Stella's POV
I settled into a high-backed chair near the bar, ordering sparkling water instead of champagne. The day had been long enough without adding alcohol to the mix.
*These uptight bitches are staring like I showed up naked. It's just jeans, for crying out loud.*
I could hear whispered conversations around me, not even attempting to be subtle.
"Grace's welcome party... what's that bitch Stella doing here?"
"God, this is awkward. I can't believe she actually showed up."
"What was Adam thinking, bringing her along?"
*Eat your hearts out, ladies. He brought ME, not any of you.*
I maintained a bored expression while scanning the room. Grace had managed to isolate Adam in a far corner, standing a bit too close while talking animatedly, constantly finding excuses to touch his arm and shoulder.
*Keep your hands to yourself, bitch. He's taken.*
"They make more sense together, don't you think?" A woman in a tacky sequined dress whispered loudly to her friend. "Grace and Adam have known each other since childhood. They share the same background, the same circles."
Her friend nodded eagerly. "I heard Adam sends her rare gemstones every year—just raw materials for her to practice with. Can you imagine? Some women get flowers, Grace gets uncut diamonds."
"That's normal," another woman joined in. "Adam has always had a soft spot for Grace. In all these years, only Stella and Grace have gotten close to him."
Each word stung more than I cared to admit. These people knew a side of Adam I'd never seen—the childhood friend, the gift-giver, the loyal supporter of Grace's career. All I had were a few months of marriage and whatever complicated feelings had developed between us.
*Maybe they're right. Maybe I am just a temporary distraction.*
"Enjoying the party?"
I looked up to find Susan standing over me, malice gleaming in her eyes.
"Thrilling," I replied dryly.
Susan perched on the arm of a nearby chair, deliberately positioning herself so she could see Adam and Grace across the room.
"How does it feel?" she asked with fake sympathy. "Watching your husband with another woman?"
I met her gaze steadily. "Susan, since you've never even managed to get a man to tolerate you for more than one dinner, I doubt you'd understand my feelings even if I explained them." I tilted my head, smiling sweetly. "Or perhaps you're gathering information for when your future husband inevitably finds someone more interesting to talk to?"
Susan's face flushed an ugly red. "Don't you dare curse me like that!" she hissed, loud enough to draw attention. "My future husband will be completely devoted to me, unlike your situation!"
I noticed Adam's head turn toward us at the sound of Susan's raised voice. Our eyes met across the room, and I raised an eyebrow slightly: *See the shit I have to deal with?*
Susan followed my gaze and paled when she saw Adam's cold stare directed at her. She cleared her throat, lowering her voice but maintaining her bitchy tone.
"I don't understand why you're even here," she continued. "This is Grace's party. They have history that predates you."
"If you're so concerned about Adam's happiness," I countered, "why waste your energy trying to annoy me instead of pursuing him yourself? Is it because you know you don't stand a chance?"
Susan's lips thinned into a tight line. "Grace deserves Adam more than someone like you."
I laughed softly, "Look at her, hanging on his every word, touching him every five seconds. It's pathetic."
"You're just jealous they have history," Susan snapped. "Grace was there for Adam through everything—his brother's death, the accident—while you just suddenly appeared and somehow wormed your way into his life."
*That hit a nerve.* "And yet," I observed, letting my gaze drift back to where Adam sat with Grace, "here I am, and there you are. Interesting, isn't it?"
Grace's POV
I led Adam to a more private corner of the room, my heart hammering. This might be my only chance to speak candidly with him without Stella hovering nearby.
"I've been hearing rumors about you and Winston," I began carefully, trying to keep my voice steady. "About your relationship. Is it... is it real?"
Adam's expression remained impassive, those green eyes revealing nothing. "The rumors are false," he said finally.
Relief flooded through me, but it was short-lived.
"But Stella and I are real," he continued, his gaze direct and unapologetic. "Grace, Stella is my wife."
The word hit me like a physical blow. *Wife*. Not girlfriend, not lover—wife. I involuntarily stepped back, reaching out to steady myself against the railing behind me.
"I... I suspected as much," I managed, struggling to maintain composure. "That day in your office, I heard Taylor call her 'Mrs. Lancaster.'"
Adam said nothing, simply watching me process this confirmation of my worst fears.
"When did this happen?" I asked, desperate to understand. "Why wasn't I told? I thought we were friends, Adam. I thought we meant something to each other."
"We married privately," he replied, offering no details or explanation.
*Is that all I get? After everything we've been through together?*
I searched his face for some sign—perhaps regret, or discomfort at having to tell me this. I found nothing but calm certainty.
"Is that why you're telling me now?" I pressed, unable to help myself. "Because she saw us together and got upset? Is she jealous of our friendship?"
Adam's gaze sharpened slightly. "No. I'm telling you because it's the truth, and you asked."
He paused, then added, "You should remember to bring your own coat next time you go out. The weather is unpredictable."
The casual reference to his jacket—the one he'd given me that night at Rouge—made it clear: Stella had indeed seen us together, and she hadn't liked it.
*So that's it. She's forcing him to choose.*
"I understand," I said, struggling to keep my voice from breaking. "We've known each other since childhood. You've always looked out for me. It's my fault, I didn't realize she would be so... sensitive about these things."
Adam's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes hardened at my implied criticism of Stella. Without another word, he turned his wheelchair and headed back toward where his wife sat alone.
*I've lost him. I've really lost him.*
Stella's POV
I stifled another yawn, my body still pleasantly aching from last night's activities. Three rounds with Adam had left me thoroughly exhausted, though I'd never admit that to anyone here.
Adam appeared beside me, his expression softening when he saw me struggling to stay alert.
"Tired?" he asked, a hint of smugness in his voice. "It's only seven."
I gave him a pointed look. "I wonder whose fault that is. Someone kept me up all night, then woke me up at dawn for round four."
Remembering this, his eyes darkened, and I felt an answering heat low in my belly. *Damn him and his effect on me.*
"I have no idea what you're referring to, Mrs. Lancaster," he replied, his voice dropping to that dangerously seductive register.
Before I could respond, Grace approached, her eyes darting between us before fixing on my neck. I realized too late that my collar had shifted, exposing what was undoubtedly one of Adam's marks from last night.
*Oops. Not that I'm actually sorry.*
"Ms. Winston," Grace said, her perfect manners firmly in place despite the tension, "you look exhausted. Perhaps you'd like to retire early? I'm sure Adam wouldn't mind staying a bit longer to catch up with old friends."
*Already trying to get rid of me? Dream on, bitch.*
I didn't bother looking at her as I directed my response to Adam. "I am pretty tired."
Adam's hand came up to brush a loose strand of hair from my face, his touch lingering just long enough to make its significance clear to everyone watching. "Then we'll get you home for an early night."
His thumb brushed against my cheekbone in a gesture so tender it made my heart skip a beat. This wasn't the polite interaction of our business arrangement—this was something else entirely.
Grace's composure cracked, a flash of raw hurt crossing her features before she masked it with a bright, artificial smile. "I should check on the other guests," she said, already backing away. "Enjoy your evening."
As she retreated into the crowd, I couldn't help feeling satisfied. I'd won this round—not because of anything I'd said or done, but because of what Adam hadn't bothered to hide: his genuine preference for my company over hers.