Chapter 281

Chapter 281
Stella's POV

The notification from my design studio pinged on my phone at an ungodly hour, jarring me from a peaceful sleep. I grudgingly reached for it, squinting at the screen in the dim morning light filtering through the blinds.

A reminder about New York Fashion Week. Great.

Multiple luxury brands had sent invitations, requesting my attendance at their shows. Frank Leclerc's brand exhibition was highlighted in red—apparently, he'd specifically requested my presence.

I sighed, letting my phone drop onto the pillow. The irony wasn't lost on me. Two years ago, I would have killed for these invitations. Now they were piling up faster than I could handle them.

Who would've thought Stella Winston would become one of New York's most sought-after fashion designers? Celebrities and fashion magazines were practically fighting for my attention these days.

But first, I needed to handle the backlog of work. The spring collection wasn't going to design itself, and the photoshoot for the winter campaign needed my supervision.

"Stella?" Adam's voice, rough with sleep, came from beside me. "Everything alright?"

"Just work," I muttered, burying my face in his shoulder. "Go back to sleep."

His arm tightened around me briefly before he drifted off again. Despite everything, I smiled into the darkness. These quiet moments felt more precious than any fashion show invitation.

---

The photographer was directing the models with enthusiastic hand gestures while I adjusted the draping on a midnight blue evening gown. The studio lights were blinding, the air thick with hairspray and perfume.

"Stella, what do you think about this angle?" The photographer called over.

I straightened up to respond, but the sudden movement sent a wave of nausea crashing through me. My stomach lurched violently, and I barely managed to mumble "Excuse me" before bolting toward the bathroom.

I made it just in time, emptying my stomach into the toilet. The bitter taste of acid lingered in my mouth as I leaned against the cool porcelain, trying to steady my breathing.

What the hell is wrong with me?

This wasn't the first time. Two days ago, I'd woken up feeling queasy. Yesterday, the fish soup Joseph had prepared—which normally I'd have devoured—made my stomach turn. And just last week, I'd blamed a bout of nausea on motion sickness during a particularly bumpy car ride.

A thought suddenly occurred to me, making my heart skip a beat.

No way. Could I be...?

I did a quick mental calculation. When was my last period? My cycle had always been irregular, making it difficult to track. But it had been... longer than usual.

Holy shit. I might be pregnant.

The realization hit me like a truck, leaving me breathless in the confines of the bathroom stall. Me, pregnant. With Adam's child. A tiny human growing inside me.

Deep breaths, Stella. One, two, three...

It took me nearly ten minutes to compose myself enough to return to the set. I plastered on a professional smile and dove back into work, but my mind was miles away, fixated on the possibility that my life was about to change forever.

---

As soon as we wrapped for the day, I bolted from the studio and headed straight to the nearest pharmacy. I grabbed three pregnancy tests, ignoring the knowing look from the cashier, and practically ran to the shopping mall across the street to use their restroom.

My hands trembled as I tore open the packages in the stall. Follow the instructions. Wait three minutes. Don't panic.

The first test showed two lines. Positive.
The second showed two lines. Positive.
The third showed only one line. Negative.

Two out of three. The majority wins, right?

I'm pregnant. Holy shit, I'm actually pregnant.

I fumbled for my phone and called Sam without thinking.

"Sam? I need you."

"Stella? What's wrong? You sound weird."

"Can you meet me? I'm at Westfield Mall."

"Now? Is everything okay?"

"Just... please come? I'll be at Lavender Desserts on the third floor."

By the time Sam arrived, I'd already ordered and was halfway through a chocolate mousse cake. The sweet taste was exactly what I needed to calm my nerves.

"I rushed over here because you sounded like someone died," Sam said, sliding into the seat across from me. "But here you are, eating cake like nothing's wrong. You scared me!"

I set down my fork. "I need you to come with me to the hospital."

Her eyes widened in alarm. "Are you sick? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just... I think I might have caught something."

Sam leaned forward. "Caught what?"

I forced a dry laugh. "I think I'm... pregnant."

The word hung in the air between us. Sam's mouth fell open, and for a moment, she just stared at me.

Then she abruptly turned to the waitress who was approaching. "I'm not ordering anymore, sorry!"

Before I could process what was happening, Sam had grabbed my bag and was pulling me to my feet. "Hospital. Now."

---

Sam treated me like I was made of glass on the way to St. John's Hospital. She carried my bag, held my arm while we walked, and practically created a human shield around me in crowded areas.

"Sam, I'm pregnant, not dying," I finally said as we sat in the waiting area after completing registration, blood tests, and preliminary examinations.

"You should be careful," she insisted, eyes scanning the room as if looking for potential threats. "You're carrying precious cargo now."

I couldn't help but laugh at her intensity. "I'm not even nervous, why are you so worked up?"

Sam lowered her voice to a whisper. "What brand of condoms were you using? We should report them."

My cheeks flushed hot. "It's... it's not a condom issue."

Sam's eyes widened. "You're telling me... you've been trying to get pregnant?"

"Not exactly trying," I explained, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. "We just didn't use protection a few times."

Sam stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "Stella Winston, the career-focused, independent woman I know, deliberately trying to have a baby at twenty-something?"

I shrugged, unable to fully explain the feeling. "Having a baby with someone you love... it's a beautiful thing, isn't it? I want to give Adam a real family. I want his child to have everything he didn't—love, warmth, security."

A thoughtful silence fell between us, broken only when the nurse called my name an hour later.

The doctor confirmed it: I was pregnant, approximately seven weeks along.

As we left the examination room, Sam placed her hand on my still-flat stomach. "Hello in there, I'm your Aunt Sam. I'm going to spoil you rotten and teach you all the things your mom and dad won't."

I laughed, swatting her hand away. "The baby can't hear you yet."

"Never too early to start," Sam declared with a grin. "I'm calling dibs on godmother, by the way."