Chapter 127

The night was deep.

His touch was gentler than usual, as if handling a priceless treasure. His kisses feathered across her skin with careful reverence.

Stella Valentine drifted into memories of the last time she'd been treated with such tenderness—six years ago in Milan.

It had been Adrian Roland's birthday. Despite the time difference, she'd received his video call right after class. The man on screen wore a crisp suit, but his eyes sparkled with boyish anticipation.

"Little Star, 87 days until your twentieth birthday," he announced like a human countdown clock.

She propped the phone against her easel, laughing. "Mr. Roland has free time now? Who's running your company?"

"Managing my future wife is more important," he declared without shame. "When the day comes, I'll be at the civil registry at dawn."

His words drew giggles from her passing roommate, who demanded wedding candy. Adrian's ears turned pink on screen, but he lifted his chin stubbornly. "Marrying my own woman is only natural."

On her twentieth birthday, Adrian had indeed flown to Milan. He'd swept her into his arms the moment she returned from teaching assistant duties. That night, she'd discovered lovemaking could hold so many variations.

"Mr. Alistair," she whispered.

His lips lingered at her throat. "Hmm?"

"What was I like when we first met?"

A low chuckle. "Wearing a primrose yellow dress, trembling like a startled rabbit."

Her heart skipped. That had been her outfit at sixteen, during her first visit to the Roland family home.

"Before me...were there others?"

His movements stilled. "Why ask now?"

"Curiosity." She forced lightness into her tone. "I've borne two children, but a man your age..."

"Stella." He cradled her face. "The past doesn't matter."

Moonlight slipped through the curtains, tracing the edges of his mask. She touched the cold metal. "Whoever you are, I love you."

"Truly?"

"Of course." Her lips curved. "As long as you're not Adrian Roland."

The air froze.

After a long silence, he simply pulled her closer. "Sleep."

———

Dawn found Stella waking to sunlight.

The bed beside her was cold. Her phone showed all alarms disabled, with one unread message: [Rest. Martha has the children.]

The aroma of chicken soup wafted from the dining room. Ethan Valentine was devouring a drumstick when he spotted her and charged over. "Mommy! Martha said you and Daddy were fighting last night!"

Stella choked on air.

Martha Clementson bounced Luna Roland in her arms, smirking meaningfully. "Children don't understand—some fights between husband and wife are good."

"Did Daddy win?" Ethan pointed anxiously at her neck. "Mommy got hurt here."

Stella clapped a hand over the telltale marks. The mirror showed a trail of crimson from collarbone to chest. As she fumbled for concealer, last night's words echoed: As long as you're not Adrian Roland.

"Mommy!" Ethan whispered conspiratorially. "I saw Daddy this morning!"

Her makeup brush clattered to the floor.

"He's so tall and handsome! Cooler than Iron Man!" The boy waved excitedly. "But Daddy left too fast. I couldn't even call him..."

Stella's throat dried. "You saw his face?"

"Just a little." Ethan's shoulders slumped. "Is Daddy so busy because he needs to make lots of money?"

She pulled her son close, remembering the suit-clad youth who'd carried the world on his shoulders.

"Daddy isn't making money." She kissed his hair. "He's being a superhero."

Twilight deepened as city lights began to glow.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the glittering skyline, my fingers absently tracing the phone screen.

An unread message glowed on the display. The sender's name made my breath catch.

"8 PM. Our usual place."

Seven simple words that sent my pulse racing.

Three months and seven days since we last met.

I'd deleted every contact, yet failed to erase his shadow from my memories.

Drawing a shaky breath, I checked my watch.

7:45 PM.

Just enough time for light makeup and a presentable outfit.

The mirror reflected a woman with delicate features and crimson lips, but her anxious eyes betrayed her.

The café door chimed as I entered, releasing a rush of chilled air scented with roasted beans.

He waited in the corner booth, his silhouette sharp against the dim lighting.

The black trench coat accentuated his lean frame. His tapered fingers drummed the tabletop.

"You came."

Dark eyes lifted to meet mine, fathomless as midnight.

I forced composure as I sat, accidentally knocking over the sugar jar.

"Still clumsy."

His quiet chuckle accompanied the righting of the container. The gesture transported me to a rainy night three years prior—when those same fingers had held an umbrella over me.

"Did you need something?"

I gripped my coffee cup to steady my trembling voice.

After a weighted pause, he withdrew a manila envelope from his briefcase.

"Look at this."

Inside lay photographs of unfamiliar faces and a document titled "Stock Transfer Agreement."

"What is..."

"Your father's legacy."

His soft-spoken words detonated like thunder.

The cup slipped from my grasp, leaving a dark ring on the table.

As the waiter rushed to clean, all I heard was my own frantic heartbeat.

"You've been investigating this?"

My nails bit into my palms as I searched his gaze for answers.

A slight nod. His expression turned inscrutable.

"Not just me."

The café door swung open again.

A sharply dressed man strode in, flanked by two bodyguards.

"What a coincidence."

His smile didn't reach those arctic eyes.

I knew that face.

The last person who saw my father alive.

His final business partner before the fatal crash.