Stella's POV
I couldn't help myself. After hanging up, I went online and searched for info on Grace Davis, my fingers practically shaking as I typed.
American sites came up empty.
Switching to international ones, I hit paydirt: Grace Davis, the Davis family's golden girl, a perfect mix of talent and beauty, hailed as one of her generation's most promising jewelry designers. *Talent and beauty?* I bit my lip, a sharp sting prickling my chest. No photos, but her published works screamed genius—technical skill paired with artistic flair. *This kind of woman's totally Adam's type, isn't she?*
The latest headline stopped my heart for a second: "GT Group President attends jewelry designer Grace Davis's exhibition, sparking romance rumors."
I snapped the laptop shut, telling myself I was being ridiculous. *Romance? No way, he's got me, right?* But the doubt took root like a weed I couldn't yank out. *What's he got with her? Friends? Or… more?* My head spun with stupid images—Adam laughing low with some elegant blonde, his fingers brushing her ring designs, his eyes soft in a way that made me want to scream with jealousy.
---
At exactly 3:00 p.m., I spotted Adam's wheelchair cutting through the crowd at Kennedy Airport. Our combo of good looks instantly drew stares, like we were some spotlight magnet.
He handed me a sleek paper bag. "Gift."
I stared at it, thrown—I'd been so caught up obsessing over Grace, I'd nearly forgotten my usual souvenir nag. *I was secretly hoping for another handmade mask.* Inside were two boxes of maple tea, different flavors, the rich scent hitting me as I opened them. Not the mask I'd daydreamed about, but knowing he'd picked this out warmed me up a little. *He's swamped, and he still remembered I love maple tea—pretty sweet, actually.*
"Thanks,"I said, swallowing my disappointment with a smile. *Ask him about Grace, right now!* But the words stuck in my throat—James had already said they were childhood friends, basically raised together. *If I bring it up and he thinks I'm petty, I'll look like an idiot.*
---
On the way to Mrs. Morgan's birthday bash, we stopped at the stylist's. In the car, Adam reached over and mussed my hair. "Problem's fixed. Why're you still moping?"
I blinked at him, confused. "What's fixed?"
Taylor piped up from the front passenger seat: "The Lucy stealing-your-dance-double-credit thing!"
I yanked out my phone and saw the top trend: "Lucy Caught Faking Dance Double Role."It started innocently enough: "Big thanks to Miss Winston from the ‘Splendor' crew for stepping in as a dance double. So beautiful!"The video showed a dancer in a flowing red gown, moving with grace and skill—me, though my face wasn't clear.
Within hours, Lucy's PR team jumped on it, liking and reposting like it was her. Her fans ate it up:
@LucyWinstonFan: "Our queen's unstoppable! Beauty, talent, and now killer dance moves! #LucyWinston #Splendor"
@CelebrityUpdate: "Lucy Winston stepping in as a dance double proves her work ethic and versatility! #RespectTheHustle"
I'd have ignored it, but then an entertainment blogger dropped a crystal-clear video—my face front and center—captioned: "Proof! The mystery dancer isn't Lucy Winston, it's a crew stylist. Nice try, Lucy! #DanceDoubleDrama"
The lead actress fanned the flames: "The ‘Splendor' crew's full of hidden gems! Thanks to our gorgeous stylist for doubling as my dancer. Love you! ❤️"
In hours, the truth blew up online—#LucyLied and #FakeClaims flooded my feed. Some even tied it to that birthday fireworks stunt: "Wait, isn't this the same Stella from the insane birthday fireworks a few weeks back? #RichBoyfriend #MysteryCouple"
I sighed, flipping my phone face-down on the vanity. So that's what Adam meant by "fixed."I was touched he'd stood up for me, but Lucy's public flop left me a little uneasy.
*That's not what's really eating you, though, is it?* a voice in my head whispered. Nah, what really gnawed at me was Grace Davis—and that woman who'd answered his phone. *Was she with him in Europe, all cozy? Did he ruffle her hair too? Buy her gifts?* My chest tightened, sour and heavy with jealousy.
---
At 3:30 p.m., I was at Cyril's studio, getting ready for the night. "Mrs. Lancaster, youngest Vogue Fashion Stylist Gold Award winner ever! Unreal!"Cyril gushed, fussing with my hair. "I was twenty-three when I won, and you outshine me!"
I smiled politely, but my mind was miles away. *Outshine? Does Adam think I shine, or is Grace the one dazzling him?* I'd picked Cyril's place to keep busy, anything to stop obsessing over those messed-up thoughts.
"Done!"Cyril stepped back, beaming at his work. "This summer haute couture mermaid gown's perfect on you. Mr. Lancaster won't be able to peel his eyes off."
I checked myself in the mirror. The dress was stunning—a masterpiece, hugging my curves, shimmering faintly as I shifted. My makeup was flawless, smoky eyes giving me a mysterious, elegant edge. James's pearl hairpin added a classic touch to the modern vibe. *I look good enough to knock him dead, right? Better than Grace?* I bit my lip, jealousy bubbling up again.
"Thanks, Cyril. It's perfect."I grabbed my clutch and headed out.
Stepping from the dressing room, I caught Adam waiting in the reception area. His eyes flicked to me, widening just a fraction—his usual cool mask slipping, showing real surprise.
For a split second, I felt smug as hell, like I'd won something. *Take that, Grace—I can still make him stare!* Despite the doubts, the fears, knowing I could shake him up like this flooded me with a goofy, giddy thrill.
Cyril clocked Adam's reaction and waved dramatically at me. "Mr. Lancaster, isn't she stunning?"he asked, proud as a peacock.
Adam's gaze snapped to Cyril, cold and possessive, then slid back to me. He didn't say a word, but that look made Cyril shuffle back a step.
*Classic Lancaster intimidation,* I thought, half-amused, half-annoyed, but secretly buzzing. *Is he jealous too, worried someone else might snatch me up?*