arcs that spoke of romance and longing without a single word.
When the final chord faded, silence hung thick for a heartbeat—then the set burst into enthusiastic applause erupted.
"Bravo! That was magnificent!"
"My God, that was beautiful!"
"Stella's dancing is incredible! Combined with her looks, she's absolutely stunning!"
The director approached, looking thoroughly pleased. "That was perfect, Stella. Could we get one more take from a different angle?"
I nodded, taking a moment to catch my breath before resuming my starting position. From the corner of my eye, I caught Lucy watching from the sidelines, her expression a mixture of disbelief and dismay.
After several takes from different angles, I sat in the break area, drinking water to rehydrate.
"Miss Winston, with your abilities, why didn't you go into entertainment?" The lead actress approached, curiosity evident in her voice.
I paused mid-sip. "Different people have different ambitions. The entertainment industry isn't where my interests lie." I set my water bottle down. "Even though I stepped in as your dance double today, I have no intention of moving into the spotlight."
The relief on her face was almost comical. "You're truly talented and beautiful, Miss Winston. No wonder Mr. Lancaster holds you in such high regard." Her smile widened. "I should apologize for my forwardness at that dinner, offering Mr. Lancaster a drink. That was inappropriate of me."
"No harm done," I replied politely, though I remembered the incident perfectly well.
As she walked away, Sam slid into the seat beside me, her expression mischievous.
"That was incredible!" she exclaimed. "I recorded some of it—hope you don't mind."
"Did you send it to Adam?" I asked knowingly.
"Not directly," Sam admitted with a grin. "I sent it to Taylor. I figured he'd know what to do with it."
"You're impossible," I said, shaking my head.
---
That evening, I had just stepped out of the shower when my phone chimed with a message notification. Wrapped in the hotel's plush robe, I checked the screen and froze.
It was a photo of me dancing, captured at a moment when my body was perfectly poised, the red silk sleeves creating an artistic frame around me. The image was beautiful, almost professional in quality—and it had been sent by Adam.
Without hesitation, I called him.
"How did you get a photo of me dancing?" I asked as soon as he answered. "Did the director send it to you?"
Adam didn't address my question directly. "Stella, you've never danced like this for me."
I sensed... accusation in his tone? "But I danced modern style for you before," I countered, recalling our night at the hotel months ago.
"That was under duress," he replied, clearly displeased. "You were dressed casually, your appearance was casual."
During the brief silence that followed, I processed his words. Was he... jealous? The idea seemed ridiculous, yet his tone definitely suggested it.
---
I barely made it to Paris in time for the YEAR Awards ceremony. After wrapping up the Splendor production work, I flew straight here, only having enough time to check into my hotel and change before rushing to the venue.
The YEAR Awards were a big deal in the fashion industry—especially for visual styling. I'd submitted my portfolio three months ago and found out last week that I'd won the gold award. At twenty, I was now officially the youngest recipient in the competition's history.
Standing in the venue surrounded by fashion's elite, I felt an unexpected bubble of excitement. It wasn't like I hadn't won awards before—some even more prestigious than this one—but something about this victory felt different. Maybe because it was the first major recognition since marrying Adam.
*I should call him*, I thought, pulling out my phone. The idea of sharing my achievement with Adam brought a small smile to my face. Would he congratulate me in that cool way of his? Or maybe tease me with something like, "Does Mrs. Lancaster want a reward?" Either option made my heart beat a little faster.
Finding a quiet corner, I dialed his number. The phone rang several times, and I was about to hang up when someone finally answered.
"Hello, Adam, I—" I began, unable to hide my excitement.
"Hello? I'm sorry, Adam's phone isn't with him right now. May I ask who's calling? I can pass along a message for you." A woman's voice—smooth, cultured, came through the speaker.
I felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. My excitement evaporated instantly.
"...Who is this? His assistant?" In all the time I'd known Adam, he had never let anyone else answer his personal phone. He was practically obsessive about his privacy.