Chapter 4

Stella’s POV

The phone rang relentlessly, pulling me back to reality from my dreams.

I squinted at the incessantly buzzing phone and saw Sam's name flashing on the screen. Before I could even say "hello," her voice blasted through my foggy consciousness like a cannonball.

"Stella! Lucy sabotaged all those fashion design collaborations you were working on. They've hired other stylists instead." Sam's voice carried undisguised anger. "You need to handle this ASAP."

The news hit me like a bucket of ice water, instantly washing away any trace of sleepiness. Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes as my brain kicked into high gear.

"Got it. I'll look into it," I said, pushing my hair away from my face. "I'll contact them today."

"Still in bed?" Sam's tone suddenly turned suggestive. "Was your night life too intense? How's married life treating you?"

I rolled my eyes, grateful Sam couldn't see my expression through the phone. "You're imagining things."

I spoke while getting out of bed, my throat feeling desert-dry. Slipping on my slippers, I decided to go downstairs for water.

"That bastard..."

The words died on my lips as I reached the staircase landing, my gaze falling on the figure in the living room. My heart skipped a beat.

Adam .

He wore a perfectly tailored designer suit, looking like he'd stepped straight off the cover of a high-fashion magazine. He glanced up briefly, his eyes cold as a frozen lake in winter.

Shit, did he hear me?

"Sam, something's come up. I'll call you back." I hastily ended the call, my mind racing to formulate an explanation for my words.

But Adam didn't even give me a chance to speak. After that single glance, he turned and walked out, the front door closing with a dull thud behind him.

I exhaled in relief, figuring he probably hadn't heard what I said. Still, calling him a "bastard" might have been excessive. Considering our current marital arrangement, "stranger" might be more appropriate.

Regardless, at least now I could get my water in peace.

Back in my room, I opened my laptop while sipping the water I'd retrieved from the kitchen, checking my work emails.

Seven fashion studios that had previously committed to working with me had all backed out in less than a week. Their emails were politely worded but utterly insincere, making excuses about "scheduling conflicts" or "sudden adjustments" forcing them to terminate our collaboration.

Do they think I'm an idiot? Someone's obviously interfered.

My phone pinged with a news notification. I glanced at it,"Lucy Winston Stuns in $800,000 Couture, Dominates Event! Solidifies Socialite Status!"

Clicking the link, my blood instantly froze—Lucy was wearing the limited-edition gown I had specially commissioned from my friend, Dior's head designer, three months ago! It was something I'd been saving for this year's fashion gala, with a completely unique design.

I stared at the photo, anger burning in my chest. What is this? Not only sabotaging my work, but wearing my clothes too?

Thirty minutes later, I stood outside the Winston mansion, dressed and ready for confrontation. I rang the doorbell, but no one answered. I easily entered the security code, and the door opened immediately.

Eighteen years of living habits are hard to break.

As soon as I entered, I heard movement from the dressing room upstairs. I quietly climbed the stairs and pushed open the half-closed door. The scene that greeted me made my anger explode.

Lucy was wearing another of my haute couture gowns—it had been custom-made for me just three months ago. She stood before the full-length mirror, admiring herself and taking photos.

"Taking without asking is called theft!" I said coldly.

Lucy jumped, startled. When she turned and saw me, her eyes first lit up, then filled with anger. "Stella, how did you get in?"

I walked into the dressing room, looking around. At least a dozen of my haute couture dresses hung there. These were pieces I'd carefully collected over the past few years, each worth a small fortune.

"My clothes. Take them off," I said directly.

Lucy lifted her chin defiantly. "Stella, watch your attitude! I'm the Winston daughter—who are you? Just some adopted trash!"

She stepped closer, her voice filled with hatred. "If you hadn't stolen my life, I would have been the Winston heiress from birth. I would be New York's premier socialite! The fact that I haven't made you pay with your life for this theft shows how kind and merciful I am!"

Lucy pointed at the dresses hanging in the closet. "As for the clothes—what I'm wearing and what's hanging in the closet—they all belong to me! Don't even think about taking them!"

"Lucy, understand one thing," I said calmly. "From the day I married Adam , I no longer owed you anything." After a pause, I added, "So you won't take it off?"

I walked to the vanity, taking out a sharp pair of tailor's scissors. Under Lucy's horrified gaze, I approached the rack and began cutting through those expensive haute couture dresses.

"My dresses!" Lucy screamed, rushing toward me. "My limited edition... This is the head designer's work... Stella, stop it! Have you lost your mind?!"

My hands didn't pause for a moment as I continued turning one priceless dress after another into scraps of fabric. "Sorry, my hand slipped."

Finally, I walked over to Lucy and violently tore the dress she was wearing. The exquisite fabric made a ripping sound as it tore. She stood frozen in shock, her face pale.

I shrugged helplessly. "I told you to take it off, but you wouldn't listen."

Lucy's eyes flashed with malice, her voice trembling. "Stella, is this how you thank me for my wedding gift? I specially prepared it for you and that cripple, considering Adam's... problem down there. Did you like it?"

She narrowed her eyes maliciously. "Or are you jealous that Adam is my boyfriend now?"

I forced a smile. "No, congratulations to you."

At the door, I turned back to add, "By the way, if you dare sabotage my career again, you'll see what happens!"

Congratulations on finding my garbage in the trash can!

A few days later, I was browsing through a high-end Manhattan mall, looking for ready-to-wear pieces that could replace my destroyed couture dresses.

Just as I was about to enter the Chanel boutique, I heard familiar laughter.

"Look! Isn't that Stella Winston?"

"Oh wow, it really is! Her socialite status might be fake, but her beauty is real! That face!"

An oily male voice chimed in,"Brian, honestly, I've dreamed about sleeping with her, but she was your fiancée then, so I didn't dare. But now... heh!"

I wasn't surprised to hear Brian respond,"Sleep with her all you want! She's not my woman anymore, so why should I protect her?"

"Thanks, Brian!"

"After you're done with her, pass her to me? That woman looks like she'd be amazing!"

Hearing these words, I felt nauseated. This was the so-called "high society," discussing how to take turns "sleeping" with a woman right in front of her, as if she were an object to be passed around.

Fucking disgusting.

I took a deep breath, planning to ignore them and walk away. However, Brian had already blocked my path, his gaze shamelessly roaming over my body with revolting desire.

"Stella, you heard what they said. With just my approval, there are plenty of men who would treat you as their plaything. Your only choice is to beg me—"

SLAP!

My palm connected solidly with his face, the sound echoing through the mall corridor. Everyone around us stopped, their attention focused on us.

Brian held his cheek, staring at me in disbelief. "Stella, you dare slap me?"

"Brian," I said with a cold smile, "I didn't slap you to hurt you, just to help you wake up. Are all men in the world dead that I'd have to beg you? Who gave you such confidence?"

His face twisted with anger, but I didn't stop.

"Isn't my husband a thousand times better than you? Hmm? Dear nephew?"

"You—Stella, you've lost your mind!" Brian shouted. "He is crippled, he has problems... down there!"

My eyes narrowed as I suddenly realized this was a perfect opportunity to humiliate this arrogant jerk. Although my marriage to Adam was just a transaction, at this moment, I was willing to give everything for this performance.

"Brian, in my eyes, my husband is the best!" My voice carried clearly to those around us. "Besides, whether he can perform or not, wouldn't I, the one who's been naked in his bed, know better than anyone? Or has you also tried him out too?"

Brian's face turned purple with rage. "You're the one who—damn it!"

He suddenly looked past me, his voice becoming respectful. "Uncle, what are you doing here?"

Uncle?