Chapter 255

Stella Valentine snapped back to reality, her fingertips trembling slightly. "I was just talking nonsense."

"Did Mr. Alistair also injure his arm?" Adrian Roland's gaze was piercing. "Left or right?"

"...Left arm."

"What a coincidence," he chuckled softly. "Same as mine. How did it happen?"

Stella shook her head. "He never told me."

"...I see."

"What about you?" she countered. "How did you get hurt?"

"Car accident." Adrian's tone was flat. "After you left the country. It was bad, but I've mostly recovered now."

Stella gave a slight nod.

It sounded less severe than Mr. Alistair's injury.

She'd once glimpsed Mr. Alistair's arm by accident—the entire limb twisted and deformed, as if deliberately mutilated rather than damaged in an accident.

The cruelest part was that she'd never learned the truth.

That secret would forever be buried with his departure.

"He didn't tell you," Adrian's voice suddenly softened, "because he didn't want you to worry."

Stella's lips twitched. "I didn't expect you to defend him."

"You thought I'd hate him?"

"..."

"I was jealous, yes. But I don't hate him." Adrian's eyes darkened. "He saved you when you were at your lowest. If not for him—"

Stella cut him off. "That's between him and me. It has nothing to do with you."

Drawing clear boundaries was her last line of defense.

Whether with Victor Valence or Adrian Roland, she treated them the same.

She had a husband—Adrian Roland II.

That was the name she'd chosen herself.

Adrian sensed her distance and tactfully stepped back. "You shower first. I'll wait outside."

The bathroom door clicked shut.

The water temperature was perfect.

Her body temperature ran low, so she preferred cooler showers—a habit he still remembered.

She finished quickly, wrapping herself tightly in a towel before stepping out.

The living room was eerily silent.

Adrian was curled on the sofa, his tall frame making the furniture seem comically small. His brows were furrowed, arms crossed over his chest like a child seeking security.

As if sensing her gaze, his eyes flew open.

"Little Star?" His voice was rough with sleep.

"Done. Your turn."

"Okay." Rubbing his temples, he stood—then suddenly frowned. "What's that scent?"

"I didn't use any fragrance."

"But the air smells... comforting."

"You're exhausted." She turned away. "Shower and get some rest."

It was nearly a retreat.

During daylight hours, she could maintain clarity. But nights always blurred her resolve.

The resemblance was uncanny.

If not for the difference in their voices...

She clung desperately to the memory of Mr. Alistair's voice. The years ahead were long, and she feared even this last remnant would fade with time.

"Mommy?" Ethan peeked out, rubbing his eyes. "Did Daddy leave again?"

"He's showering."

The boy visibly relaxed. "I thought he went to fight bad guys again. Mommy, can Daddy sleep with me tonight?"

"He has work tomorrow—"

"Just one night!" Ethan's pleading eyes locked onto hers. "I'll be extra good after this."

The words pierced her heart.

She'd failed Ethan in so many ways.

Apart from those brief months with Mr. Alistair, her son had never known a father's love.

"Ethan," she knelt to his level, "remember the daddy who bought you Iron Man?"

Ethan pointed confusedly toward the bathroom. "Isn't that him?"

"They're two different people."

The child tilted his head. "I can't tell them apart."

Stella's chest ached.

Ethan had been only five when they left, with barely any time with Mr. Alistair. Given Adrian's striking resemblance, the confusion was inevitable.

Traces of Mr. Alistair were disappearing bit by bit.

Would she eventually be the only one who remembered him?

Once, there was a man who loved her with his entire being—then stayed forever on the other side of the stars.

Who else remembered Mr. Alistair?

Her. Uncle Xavier. Charlie Macmillan.

But now, even those witnesses to their past were gone.

"Mommy's crying?"

"No." She hastily wiped her face.

As Ethan reached out, strong arms suddenly lifted him high.

"Daddy!" The boy gasped in delight, immediately lowering his voice.

Adrian pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't wake your sister."

Ethan covered his mouth, whispering, "Mommy looks sad."

"Mommy is very brave." Adrian's gaze met hers.

The child blinked. "Daddy, can you sleep with me tonight?"

"Having nightmares?"

"I'm a big boy!" Ethan puffed his chest, then remembered to whisper, "I just want... to know what it's like waking up with Daddy there."