Stella's POV
"Adam," Victor clarified, his eyes slightly unfocused, as if listening to something. "In the main hall."
My heart skipped a beat. "Adam is here? At Rouge?"
Victor nodded, redirecting his attention back to Sam.
"How did you know?" I asked, completely puzzled. Adam should have had meetings all night. He shouldn't be here.
Victor didn't answer, but Sam gave me a knowing look. "His security team," she explained. "They keep him updated constantly. Rouge is practically crawling with his people now."
Adam is here? Why? Why didn't he tell me?
"I'll go check," I said, already standing up.
Sam looked at me with concern. "Do you need me to come with you?"
I shook my head. "I'll be right back. I just want to see what he's doing here."
As I left the room, I couldn't help but wonder what unexpected situation I was about to walk into.
I made my way toward the main floor, keeping to the shadows of the mezzanine that overlooked the club's central space. The music pulsed beneath my feet as I scanned the VIP section, finally spotting a familiar figure.
Adam sat at one of the premium corner booths, surrounded by a small group. I immediately recognized James and Mark—they were laughing at something, glasses of whiskey in hand. But it was the woman sitting beside Adam that made my breath catch in my throat.
Grace. In person, she was even more striking than in photos—tall and elegant in a simple white dress. Her dark hair fell in perfect waves around a face that belonged on magazine covers.
I watched as she leaned closer to James, saying something that made him laugh. Her body language was fluid, confident—she belonged in this world of wealth and privilege as surely as fish belongs to water.
Then I noticed how she positioned herself. Though she was talking to James, her body angled deliberately toward Adam, her knee almost but not quite touching his. It was a subtle movement, but to anyone who understood body language, it was a clear signal of her interest in him.
But what truly shocked me was what draped over her shoulders—a black jacket. Adam's jacket. The same one I had helped him select this morning.
My stomach twisted into a painful knot. I knew exactly how that jacket felt—its weight, its warmth, the lingering scent of Adam's cologne embedded in the fabric. On that cold night at the carnival, when he noticed me shivering, I had worn it myself. I had thought that moment was special. Intimate.
When did he give her his jacket? Why is she wearing it?
I stood by the railing, trying to process what I was seeing. A waiter approached, asking if I needed assistance, but I waved him away without taking my eyes off the scene below.
I couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness, of intrusion. That jacket represented something Adam rarely gave—care, consideration for someone else's comfort.
I pulled out my phone, my finger hovering over Adam's contact. I should just call him, ask him directly why he was here when he told me he had meetings all night.
Before I could make the call, my phone buzzed with a news alert. Normally I would ignore it, but the headline immediately caught my eye:
\[BREAKING: Renowned jewelry designer Grace Davis returns to America, GT Group CEO welcomes her with flowers. Wedding bells soon?\]
My finger trembled as I opened the article, scanning quickly until I reached the photos. There was Adam, sitting in his wheelchair at what appeared to be an airport arrival gate, holding an enormous bouquet of white roses. Beside him stood Grace, beaming as she accepted the flowers.
The timestamp showed the photo was taken earlier today.
He picked her up at the airport. With flowers. And he refused to go with me to see my grandmother.
I felt like I was falling, though my feet remained firmly planted. Air came in short, painful gasps as I tried to reconcile what I knew with what I was seeing.
Breathe, Stella. Just fucking breathe.
I closed my eyes for a moment, focusing on steadying myself. When I opened them again, I took one last look at the table below—Adam's impassive profile—before turning to head back to the private room.
Grace's POV
"Adam, what are you looking at?" I noticed Adam's gaze drifting toward the upper level and asked in a gentle tone.
I studied his handsome profile, those features that seemed to have grown sharper over the last three years. I once thought I knew every expression of this man's face, but now, I felt a strange unfamiliarity.
"Nothing," he replied curtly, returning his gaze to the table.
He's using that tone with me again, like I'm some irrelevant stranger. I suppressed the disappointment in my chest, reminding myself of my mission—to win back his heart. This trip to Rouge wasn't some whim; it was part of a carefully calculated plan. I deliberately chose the main hall rather than a private room, hoping to be seen by more people, ensuring that Stella would eventually hear about tonight's events.
"Are you enjoying Rouge?" James asked me, pulling me from my thoughts. "It's quite selective—not everyone gets in."
I smiled, my fingers lightly caressing my untouched wine glass. "It's lovely. I've heard so much about this place. Though I'm surprised you chose the main floor rather than a private room."
"You specifically requested to see the club," James reminded me. "Private rooms aren't exactly the full Rouge experience."
I slightly adjusted the jacket on my shoulders—Adam's jacket. This simple black jacket meant so much to me. Three years ago, I never received such an intimate gesture from Adam, and now, even if it was only because I complained about being cold in the car, he gave me this jacket, igniting hope within me.
Perhaps time has really changed him, I thought, perhaps he's learned to care for others now.
"I've been curious about this place since I heard it was the first club to blacklist Brian," I said, letting my gaze casually drift toward Adam, testing the waters. "That took courage."
I hoped for some reaction from him, even the slightest hint of pride or confirmation, but his expression remained as impenetrable as an iceberg. If he was Rouge's secret owner, he clearly had no intention of admitting it to me.
James raised an eyebrow. "Why the sudden interest in nightlife? The Grace I remember preferred symphony galas to club scenes."
I let out a practiced laugh, maintaining my elegant image. "People change, James. After living in Europe, I've learned to appreciate new experiences."
Those days in Europe, I thought bitterly, those days I thought I was building my career, those days I foolishly believed Adam would wait for me.
Mark merely raised an eyebrow, saying nothing as he took another sip of his drink.
I turned to Adam, a carefully practiced warmth in my smile. "Thank you again for lending me your jacket. I'll have it cleaned and returned to Lancaster Manor tomorrow."
"No need," Adam immediately replied, his voice flat and final.