Chapter 348

"So, this is my punishment?"

Stella Valentine's voice was calm as still water. "I don't want to dwell on the past. Please stop harassing me."

Adrian Roland's fingers tightened around his phone. "Fine. But I have one request."

"More proof that you're Mr. Alistair?" Stella sighed. "Just two days ago, you promised that if I played along with your charade, you wouldn't interfere when he comes back for me."

"Stella, I'm not interfering. Even though my memories aren't fully restored, all the evidence points to me being him! If you don't believe me, Grant Rubenstein can vouch—"

"Grant Rubenstein?" Stella let out a cold laugh. "He works for Mr. Xavier Atlante. I don't even trust you—why would I trust him?"

Silence stretched for several seconds.

"Adrian, let's end this."

"...Promise me one thing."

"Go on."

"Don't block my number." His voice dropped low. "If you're ever in danger, call me immediately."

Stella's tone was firm. "Mr. Alistair would never hurt me."

"...Alright." His bitter chuckle echoed before the call disconnected.

A sharp pain pierced her chest.

She pressed a hand over her heart, waiting for it to fade.

"Stella, are you unwell?"

"I'm fine."

"Who upset you like this?"

"...Adrian Roland."

The man smirked, a shadow flickering in his eyes. "My long-lost brother. It's time we met."

Stella frowned. "You're dropping the disguise?"

"Thirty years is enough." He swirled his teacup absently. "As a Roland heir, I should pay my respects before Grandfather passes."

"Grandfather Edward has been in good health lately—"

He extended the cup. "Freshly brewed."

"Thank you." She accepted it but hesitated.

He took an elegant sip. "Just a final rally. The elderly all face this eventually."

Her chest constricted.

Setting the cup down, she said, "You can't blame Grandfather. They thought you'd died as an infant—"

"Stella," he cut in, "not all parents love their children. Their hearts were always biased."

"How would you know without spending time with them?"

"How do you know I haven't?"

She faltered.

"Mr. Alistair, you've changed."

He arched a brow. "Four years apart changes people."

A Samoyed nuzzled Stella's feet, licking her palm affectionately.

"Did you ever name him?"

"Dogs don't need names."

"What did you call him these years?"

"Dog." He sounded impatient. "Food and shelter are enough. Take me to the Roland estate tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Celeste's surgery is—"

"Stella!" His voice sharpened. "Children grow up—that's inevitable. When can we go?"

She froze.

His indifference—toward the dog, the child, even her—felt alien.

Was it because of that letter?

"Mr. Alistair, I didn't mean what I wrote. Mr. Xavier Atlante forced me—"

"What letter?" He looked genuinely confused.

"He didn't show you?"

"No idea what you're talking about." He set the cup down roughly. "Give me a definite date. I'm tired of hiding like a clown."

"You're in a hurry?"

"Don't you want us to be together openly?" His laugh was cold. "First we could only meet at night. Now you want to wait longer?"

Stella studied him intently.

Abruptly, his expression softened. He clasped her hand. "I'm being too pushy. Stella, drink your tea before it cools."

Her gaze fell on the steaming cup.

"Mr. Alistair."

"Hmm?"

"...Have you forgotten I can't drink hot water?"