Chapter 4: Unexpected Meeting

Stella’s POV

My phone buzzed insistently, along with what seemed like a dozen missed calls.

"Stella!" Her voice held barely contained panic. "Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you all day!"

"Sam?" I pressed a hand to my throbbing temple. "What's wrong?"

"Everything! Seven fashion houses just canceled their styling contracts with you. All of them! They're saying..." She hesitated. "They're saying you're 'unsuitable for their brand image' now."

Ice settled in my stomach.  Lucy. It had to be. My dear sister worked fast.

"That's not all," Sam continued. "Remember that company we were negotiating? They've hired a new consultant. Someone named Lucy Winston."

The name hit like a physical blow. My fingers clenched around the phone as memories of those staged photos in the storage room flashed through my mind. Of course – this was just the beginning of Lucy's revenge.

Forcing myself out of bed, I made my way downstairs, my mind already racing through damage control scenarios. The massive staircase seemed to stretch endlessly before me, each step requiring more concentration than it should.  Damn this lingering fever.

A familiar cologne tickled my nose just as I reached the bottom step. Adam sat in his wheelchair near the entrance, absorbed in what appeared to be financial reports. The morning light caught his profile, highlighting those aristocratic features that made him look more like a painting.

"Bastard," I muttered under my breath, thinking of how he'd so readily believed Lucy's fake photos.

His head snapped up, those piercing green eyes locking onto mine.  Shit. I don’t know he also has enhanced hearing.

"Mrs. Lancaster." His voice carried that dangerous silk-over-steel quality that made my pulse jump. "Care to repeat that?"

Before I could respond, my phone chimed with an email notification. Then another. And another.

Seven pristine white emails, each bearing the same message: Contract Termination Notice.

Today just keeps getting better.

---

My heels clicked against the marble floors of Winston mansion, each step echoing with familiar precision. Eight years of memories lived in these halls - some sweet, most bitter. I pushed open the double doors to what was once my sanctuary. The air still smelled of cedar and Chanel, but something was wrong. My gaze swept across the endless rows of designer pieces, stopping at a jarring void where my personal collection should have been.

Someone has been shopping in my closet.

"Looking for what?" Lucy's saccharine voice dripped with false concern. She emerged from behind a rack of evening gowns, wearing my custom dress. The one-of-a-kind piece I'd designed myself, meant to debut at next month's Met Gala.

"That's mine." My voice came out steady, despite the rage burning through my veins.

Lucy twirled, the dress's delicate beading catching the light. "Oh, this old one? Daddy gave it to me. After all..." Her smile turned vicious. "I'm his  real  daughter."

The scissors felt cool against my palm as I picked them up from the nearby vanity. "You know what's funny about being the 'fake' daughter, Lucy?" I advanced slowly, letting her see the intent in my eyes. "I can stop caring about playing nice."

Her eyes widened as understanding dawned. "How dare you—"

The first snip was the sweetest – right through the hand-beaded bodice she'd so proudly flaunted. Lucy's shriek of outrage only fueled my systematic destruction of every piece she'd stolen from my collection.

"Are you crazy?" she screamed, trying to salvage the shreds of the Venus dress. "Do you know how much these cost?"

"I should know." Another decisive snip. "I designed them."

"You—" She straightened, trying to gather her dignity despite standing in the ruins of what had been a couture masterpiece. "At least I didn't have to  marry  my way into designer clothes. By the way, Brian says you're a  terrible  girlfriend."

The scissors stilled in my hand. "Funny you mention him." I met her gaze steadily. "Tell me, dear sister, does he still have that distinctive birthmark on his left hip? The one shaped like a crescent moon?"

The color drained from her face.

"What's wrong, Lucy? Surely as his  girlfriend , you'd know all about that, right?" I smiled, sweet as poison. "Or maybe you only saw it that one time, in the back of his car after the charity gala? While he was still my fiancé?"

"You... you knew?"

"I know everything, Lucy." I turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and that dress you're wearing? The beading contains red coral. You're allergic to coral, aren't you? The rash should start in about... now."

Her scream of frustration followed me out the door.

---

The Met Gala was in three days, and thanks to my scissor-happy moment at the mansion, I had exactly zero suitable gowns left. The thought of wearing off-the-rack to fashion's biggest night made my designer soul cringe.

The shopping halls had always been my safe haven. I'd just finished browsing through many latest dress - nothing quite met my standards - when fate decided I hadn't suffered enough today.

"Well, well. My favorite aunt?"

Brian lounged against a marble column, surrounded by his usual entourage of trust fund parasites. His carefully cultivated bad-boy image might work on socialite daughters, but all I saw was the coward who'd cheated on me with my own sister.

"Heard you spent the night standing in the rain." He smirked. "So desperate to get into Uncle Adam's bed?"

His friends snickered. I felt my hand curl into a fist but forced it to relax.  He's not worth it, Stella.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He pushed off the column, moving closer. "Missing me already? You know..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I know you miss me. Uncle Adam might be rich, but we both know he can't give you what you need in bed."

The slap echoed through the atrium. Brian staggered back, hand pressed to his reddening cheek, shock written across his features.

"Listen carefully, my dear  nephew ." I stepped closer, voice pitched to carry to his gathered audience. "Though your uncle in a wheelchair, he's still someone you could never hope to measure up to. He's still better than a cheating coward who sleeps with his fiancée's sister."

I tuck my tousled hair behind my ear with an elegant gesture. "Besides, I had laid bare on his bed, how could I not know if he’s capable? Or have you tried him as well?"

The gathered crowd's whispers turned distinctly unfriendly. Brian's face twisted with rage. "You bi—"

The sudden hush that fell over the crowd made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I turned slowly, already knowing what I'd find.

Adam sat in his wheelchair at the entrance of the shopping mall, his expression unreadable. But those green eyes... they burned with something that made my breath catch.

"Mrs. Lancaster." His voice carried easily across the now-silent space. "Finished with your shopping?"

Every eye in the atrium darted between us, drinking in the drama. Brian had gone pale, his earlier bravado evaporating under his uncle's arctic stare.

My God, I never expected to meet him here!