Adam’s POV
I stared at James across the table. The guy was fidgeting like he had a thorn under his seat. The whiskey in his crystal glass swirled, mirroring his unsettled heart.
James was visibly uncomfortable, his fingers tapping nervously on the barely touched glass, the sound echoing like a drumbeat in my head. "Adam, thanks for the invite," he began, breaking the silence. "But honestly, when I got your call, I was pretty damn surprised."
I remained silent, taking a leisurely sip of my whiskey. *Let him sweat, let this idiot guess my intentions.* I deliberately dragged out the moment, savoring his discomfort.
"Is there something you need?" James spoke again, his Adam's apple bobbing as if he had swallowed a stone. "You seem... off tonight."
I leaned back into the leather sofa, adopting a relaxed posture, but my gaze remained fixed on him, sharp enough to pierce through his feeble courage. *Let's see how long you can keep up the act.*
James grew more anxious, shifting in his seat like a caught thief. "Adam, do you... have a problem with me?"
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, my expression inscrutable, a cold smile playing on my lips.
*Why is this guy so jumpy? I just invited him for a drink.* Unless... he had something to hide. *Damn, did he actually do something to betray me?*
James finally picked up his glass, downing a gulp of whiskey before setting it down hastily, his fingers trembling like a leaf. *Look at him, scared shitless.*
"I just had a feeling. That day, on my mom's birthday, you insisted I accompany you to find Winstead. It was weird," he stammered.
I chuckled softly, taking another sip of my drink, still not saying a word. *Silence is the best weapon, let him scare himself more than my words ever could.* Let's see what he spills.
My silence only added fuel to the fire, and James's unease exploded. "And when you left that day, I noticed the pearl hairpin I gave Stella was no longer in her hair."
The pearl hairpin. *So he did notice that.*
At the mention of the hairpin, I looked up, my gaze boring into him, the alcohol loosening my restraint. Whatever he saw in my eyes made him shrink back, like a dog with its tail between its legs.
"Are you upset with me because of Stella?" he ventured, his voice trembling.
I set my glass down, my movements slow and deliberate, my hand steady as a rock. "You missed one thing. You had a late-night snack with Stella last night."
*Just thinking about her being alone with him makes me want to smash something.* The image of her smiling and chatting with him, her face glowing under the lights, made my blood boil.
James looked bewildered, his eyes wide as saucers. "Adam, last night... it was just a casual get-together, purely as friends! I have no inappropriate thoughts about her, especially since you two are married! My mom even told me."
I caught the flicker of disappointment on his face when he mentioned our marriage. *This bastard has feelings for her.*
"We're married, and that bothers you?" I pressed.
"No!" he denied too quickly, downing his drink as if to drown his thoughts in alcohol.
*Liar, it's so obvious.* I watched him coldly, my fingers drumming on the armrest.
I signaled the waiter at the door. "Bring that bottle over."
James looked shocked as the waiter brought an outrageously expensive bottle of whiskey and poured it into his glass. "This... this is top-shelf stuff."
"Drink up," I said coolly. "You look like you need it."
*Alcohol is the best truth serum. Let's see what he spills after a few more glasses.*
Three high-proof bourbons later, James's defenses began to crumble. His speech slurred, and his expression relaxed, the pretense fading.
"Adam," he leaned forward suddenly, his drunken eyes wide with a secret. "You might not know this, but half the guys in our grade had a crush on Stella, and I!" He pointed exaggeratedly at himself, "was in the other half. But even in that half, many secretly admired Winstead!"
I narrowed my eyes at him, noting how his gaze softened every time he mentioned "Stella." *That's the answer I needed.*
*So, you were one of those cowards who never spoke up.*
"There were upperclassmen, underclassmen, so many who pursued Winstead," James continued, his drunken rambling unfiltered.
I cut to the chase: "What about you? Do you still have a crush on her?"
James's face froze, as if I had struck a nerve. He dodged the question, changing the subject. "Adam, with so many people liking Stella, why do you argue with her?"
"She wants to argue with me," I corrected him, my tone icy.
*Stella never picks a fight unless she's really hurt.* Just thinking about her angry, glaring at me, made my heart clench. *Damn, did I really piss her off?*
James blinked. "She argued with you? Why would she argue with you?" He squinted, as if a light bulb had gone off. "Is it because of the rumors about you and Grace?"
He muttered into his glass, "Of course! Not just argue, she should divorce you!"
"What rumors?" I frowned, a sense of foreboding creeping in.
James stared at me wide-eyed. "You don't know?"
He clumsily pulled out his phone, fumbling with the screen. "It's everywhere... where is it?" He grew increasingly frustrated, finally slamming the phone down in a drunken rage. "Damn it, I can't find it!"
"Rubbish," I said, but my mind was already racing. *What the hell is this about now?* "Taylor will handle it."
I glanced at my watch and stood up. "I'm leaving. Call your friends to keep you company. I'll cover the bill."
James looked up blearily. "Adam, you called me out just to leave like this?"
I ignored him, pushing my wheelchair towards the door. *I've learned all I needed to know.*
Taylor was waiting outside the private room, stepping forward as I emerged. "Sir, the car is ready."
"What did Grace post on Instagram?" I asked bluntly.
Taylor was visibly taken aback, just as surprised as James that I was in the dark. "I'm not sure, sir. I'll find out immediately."
As we waited for the elevator, I replayed my conversation with James. His reactions confirmed my suspicions: no matter how much he denied it, this bastard had feelings for my wife. *Every denial was like handing me a weapon.*
*How laughable, he thinks I can't see through his little charade?* *So many men desire her, but I married her.* No matter how it started, that fact gave me immense satisfaction. *She's mine, and no one can take her away.*
The elevator descended smoothly to the ground floor. Taylor was still engrossed in his phone, searching for Grace's potentially scandalous post.
"Sir," Taylor finally spoke as we exited the building, "I found it. Miss Davis posted this five days ago, and many people assumed it was from you."
He handed me his phone, displaying Grace's Instagram page.
"Made by ADAM. Happy!"
My blood ran cold as I recalled Stella asking me to get her a custom mask from a private shop in Toronto—I had refused, bringing back only maple tea. Now I understood her coldness, her anger. *In her eyes, I refused her request but got the same thing for another woman.*