Henry's POV
Something was off with Stella.
I clocked it the second she stepped into the classroom—pale as hell despite the makeup, hands trembling as she sorted her notes, leaning on the lectern just to stay upright. Still, her lecture was brilliant—breaking down contemporary design so even the dense stuff clicked effortlessly.
But ninety minutes in, her voice started quivering. By two hours, her gestures stiffened, words stuttered out, sheer grit keeping her going. A few students exchanged looks, concern creeping in, but she didn't back down, pushing through.
"The intersection of modern cultural appropriation and appreciation—"
She didn't finish. She swayed, grabbed the lectern hard, papers spilling everywhere. Then she crumpled.
I didn't think—just vaulted over desks and lunged, catching her before she hit the floor. She was burning up, skin like a goddamn furnace.
"Professor!" I yelled, panic spiking as her eyes fluttered shut. "Someone call the medics!"
The room erupted—students scrambling, some yanking out phones, others crowding in. I eased her to the ground, fumbling with her collar, brain racing through half-remembered first aid.
"Back off!" I barked, shoving the gawkers away. "She needs air, damn it!"
"Move."
The voice at the door cut through, commanding as hell. I knew it instantly—Adam fucking Lancaster. He was standing there, suit screaming money in this shabby classroom, face dark like a storm was rolling in.
Before I could protest, he strode over, scooped her up like she weighed nothing, standing tall and steady.
"Mr. Jones," he said, glancing at me, eyes cold enough to freeze my balls off, "you're not needed here."
His tone was a kick in the teeth. I didn't even get a word out before he turned, carrying her off, her head lolling against his shoulder.
"Wait!" Lisa yelled from the front row, grabbing her bag and bolting after them. "Stella!"
I was stuck there, watching her husband haul her away, feeling like a useless asshole. Robert Davis—didn't even notice him in class—trailed his sister, shooting me a smug, pitying look as he passed.
Lisa paused at the door, spinning back to snap at me, "What's with that jealous face? They're legally married!" Then she was off after her boyfriend. "Robert, where did Mr. Lancaster take Stella?"
Their voices faded down the hall, leaving me in the mess of scattered papers and whispering students, a total fucking idiot.
A classmate nudged me. "Henry, isn't that the guy from the library yesterday? The one staring at the professor?"
"Yeah," I muttered, mechanically gathering her notes, "that was him."
"Hot as fuck," he said, eyeing my expression. "Dude, why did you let him take her? I thought you were into her. Fight for it!"
"I didn't deserve her," I said quietly, stacking the papers neat.
"You? Not deserve her?" He snorted. "Looks, family, brains—what didn't you have? How was that guy better?"
I gave a bitter laugh. "He had everything over me."
"At least tell her how you feel," he pushed, "or you'll regret it, man."
My phone buzzed—Dad calling. Weird for daytime.
"Henry," his voice was crisp, "our firm had a big deal with GT Group. They named you for the project lawyer spot. Get home now."
Pieces clicked, and my spine chilled. GT Group—Adam's damn company.
"Got it," I said flat. "On my way."
Hanging up, reality slammed me like a lead weight. One slick business move, and Adam had shoved me out of her world.
I never had a fucking shot.
---
Adam's POV
"Fever and low blood sugar," the doc said, flipping through Stella's chart. "Not critical, but she needs rest, fluids."
I stared at my unconscious wife on the hospital bed, IV dripping into her arm. "How did the fever start?"
He coughed, awkward as hell. "Clinically, uh… sometimes overdoing it—intimate stuff—could spike a fever. Young folks didn't always know when to quit!"
I froze, last night flashing back. Did I push her too fucking hard?
"She'll be fine," he added quick, misreading my reaction. "Rest and antibiotics, she'll wake soon."
Like clockwork, Stella stirred, eyes cracking open slow, confusion all over her face. She spotted me and frowned.
"Adam?" Her voice was hoarse, weak. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"You passed out," I stepped to the bed, explaining. "I brought you in."
She tried sitting up, wincing as the IV tugged. "Why were you at my class? Dropping off divorce papers?"
"Lawyers weren't done yet," I said, easing her back to the pillow.
"I saw you before I went down," she pressed, stubborn even now, eyes narrowing. "If not papers, what the fuck were you there for?"
I dodged it. "Stella, is this how you took care of yourself? Sick and skipping the doc? Burning up and you didn't feel it? Trying to fry your damn brain?"
"None of your fucking business!" she snapped, shoving my hand off.
"Not my business?" I raised a brow. "Stella, I was your only legal guardian."
"Fuck off!" She struggled up, IV line swaying.
"Stella, don't—" I warned, reaching to stop her. She jerked, and blood backflowed into the tube. My chest tightened.
Before I could fix it, the door swung open—Lisa and Robert barged in. Lisa rushed the bed, her usual bounce gone, face pure worry.
"Stella! You okay? We were freaking out!" She spun to me, eyes wide. "What did the doc say? She's good, right?"
Robert lingered at the door, eyeing Stella's IV with a weird look as the blood pooled from her thrashing.
"Just a fever," I cut Lisa off, blocking her from piling onto my still-weak wife. "She needs rest."
"I don't need rest," Stella protested, voice thin. "I'm leaving."
"Stay fucking put," I shot back, adjusting her line to stop the backflow. "Fever drops first."
Robert stepped up, zeroing in on her arm. "Needle's off," he said cool, "angle's wrong—blood's backing up."
I shot him a sharp look, surprised he knew his shit. Before I could respond, a nurse hustled in, fixing it fast per Robert's call.
"Robert's right," Lisa piped up, proud. "He studied medicine before switching to business!"
As the nurse reset the needle, Stella relaxed a fraction, but the glare she leveled at me could cut glass. That fever flush made her look fragile yet fierce, and fuck, it twisted something in my chest.
I wasn't letting go. Not because of sickness, not divorce, not anyone.
The thought dug in as she bickered with the nurse about when she could bolt. My stubborn, badass wife—fighting everyone, everything, even herself. It was maddening, and hell, I loved it.