Grace's POV
I blinked, caught off guard by his direct refusal. Before I could recover from the awkwardness, Mark chuckled.
"Grace, you've been gone a few years and already forgotten? Adam doesn't wear clothes other people have worn."
A flash of discomfort crossed my face, though I tried hard to control my emotions. "Oh, I didn't realize—"
"It's his thing," Mark continued, deliberately ignoring the warning look James sent him. "Always has been. The jacket's yours now."
Unless he's changed this habit, for someone. This thought stabbed at my heart like a needle.
I looked at Adam, who seemed distracted, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Was he thinking about someone? This Stella? I suddenly felt a wave of panic—had I truly arrived too late?
Without any explanation, he stood. "I need to make a call."
I watched him leave, and despite my efforts to hide it, disappointment must have been evident in my eyes. He can't even stand to be near me.
"So," Mark said once Adam was out of earshot, "no boyfriend accompanying you on this trip home?"
I forced my attention back to the table. "No boyfriend. My work keeps me too busy for serious relationships."
No one, never anyone who could compare to Adam. In my three years in Europe, I dated, but never allowed any relationship to develop too deeply. Because in my heart, there was always a voice saying: No one compares to Adam.
"Hmm," Mark took another sip of his drink, his eyes clearly skeptical. "Well, you should know Adam's situation has changed considerably since you left."
I maintained my carefully controlled expression, though internally I felt like I was in the midst of a hurricane. "Has it? Someone special?"
"Very special," James confirmed.
I felt sick but forced myself to keep smiling. "I guess it's some socialite?"
There was a sharpness in my tone that even I could hear. Damn it, control yourself, Grace.
James frowned at my tone. "You know, not all socialites are vapid husband-hunters. Some are actually intelligent, talented individuals with their own ambitions."
"Of course," I quickly agreed, recognizing my misstep. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise. So who is this mystery woman who captured Adam's heart?"
"Stella," Mark supplied, watching my reaction closely.
"Ah yes," I interrupted, trying hard not to appear too concerned. "I've heard of her. New York's social darling, isn't she?"
New York's social darling, the title echoed in my mind with mockery. I'd heard this title while in Europe but never paid much attention. In my imagination, she was just a girl gaining attention through family background and a pretty face. How could Adam possibly be attracted to such a type?
James's eyes narrowed slightly. "You've met her?"
"No," I admitted, "but reputation travels. Is she really as impressive as people say?"
Tell me she's not. Tell me she's just temporarily fascinated Adam. Tell me she's not worthy of him.
"Even more so," James said firmly. "Judge for yourself when you meet her."
James is actually speaking up for her? James never easily approved of anyone, especially women. He used to mock our social circle, calling it "the rich people's kindergarten." If even he admired this Stella...
"I'm sure she's lovely," I replied smoothly, though my smile didn't reach my eyes. "I look forward to meeting her."
Looking forward to thoroughly understanding my opponent, I mentally added.
My thoughts raced. Damn it. I hadn't expected these men to be so protective of Stella—especially not James, who had always been extremely picky about his social circle. And the way Mark spoke of her suggested genuine respect, not mere courtesy.
When I decided to return to New York, I had prepared myself for the possibility that Adam had dated during my absence. What I hadn't anticipated was finding him genuinely attached to someone—someone who apparently had won over even his notoriously selective friends.
I shouldn't have left, I thought, watching the direction Adam had gone. I should have stayed and been there for him after the accident.
My fingers tightened around the stem of my wine glass. Three years wasted pursuing my career in Europe, thinking I had time, believing Adam would wait.
How naive. How could I have known someone would appear during my absence?
Now I needed to completely reassess my strategy.
Stella, I thought, the name turning bitter in my mind. Let's see if you're really worthy of Adam.
I'm not someone who gives up easily, especially not when it comes to Adam. I won't let three years of separation and some socialite destroy everything between us.
This is just the beginning.
Adam’s POV
I impatiently drummed my fingers against the armrest of my wheelchair, waiting for Taylor to hand me the phone. The music from Rouge nightclub was muffled to a background noise in our secluded corner. Despite my calm exterior, I was beginning to feel uneasy inside.
Was that really Stella I saw looking down from the mezzanine moments ago? I wouldn't mistake that silhouette, but why would she be here without contacting me?
"Mr. Winston is on the line, sir," Taylor said quietly.
I gave a short nod, my thoughts entirely focused on Stella.
"Hello?" John's voice came through cautiously, with a hint of question.
"Mr. Winston, this is Adam Lancaster." My voice was perfectly controlled, revealing nothing of my emotions.
After a brief silence on the other end, John's voice suddenly became enthusiastically warm: "Mr. Lancaster! What an unexpected pleasure. How are you this evening?"
"I'm well," I replied calmly. "First, I'm calling to wish Mrs. Winston a happy birthday."
"How thoughtful! I'll certainly pass along your wishes," John said, his tone carefully calibrated to sound genuinely pleased.
"Second," I continued, lowering my voice slightly, "I wanted to know if calling my wife to your home today was truly just for Mrs. Winston's birthday celebration?"
The silence on the line lasted too long. He's hiding something.
"I'm not sure I understand your meaning, Mr. Lancaster," John finally spoke, caution evident in his tone.
My fingers stopped on the armrest. "Don't overthink it, Mr. Winston. I simply don't want my wife to feel uncomfortable or under any pressure. Is Stella still with you?"
"Of course not!" John answered, feigning nonchalance, "You needn't worry at all, Mr. Lancaster. Stella is my daughter, after all. I would never allow anyone to mistreat her!"
I could almost picture the cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, despite his voice still struggling to maintain composure.
"She seemed quite happy during her visit," John continued, "She left not long ago. Next time you should come with her—we look forward to having dinner with you both."
I narrowed my eyes slightly. "Is that so? Well, thank you for the invitation. I'll discuss it with Stella."
"Wonderful! Looking forward to it," John replied, the relief in his tone obvious.
"Good night, Mr. Winston." I hung up, not giving him a chance to respond.
I handed the phone back to Taylor, my thoughts racing. Something wasn't right. First Stella's unexpected appearance at Rouge, and now John's obvious lies.
"Call the car," I ordered Taylor, "We're leaving."
I needed to see Grace off, then get back to Lancaster Manor immediately. Stella was hiding something, and I was determined to find out what.