Adam's POV
I stood on the balcony, the cold night air cooling my skin, which was still hot from lovemaking with Stella. Through the partially open door, I could hear her soft breathing as she slept.
Looking out at the dark estate, I found myself unwilling to go downstairs to work, not wanting to be too far from her. I lit a cigarette - a rare indulgence, only allowed when deep in thought.
My phone vibrated. Grace's name appeared on the screen. I considered ignoring it, but ended up answering.
"Lancaster."
"Adam," Grace's voice came through, carefully modulated to sound appropriately apologetic, "I'm really sorry about what happened tonight."
I waited in silence for her to continue.
"I found some of my friends weren't very friendly towards Stella," she said, her apology sounding rehearsed, "I wanted to apologize to her through you, or... can I talk to her directly?"
I turned to look at the bedroom, where Stella was peacefully asleep, her black hair spread out on the pillow, a rare calm on her face.
"She's asleep," I replied flatly.
Grace paused for a moment, her voice lowering to a more intimate tone, "You seem to really care about her, Adam."
I took a deep drag of my cigarette, watching the smoke dissolve into the darkness. "What do you want, Grace?"
"I just..." her voice trembled slightly, "I'm wondering if I can still come to you when I need help. I don't want to cause trouble between you two."
"You can," I confirmed, my tone slightly softened by her vulnerability, "I made a promise to my brother, Grace."
Those words felt heavy, carrying the weight of a promise made years ago on my brother's deathbed - a vow I had always kept.
After ending the call, my gaze returned to where Stella slept.
Tonight, she admitted to being jealous. Jealous of Grace.
The thought brought an unexpected satisfaction. What did it mean? She had possessiveness towards me too.
Stella's POV
I was stuffing another blouse into my suitcase. I'd been packing since dawn, preparing for Milan. This collaboration with Light had been in the works for months.
Adam leaned against the doorframe, those sharp green eyes following my every movement. He'd been silently watching me pack for at least fifteen minutes, his face revealing nothing.
"How long will you be gone?" he finally asked, his deliberately casual tone obviously forced.
I zipped up my cosmetics bag before answering: "A week."
"A week?" He raised an eyebrow. "A fashion show lasts two days at most."
Seeing his obvious attempt to hide his concern, I couldn't help but smile. "Travel takes two days, round trip. Light's show plus preparation and execution will take about three days. Then there's the brand's celebration party, and Frank asked me to dinner to discuss future collaborations."
"Frank seems very free," Adam's tone suddenly cooled, "nothing better to do than ask you to dinner?"
*Ah, there it is. That hint of jealousy.* I bit my lip, trying not to smile too obviously.
"This is work, Adam, not a date," I explained, folding a silk scarf with unnecessary precision.
"Hmm." That noncommittal sound somehow managed to express both skepticism and disapproval. "Is dinner really necessary for work discussions?"
I could no longer contain my amusement. "Are you actually jealous of a French uncle who smells like expensive cigars and only talks about his cats?"
"Obviously not," Adam replied too quickly, his jaw tightening slightly.
*God, he's so fucking adorable when he's jealous.*
I turned back to continue packing my suitcase, hiding my smile. The powerful CEO of GT Group, Adam Lancaster, one of the most influential men in New York, was now acting like a possessive high schooler.
"You could just say you'll miss me," I teased, looking back at him.
"Don't flatter yourself, Mrs. Lancaster," he answered, but his slightly softened gaze betrayed him.
I decisively closed my suitcase and lifted it off the bed. Adam immediately stepped forward, effortlessly taking it from my hands.
"I'll have Joseph put this in the car," he said, already heading for the door.
"The car?" I called after him. "I was planning to take a taxi."
He paused, looking back at me with an expression suggesting I'd said something incredibly stupid. "I'll drive you."
Before I could respond, he had already left with my luggage.
*He's going to drive me to the airport himself?* The thought made my heart inexplicably race, and I firmly told myself not to overthink it.
\---
The Bentley glided smoothly through morning traffic, the engine purring softly as we headed toward Kennedy Airport. I glanced at Adam, who sat beside me in the back seat while Taylor drove. He appeared focused on his phone.
"You're really taking me to the airport yourself?" I finally asked, unable to contain my curiosity.
"It's on my way," he answered without looking up.
*Yeah, right.* The airport was on Long Island, in the completely opposite direction from the company. He was definitely going out of his way for me.
"Don't you need to go to GT Group today?" I continued questioning, watching his profile for any reaction.
"Taking a day off," he replied, still scrolling through emails.
I stared at him in disbelief. *Adam taking a day off? Has the company gone bankrupt? Is it the end of the world?*
"Since when does the CEO of GT Group randomly take days off?" I asked, not hiding my skepticism.
Adam finally put down his phone and lightly tapped my forehead with his finger. "Starting today."
The gesture was unexpectedly playful, leaving me momentarily speechless. This was a side of Adam I was still getting used to—that almost gentle version that occasionally emerged from behind his cold, controlled facade.
*Damn, I really matter to him.*
This realization gave me an inexplicable warmth, yet also left me unsure how to respond.
\---
When we reached the VIP entrance of the international terminal, I picked up my carry-on bag, ready to exit the car. Taylor had already gotten out to retrieve my luggage from the trunk.
"Thanks for the ride," I said casually, ready to leave.
"Stella." Adam's voice stopped me, almost stern.
I turned to find him watching me with narrowed eyes. He impatiently gestured for me to come closer.
"What?" I asked, genuinely confused.
Adam didn't answer. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, his hand still extended in that commanding way of his.
*What does he want now?* Curious and slightly annoyed, I leaned toward him. "Did I forget some—"
Before I could finish, Adam's hand suddenly reached out, grabbing the back of my neck and firmly pulling me toward him. His lips crashed against mine with unexpected ferocity, the kiss almost angry in its intensity.
*What the hell is he doing?*
Just as I was about to push him away, something changed. The initial aggression softened into something entirely different—slower, deeper. His hand on my neck became gentle.
Despite my initial shock, I found myself responding, my body instinctively leaning into him, lost in this unexpected intimacy. For a brief, dizzy moment, I forgot where we were.
When he finally released me, I was breathless, my heart pounding in my chest. Adam's eyes were darker than usual, his breathing slightly uneven as he looked at me.
His hand moved to my nape, fingers lightly squeezing as if reluctant to let go. "Go," he said, his voice deep and rough. "You'll miss your flight."
I nodded, still somewhat dazed, and finally got out of the car. Watching the Bentley drive away, I touched my lips, still feeling the pressure of his kiss.
*What the hell was that about?*
I turned toward the terminal entrance, trying to understand Adam's behavior. It wasn't until I noticed several couples engaged in similar farewell rituals that it dawned on me.
Adam had given me a goodbye kiss. A real one, not for show, not for an audience, but because he wanted to. Because he would miss me.
\---
As soon as I landed in Milan, the whirlwind began. A sleek black car with Light's logo was waiting for me at the airport, taking me directly to a five-star hotel. After a quick shower and change of clothes, I was immediately thrown into meetings with the brand's creative team.
The next two days passed in a blur of fittings, rehearsals, and last-minute adjustments. I barely had time to enjoy the luxury suite, collapsing into bed each night too exhausted to even check my phone.
On the morning of the show, I arrived at the venue at dawn, satisfied as I surveyed the backstage chaos. Models were already getting their hair and makeup done, stylists were steaming garments, and the tech crew was making final adjustments to the lighting.
Everything was proceeding according to plan—until suddenly it wasn't.
"Ms. Winston!" The design director's assistant came running toward me in panic. "We have a huge problem."
I put down my clipboard. "What now?"
"The jewelry—the collaboration pieces for the finale looks—they're not coming."
I felt my stomach drop. "What do you mean 'not coming'? Did something happen with the delivery?"
"No," she said, wringing her hands nervously, "the jewelry designer has pulled out. They've completely canceled the collaboration."
"Which jewelry designer?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Grace Davis," she confirmed, making my blood pressure rise. "The director has been on the phone with her studio for the past hour."
Shit, she is everywhere.