Chapter 432

The white chrysanthemums in the funeral parlor were wilting. Adrian Roland gazed at the plane tree leaves drifting past the window, his fingers absently tracing the armrests of his wheelchair. His grandfather's final words—"Take care of yourself"—still echoed in his ears, yet here he was, pushing away the love of his life.

"Master Adrian has returned," Benjamin Langley pressed a glass of warm water into Stella Valentine's hands. "He doesn't look well."

Her fingers trembled around the glass. Adrian hadn't glanced at her once since the eulogy. The cup clinked sharply against the coffee table as she grabbed her coat and rushed out.

The master bedroom door stood ajar, the setting sun stretching the wheelchair-bound silhouette into a long shadow. Stella froze at the threshold, suddenly afraid to approach. His back looked frailer than three years ago, yet more resolute than ever.

"Does your leg still hurt?" She gently touched his shoulder.

He brushed her hand away. "The funeral's over."

Five icicle-sharp words stabbed her heart. Stella stared at her suspended hand, remembering how his Adam's apple had bobbed when she'd tied his tie that morning. Back then, his eyes still held warmth.

"The children start school next week. Their tutor arrives tomorrow." Adrian turned his wheelchair to face her. "You should leave."

A plane tree leaf spiraled onto the windowsill. Stella focused on that dead leaf as she heard herself say, "I was hired as a live-in nanny."

"Triple the severance pay."

"Adrian!" Her hands clenched the wheelchair arms. "Your grandfather's body isn't even cold yet, and you're throwing me out?"

The wheelchair jerked back half a meter. Adrian pressed pale knuckles to his forehead. "I'll assign someone to manage Shi's Jewelry. The Eastside villa is already under your name." When he looked up, his eyes were glacial. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Stella stumbled backward into a wardrobe. The metal handle dug into her spine, but the pain was nothing compared to his words. Not even during their divorce trial had he looked at her like this.

"What if I refuse?"

"Then we'll settle it in court." Adrian tossed a folder onto the bed. "The evidence of your unauthorized company fund transfers is enough for criminal charges."

Papers scattered across the floor. As Stella bent to gather them, she noticed every document bore his signature. He'd prepared this long ago—while she'd stayed up nights compiling his reports, while she'd massaged his legs during rehab.

"The children need their mother." Her grip turned the papers translucent.

"And what do I need?" Adrian suddenly lurched forward, the wheelchair screeching. "Stella, when you testified for Vincent, when you brawled for Joy, even when you paid some stranger's medical bills—" He slammed a fist against his paralyzed legs. "Why am I only worth your pity?"

Clouds swallowed the sunlight. Stella watched his trembling hands in the shadows, remembering how he'd whispered her name last night through pain-induced delirium. Now those same hands were shredding their future.

"We could start—"

"Enough!" Adrian hurled a bedside photo frame against the wall. Glass shattered as their wedding portrait split down the middle. "You won't even lie to me."

Shards skittered to Stella's feet. As she reached for the broken glass, a sliver sliced her finger. Blood dripped onto Adrian's smiling face in the photograph just as the wheelchair's motor whirred to life.

"Move out tomorrow." He paused at the door. "Or I'll call security now."

The click of the closing door finally broke her. Stella bit her lip bloody to silence her sobs, just as she'd done countless nights when he'd endured agony without complaint.

The cruelest revenge wasn't hatred—it was withholding even that.