Adam's POV
The bathroom door closed behind me with a soft click. I stood motionless for a moment, trying to understand Stella's unexpected rejection. What was wrong with her?
What had happened at the Winston house? What had those bastards done to her?
I pulled out my phone and texted Taylor:
ME: Find out what happened at the Winston house today. Did they upset Stella?
I stripped and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over me as I replayed the last twenty-four hours. Stella had been fine this morning before going to her grandmother's.
By the time I finished showering, Taylor had replied:
TAYLOR: According to our sources, no obvious confrontation. Stella arrived with a gift, participated in a birthday celebration, then had a private conversation with Mrs. Winston. Left abruptly afterward. Lucy Winston was present but initially remained out of sight. Details of the private conversation unknown.
I frowned at the limited information. Our surveillance of the Winston residence was clearly inadequate.
When I returned to the bedroom, Stella appeared to be asleep, her breathing steady, her back still turned to my side of the bed. I carefully slipped under the covers.
"Better?" I asked softly.
"Mm." Her non-committal response wasn't particularly encouraging, but at least she was speaking to me.
I studied her profile in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Something had changed in her since this morning, something beyond the Winston family's usual manipulations.
"Your contract is ending soon," I said, keeping my voice casual. "GT Group has a Chief Stylist position. Would you like it?"
She remained silent for a long moment. "I'm not qualified for GT's Chief Stylist position."
"Mrs. Lancaster is qualified for anything," I replied, watching carefully for her reaction.
She tensed slightly. "I don't want special treatment."
"This isn't special treatment," I countered. "First, you have the ability. Second, after next month, Ms. Winston will be a highly sought-after figure. And even putting that aside, your relationship with Frank alone qualifies you."
"I'll think about it," she finally said, clearly wanting to end the conversation.
"Sleep," I suggested, leaning over to press a light kiss to the top of her head.
She didn't pull away, but she didn't relax either. Whatever was bothering her, it wasn't just about the Winstons. Something else had happened, something she wasn't ready to share.
As I lay in the darkness, listening to her breathing gradually deepen into sleep, I found myself strangely unsettled. Stella had never shied away from confrontation before. Her directness was one of the qualities I admired most about her.
This new silence felt dangerous, like the calm before a storm.
Stella's POV
The alarm's shrill beeping penetrated my consciousness. I automatically reached out to silence it, then snuggled back under the warm covers, unwilling to face the day—unwilling to face Adam.
"Going somewhere today?" His deep voice came from beside me, startling me fully awake.
My eyes flew open in shock. "You... you haven't gone to work yet?"
What the hell? Adam was still in bed, watching me with those piercing green eyes that always seemed to see right through me. He was dressed in his usual crisp shirt and trousers, but showed no signs of his typical morning urgency.
"No rush today," he replied, scrutinizing my expression.
"Oh." I quickly averted my gaze, afraid he would read the confusion and hurt in my eyes.
The memory of Grace wearing Adam's jacket was still painfully fresh, along with that article showing him greeting her at the airport with flowers. Every casual gesture of affection he'd shown me now seemed cheapened, replicated for another woman with far more history and claim to his attention.
So fucking great. Is he staying home to be available for Grace? Did he take the day off for her?
"I need to get ready," I said, throwing back the covers and sliding out of bed before he could ask any more questions.
I escaped to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and staring at my reflection. Get it together, Stella. You're overreacting. It was just a jacket. Just flowers. You don't own him.
When I emerged, Adam had moved to the armchair by the window, reading something on his tablet. I headed straight for the walk-in closet, selecting my outfit with unusual speed and care—a professional armor of sorts. I needed to look perfect today, untouchable.
"Going out tonight?" Adam asked as I closed the closet door, deliberately shutting him out while I changed.
"Yes," I called through the door, pulling on a tailored dress that emphasized my figure without being inappropriate for daytime meetings. "Light's fashion show starts next week. I'm meeting with their team at your company today for handover discussions."
The door between us felt like a metaphor for the new distance I was determined to maintain. I would be professional, cordial, but nothing more. No more slipping, no more forgetting that our arrangement had an expiration date.
No more pretending this is anything but business.
"Nothing I haven't seen before," Adam commented dryly from the other side.
I ignored him, focusing on making myself presentable. When I finally emerged, Adam was waiting by the closet entrance, with a predatory stillness that, despite myself, made my pulse quicken.
Before I could step past him, his hand shot out, wrapping firmly around my wrist. "Stella, what's wrong?"
"What do you mean?" I feigned ignorance, though my racing heart betrayed me.
In one smooth movement, Adam maneuvered me against the wall, his body effectively caging mine as his eyes searched my face. "Something's bothering you. Tell me what it is."
"Adam—"
"If someone at the Winston house upset you, you should tell me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Mrs. Lancaster should know better than to suffer in silence."
The concern in his voice almost broke my resolve. How easy it would be to blurt out what I'd seen, to demand explanations about Grace. But what right did I have? We had never promised each other exclusivity or even honesty.
I'd rather die than admit I'm jealous over a man who was never mine to begin with.
"Adam," I sighed, "I don't want to talk about it right now. Can you please let me process this on my own?"
His eyes narrowed slightly. "So you did have trouble at the Winston house."
"No, that's not it," I replied truthfully. "I can handle the Winston family situation by myself."
"Then what is it?" he pressed, his fingers gently tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.
I remained silent, unable to form the words that would expose my vulnerability. I saw you with Grace. I saw her wearing your jacket. I saw the article with the flowers. I can't compete with your history.
"Fine," he finally said, his expression softening as he released me. He reached up to ruffle my hair—a gesture that was becoming familiar, almost affectionate. "Take your time. But remember, you're not alone anymore."
The tenderness in his voice made my chest ache. If only that were true. If only I weren't sharing you with someone else.
By Thursday afternoon, I had finalized most of the critical elements for Light's show. I leaned back in my chair, allowing myself a moment of satisfaction at the progress we had made.
"Ms. Winston?" One of GT's project coordinators approached my temporary workspace. "I have something for you."
She handed me an elegantly designed envelope bearing the GT Group logo. "The official offer," she explained, noticing my confused expression. "For the Chief Stylist position. Mr. Lancaster instructed me to deliver it personally."
I accepted the envelope with a nod of thanks, waiting until she had left before examining its contents. The offer was generous—far more generous than industry standards, with a salary that made my eyes widen and benefits package that would make most creative directors jealous.
At the bottom of the document, in familiar handwriting: "No special treatment, just what you deserve. —A"
I stared at those words for a long time, emotions warring within me. Part of me was touched by Adam's belief in my abilities, his insistence that I had earned this opportunity through my own merits.
Another part—the part still smarting from seeing Adam with Grace—wondered if this was merely a convenient way to keep me close, another piece on his chessboard.
Is this how he plans to manage both of us? Keep me busy with work while he rekindles things with Grace?
I glanced at my watch. Nearly five o'clock. Adam would likely still be in his office.
I should talk to him directly, I decided. At least to decline this job offer.
I gathered my things and headed for the elevator, rehearsing what I would say. Thank you for the offer, but I need to advance on my own merits. I can't accept a position that might be seen as favoritism...
The elevator doors opened on the thirty-eighth floor—executive territory. As I stepped out, a familiar figure standing by the reception desk caught my eye.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.