Stella’ POV
After a quick shower and change of clothes, I made my way to the living room, feeling much more human. Adam had relocated there, his laptop open on the coffee table as he continued to work.
I stopped short, blinking in confusion. Something was different. Several things, actually.
The wine rack that normally held a few moderately priced bottles I kept for decoration now displayed a collection of vintage wines, including what looked suspiciously like a 1982 Chateau Lafite Rothschild—a bottle that cost more than most people's monthly rent.
The tea cabinet had been similarly transformed. My everyday ceramic set had been replaced with what appeared to be 18th-century English bone china, delicate patterns of gold and cobalt blue catching the morning light.
And the coffee canister on the counter, which yesterday had contained my usual grocery store brand, now emitted the distinctive aroma of Jamaican Blue Mountain—one of the most expensive coffees in the world.
"Adam," I said slowly, "what did you do?"
He glanced up from his laptop. "You don't like them?"
"When did you even have time to do this?" I asked, running my fingers lightly over the antique tea set, almost afraid to touch it.
"I made a few calls while you were sleeping," he replied casually, as if completely overhauling someone's apartment in the early hours of the morning was perfectly normal.
I picked up one of the teacups, examining it carefully. "Are these authentic? They must be worth a fortune. Are you sure they're not reproductions?"
Adam's expression darkened slightly. "You think I would give you fakes?"
"No, no," I backpedaled quickly. "It's just... these are museum pieces, Adam. I can't actually use these for tea."
"Why not?" he looked genuinely confused. "If they break, I have others."
Others? How many antique tea sets does one man need?
Before I could formulate a response, Adam gestured toward the far wall of the living room. "I also thought that space behind your sofa could use something. I have an original Monet in my collection that would complement the room nicely. Taylor can deliver it tomorrow."
My mind boggled at the casual way he mentioned hanging a multi-million-dollar masterpiece in my apartment. "That's really not necessary," I said quickly. "I don't even like that painting very much."
Adam raised an eyebrow. "Which one? I haven't told you which one I was thinking of."
Oops.
"I mean, I don't need any expensive artwork," I amended. "My apartment doesn't have the same security system as Lancaster Estate. I'd be worried about it constantly."
"Then which paintings do you like?" Adam persisted. "I have others in my collection that might suit your taste better."
I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to politely discourage him from turning my apartment into a branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. "Adam, I appreciate the thought, I really do. But I'm happy with my apartment the way it is. The tea set and the wine are more than enough."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded slightly. "As you wish. But the offer stands if you change your mind."
As I watched him return to his laptop, I felt a strange warmth spreading through my chest. His gestures were excessive, bordering on ridiculous—who needed antique tea sets for everyday use?—but the intention behind them was oddly touching.
Adam Lancaster, the cold, calculating business tycoon, had spent his morning finding ways to fill my home with things he thought I would enjoy. He'd remembered how I took my water in the morning.
Last night, I'd asked him if he liked me, and he hadn't really answered. But maybe he didn't need to. Maybe the answer was all around me—in the roses, in the small courtesies, in the way he looked at me when he thought I wouldn't notice.
And perhaps, my own answer was becoming clear as well, even if I wasn't quite ready to say it aloud.
The car pulled into Lancaster Estate's circular driveway as the first rays of dawn were breaking. My body was still slightly sore from the New Year's celebrations, and I suppressed a yawn as Adam helped me out of the car.
Joseph stood waiting at the entrance, his usually calm expression revealing a hint of unease. As we approached, he bowed slightly and whispered in a low voice,"Sir, Madam, Master Eric has been waiting for you all night."
I followed Joseph's subtle glance toward the living room and saw Eric sitting on the couch, his lanky frame leaning forward, staring at us with an almost accusatory look. The coffee table in front of him was piled with junk food—half-eaten fried chicken, potato chip bags scattered about, and several empty soda cans.
Shit, we completely forgot about Eric.
A wave of guilt washed over me, the kind parents must feel when they suddenly realize they've left their child home alone during holiday celebrations.
Wait, why am I feeling guilty? He's not my child. Damn, he's not even related to me by blood. So why do I feel like I've committed some terrible parenting crime?
Still, the accusation in his eyes bothered me more than I expected.
"Eric, did you need something?" I asked as I walked into the living room.
Eric dramatically pointed at the food remains in front of him. "Oh, nothing important. Just wanted to celebrate New Year's with you guys." His voice was full of sarcasm. "But you were gone all night!"
Now that I was closer, I could see the dark circles under his eyes. He clearly hadn't slept all night, probably waiting for us like an abandoned puppy. His hair was messy, and he was still wearing yesterday's clothes.
Adam wheeled himself into the room, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the scene. "We're not your parents, Eric. As long as you're alive, that's sufficient."
My God, Adam. Could you be any colder?
Eric turned his back, clearly indicating he had no interest in communicating with his cousin. I shot Adam a reproachful look—he didn't need to be so harsh.
"Why didn't you celebrate with your friends?" I tried to ease the tension.
Eric turned back to me with an expressionless face. "Has Adam given me permission to leave the estate grounds?"
The question hit me like a bucket of cold water.
Fuck, I completely forgot about that.
After Eric's previous escape attempts, Adam had restricted him to the estate grounds. This kid was literally trapped here on New Year's Eve while we were out enjoying ourselves.
"I'm sorry, Eric," I said with genuine remorse in my voice. "We didn't intentionally leave you behind to celebrate alone."
Eric rolled his eyes. "Are you treating me like a child now? That's not the point."
He leaned forward, his eyes now twinkling with mischief, replacing his previous hurt expression. "I get it. You two went to a hotel for some private time last night, right? That's why you were gone all night."
I almost choked on the water I'd just sipped, feeling my cheeks quickly heat up.
How does this kid always know exactly what to say to make me want to die of embarrassment?
"Am I wrong?" Eric's smile grew wider seeing my reaction. "Why are you blushing? Don't be embarrassed! I understand these things!"
"Okay, I see you definitely don't need my consolation," I stood up, trying to maintain as much dignity as possible. "You're clearly a very mature young man."
Eric's laughter followed me as I escaped to the kitchen, the sound only making my cheeks burn hotter.
This little shit. He totally knows what happened.
I spent the entire afternoon in the kitchen, determined to make up for our unintentional abandonment of Eric. By dinner time, I had prepared a feast of all his favorite foods—crispy fried chicken, loaded potato skins, creamy mac and cheese, and chocolate lava cake for dessert.
When Adam wheeled into the dining room and saw the spread, his eyes narrowed slightly. His gaze shifted between the comfort food feast and Eric, who had just taken his seat, and I could almost feel the temperature in the room drop.
Here we go, the jealousy's starting. God forbid I'm nice to someone else.
Eric hadn't even had time to gloat about the special treatment when Adam's phone rang. The sharp electronic tone cut through the awkward silence, and Adam answered with his usual crisp efficiency.
Whatever the caller said must have been significant, because Adam's expression immediately hardened, his jaw visibly tensing.
"Not coming," he replied, his voice dropping to that dangerous bass that always sent shivers down my spine. "You only provided a sperm, nothing more. How much money do you want? I'll pay."