Chapter 2: So Desperate to Be My Wife?

Stella’s POV

"Joseph, you let her in?" Adam's voice cut like steel through the storm.

The elderly butler must have been standing in the hallway – I'd noticed how he never crossed certain thresholds without explicit permission.

"Sir, you can't remain alone forever." Even from below, I could hear the genuine concern in the old butler's voice. "Lady Eliena... she would have approved of Miss Winston as your wife."

A tense silence followed. Then, "Joseph. This is the first – and last – time you overstep."

Well, there goes my only ally in this fortress , I thought bitterly. Movement caught my eye – a tall figure at the floor-to-ceiling windows. Even through the rain-streaked glass, I could feel his gaze burning into me.

Raindrops traced the delicate lines of my face. My soaked clothes clung to my willowy frame, yet I carried myself with effortless grace.

Do you like the show, Mr. Lancaster? I lifted my chin and met his stare directly, my lips curving into my best socialite smile as I raised my hand in a mocking wave.

I couldn't hear his response, but the way he whirled away from the window spoke volumes. Moments later, his voice carried down. "Before she dies, get her sent back to the Winstons."

---

If it weren't for their threats, only a fool would stand here in the rain.

Another wave of dizziness hit me, and I locked my knees to stay upright. My body couldn't seem to decide between ice and fire – probably the start of a lovely fever.

My phone buzzed – Brian Lancaster.

"Stella baby," his voice dripped with false sweetness that made my skin crawl. "I see you standing in the rain like a abandoned puppy. Just come to me. I'll treat you better than that crippled freak ever could."

A laugh bubbled up from my chest, sharp as broken glass. "Oh, how heartwarming! Isn’t it amusing that the very Brian who couldn't contain himself from leaping into bed with my sister  while we are about to get engaged?"

"Don't act so high and mighty," he sneered. "You know why I went after Lucy? Even with us about to get engaged, you don’t let me touch your hand. At least Lucy knows how to please me."

"Oh? And how many other women have you been teaching , Brian? Does Lucy know about that cocktail waitress from last month? Or that model from the charity gala?"

"You little—" he sputtered, then his voice turned ugly. "You stuck-up bitch. My useless uncle can’t give you anything, even can’t satisfy you in bed. "

The crude words made bile rise in my throat, but I forced my voice to stay clam. "Aww, worried about your uncle's performance? How... thoughtful . But even if Adam were completely paralyzed, he'd still better than you."

"You—"

"And since we're having such a lovely heart-to-heart," I continued, "No matter how hard times get, I’m wouldn’t be with you, a scoundrel. "

His enraged breathing filled the line. I criticized, "Oh, and Brian? Next time we meet, do remember to address me properly. That's Auntie Stella to you now. I'm sure Lucy will be thrilled  to hear about our little chat."

His curse was still ringing in my ears as I ended the call. The world swayed dangerously, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision. Don't give up, Stella. Grandma need you!

The thought of Grandma lying alone in that nursing home sent steel back into my spine. I'd survive this night. I had to.

---

Dawn finally broke over Lancaster Manor, the rain tapering off to a gentle mist. As servants opened the main doors, Adam appeared in his wheelchair.

I forced myself to stand straighter, though every muscle screamed in protest.

"Good morning, Mr. Lancaster." My voice came out huskier than intended, the night's chill having left its mark.

He rolled closer, morning light catching the sharp angles of his face. The way he studied me felt almost... intimate, like fingers trailing across my skin.

"So sorry to disappoint you," I continued, aiming for lightness but landing somewhere near breathless. The fever wasn't helping. "But you need to keep your words – as long as I survive the night, I remain Mrs. Lancaster."

He was out of the wheelchair. My breath caught as he closed the distance between us, all coiled power and predatory grace. His fingers found my chin, and I couldn't suppress a small gasp at the contact. His touch burned against my rain-chilled skin, sending sparks of warmth through my rain-soaked body.

"Mrs. Lancaster?" His thumb traced my bottom lip, the gesture somehow both threatening and sensual. I could feel his breath against my cheek as he leaned closer. "Tell me, Stella Winston..." He drew out my name like a caress. "Are you really so desperate to be my wife?"

Those green eyes captured mine, and for a moment, his touch on my skin, the negligible space between us, the dangerous promise in his gaze. My heart thundered against my ribs, and I wasn't sure if it was from fear, fever, or something else entirely. Even as darkness encroached upon my sight, I could not look away.

His other hand came up to brush a wet strand of hair from my face, the gesture startlingly gentle. "You're burning up," he murmured, and I couldn't tell if the concern in his voice was real or just another trick of my fever-addled mind.

For you, Grandma, I'll survive anything. Even him.