Stella's POV
"I don't want or need your public apology," I replied calmly. "The current rumors don't actually affect me much. Your apology isn't worth anything to me."
Her expression flickered with surprise, clearly not expecting this response.
"I noticed your wrist," I continued, gesturing toward the bruises she was now attempting to hide by pulling down her sleeve. "You don't strike me as someone who would show up here voluntarily, especially after everything that's happened."
Lucy laughed bitterly. "What, you think I don't have the backbone to face you?"
"If you had that much backbone, you wouldn't have those bruises," I pointed out. "Don't bother hiding them. I've had similar ones."
She stared at me, disbelief written across her features. "John never hit you."
"Didn't he?" I raised an eyebrow. "If he's willing to hit his biological daughter, do you really think he drew the line with me? Family violence isn't a one-time thing, Lucy."
Lucy's eyes widened slightly as my words sank in. "I don't believe you."
"You don't have to," I shrugged. "But think about it—if you had grown up in the Winston house from birth instead of being the recently returned prodigal daughter, do you really think your childhood would have been any better than mine?"
She remained silent, her fingers unconsciously tracing the bruises on her wrist.
"I'm not going to hold this incident against you," I said finally. "But this is the last time, Lucy. I don't want to see you again. Please tell John that whether I forgive you or not, I have nothing to do with the Winston family anymore."
"You don't hate me?" Lucy looked genuinely confused. "Stella, I nearly destroyed your reputation! Why are you being so magnanimous?"
I smiled slightly. "Originally, I wasn't planning to let this go. But suddenly I'm in a good mood, so I changed my mind."
The truth was more complicated. Looking at Lucy now—bruised and fearful—I couldn't help but see shades of my younger self. And despite everything, I recognized that if Lucy hadn't returned to the Winston family when she did, I might never have found the courage to break free.
In a strange way, I actually owe her for that.
"Go home, Lucy," I said softly. "This is over."
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, a mixture of confusion and what looked like relief washing over her face.
Poor girl, not worth it for this garbage family.
When I returned to Adam's side, John was still trying to engage him in conversation, though Adam's monosyllabic responses made it clear he had no interest in prolonging the interaction.
"We should go," I said to Adam, deliberately ignoring John.
"Stella," John began, his tone placating, "I hope we can move past this unfortunate incident—"
"Winston," Adam cut him off coldly, "my wife and the Winston family have no connection anymore. Is that not clear to you?"
John's smile faltered. "Now, Adam, that's not entirely accurate. I may not be her biological father, but I raised her. The bond of nurture is just as strong as the bond of nature."
Adam simply stared at him, saying nothing. The weight of his silence was more effective than any threat could have been. I watched as John's confidence visibly crumbled under that steady gaze, sweat beading on his forehead despite the mild temperature.
I wish someone could record this moment, John's pretentious face finally cracking.
"It seems," Adam finally said, his voice dangerously soft, "that even you recognize the problem with what you just said. In that case, I suggest you refrain from approaching my wife in the future."
He placed his hand on the small of my back, gently guiding me toward the manor entrance.
"Stella!" Lucy's voice suddenly called out, stopping us.
I turned back to see her standing a few paces away, her expression conflicted.
"That video I posted," she said, her voice strained but determined, "I was encouraged to do it. Someone contacted me that day, telling me it was the perfect time to share my side of the story."
"Lucy, get in the car!" John ordered, his face reddening with anger.
Lucy ignored him. "It was Grace Davis, Stella. She orchestrated the whole thing."
The sun was setting by the time we entered the manor, casting long shadows across the marble floors. Adam had been unusually quiet since Lucy's revelation, his expression thoughtful but unreadable.
"What's wrong?" I asked as we settled in the comfortable sitting room. "You've barely said a word since we left the gate."
"Nothing," he replied, pulling me into his arms and holding me tightly against his chest.
I couldn't see his face from this position, only the elegant curve of his ear and jawline. "Adam, seriously, what's bothering you?"
"I just wanted to hold you," he murmured, his voice vibrating against my cheek.
I understood then. Grace's involvement in Lucy's video attack had affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit. Adam had known Grace for years, had trusted her to some degree, and had maintained a connection out of respect for his late brother. Learning that she had targeted me not once but twice—first through Sam and now through Lucy—had clearly struck a nerve.
He felt responsible, though he'd never say it aloud. His arms tightened around me, as if he could somehow shield me from harm through sheer physical closeness.
You can't protect me from everything, Adam. But it's sweet that you try.
That evening, after a quiet dinner, my phone chimed with a text message. Emma Davis's name appeared on the screen:
「Grace boarded the flight to Europe this afternoon. As promised, she will not return to New York.」
I typed a simple response: 「Thank you for keeping your word.」
Setting my phone aside, I moved to the window, gazing out at the darkness that had settled over the grounds of Lancaster Manor. The garden lights illuminated pathways between carefully tended flower beds, creating pools of golden light in the vast darkness.
One storm had passed, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it was merely a prelude to something larger on the horizon. Still, for tonight at least, I could breathe easily, knowing that Grace Davis was no longer a threat lurking in the shadows of my new life.
I turned away from the window, back toward the warmth of the room where Adam waited, and allowed myself to feel, if only for a moment, that perhaps I had finally found my place in the world.