Stella’s POV
Even in this position, he exuded an aura of controlled power that made my pulse quicken. Stop it. He's the one who basically threw you out of the car after that kiss.
"Adam!" A familiar voice cut through my thoughts. "Been waiting for you!"
I froze. Mark Anderson. Hollywood's golden boy and CEO of Anderson Media Group. Interesting. The great Mr. Anderson actually showing respect to someone.
His smile dimmed when his gaze landed on me. "Well, well. If it isn't Miss Winston." The way he drawled my name dripped with barely concealed disdain. "Heard you went into hiding after Brian called off the engagement. Found yourself a new... ‘patron’ already?"
Heat crept up my neck. Deep breaths. Don't let them see they've hit a nerve. "Mr. Anderson, you're mistaken."
"She's just tonight's companion." Adam's voice carried a dangerous meaning. The casual explanation stung more than Mark's obvious contempt. "Nothing more."
Of course. What else did you expect, Stella? He is just a bastard.
Taylor cleared his throat softly. "Mr. Anderson, Mrs. Lancaster is the Boss's legal wife."
The silence that followed was absolute. Mark's practiced charm cracked, genuine shock bleeding through as his head whipped between Adam and me. "What? You... when did you...?"
"A few days ago." Adam's tone could have frozen hell. "Just a business arrangement."
I fought to keep my expression serene as the words hit like physical blows. Just a business arrangement. Of course. But something in my chest still twisted painfully .
Mark's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Adam, you never mentioned—"
"Shall we?" Adam cut him off, gesturing toward the entrance. The finality in his tone made it clear the topic was closed.
I moved to push his wheelchair, only to have him catch my wrist. His grip was gentle but immovable, thumb pressed against my pulse point in a way that felt deliberately intimate.
"Mrs. Winston." His voice dropped to that dangerous whisper that always made my heart race. "I trust you'll ... have fun tonight."
The implication hung in the air between us. I met his gaze steadily, refusing to back down. "Of course, darling. Whatever you need."
Something dark flickered in those green eyes before he released me. Mark watched our exchange with poorly concealed fascination.
The VIP elevator ride felt endless. I could feel Mark's calculating gaze bouncing between us. Judge all you want.
When the doors opened, the whispers started immediately at the Rouge's VIP room.
"Lancaster's here!" Then, inevitably, "Wait, isn't that the gold-digger who got dumped by his nephew?"
"Oh my God, she actually showed her face here?"
"How desperate do you have to be to go from the nephew to the crippled uncle?"
Smile, Stella. Let them talk. The thought of their faces if they knew Rouge's true owner almost made the humiliation worth it. Almost.
I recognized most of them – Wall Street sharks and trust fund babies who'd once smiled at my society events.
James Morgan, the famous conductor, raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Adam, darling, slumming it tonight?" His cultured voice carried just far enough to make several people titter. "Though I suppose even you must get bored of the usual quality of company."
"The entertainment industry's standards really have dropped," a socialite stage-whispered. "First she fails to keep Brian interested, now she's working as an... lover ?"
If they only knew how much of their dirty money passes through my accounts. But the barbs still landed, each one precisely aimed at my old wounds.
"Mr. Lancaster," I kept my voice low, fighting to maintain my composure, "if there's nothing else, I'd like to leave."
"Sit." The command held no room for argument. His hand found my wrist, the touch deceptively gentle but impossible to break. Damn him.
"Everyone, what would you like Miss. Winston to play with you?" The emphasis on my name made several people laugh outright. Damn Adam. I'm your wife, even if you are not willing to admit it.
"Mr. Lancaster." I tried to keep my voice low to whisper in his ear. "I am your wife."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Are you?" His hand found my knee under the table, the touch sending electricity through my body despite my anger.
"My my, look who we have here!" James Morgan's voice dripped with fake surprise. "Miss. Winston. You've certainly... changed since school. "
I kept my face perfectly blank. "James. Still conducting, I see. Though word is your last show was a bit... off-key?"
His perfect eyebrow twitched.
"At least I earned my spot," he sneered. "Unlike some people who sleep their way through the Lancaster family tree."
More laughter. Someone made a comment about my "going rate" that made my cheeks burn. Remember who you are, Stella. Remember what you've survived. These people? They're nothing.
"How thoughtful of you to bring entertainment, Adam," a hedge fund manager called out. "Will she be performing for us later?"
I felt rather than saw Adam's minute tension, his fingers tightening fractionally around my wrist. Interesting. So you don't like them insulting your "companion" after all, Mr. Lancaster?
"Her duties are not your concern," he said, his voice arctic. But the lack of denial only seemed to encourage them.
"At least Brian had the sense to dump her before the wedding," a woman in Chanel observed loudly. "Can you imagine someone like her in the Lancaster family?"
"Careful," her friend giggled. "She might try to trap you next, Adam. She does seem to have a thing for Lancasters."
If they only knew how hard I tried to avoid them. The irony almost made me laugh. Almost.
"Speaking of Brian," James Morgan smiled like a shark scenting blood, "I heard the most fascinating rumors about why he really called off the engagement. Something about compromising photos with the gardener? Or was it the chauffeur?"
"Mr. Morgan." I finally spoke, my voice carrying just enough edge to turn heads. "I find it fascinating that you like talk nonsense. It seemed you really care about my affairs."
The room went deadly quiet. James' face flushed an shade of red. But it was Adam's reaction that interested me most – that slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. Well. Do you actually enjoy watching me bite back, Mr. Lancaster?