Chapter 434

At three in the morning, Adrian Roland jolted awake from another nightmare.

His hand instinctively reached for the other side of the bed, only to find cold emptiness.

Since Stella Valentine had moved back in, he’d grown accustomed to her warmth in the hazy space between sleep and wakefulness. Tonight, she wasn’t there.

A sliver of light seeped from under the study door.

Pushing his wheelchair silently closer, he found Stella slumped over her desk, asleep. The design on her screen remained unfinished, her lashes casting delicate shadows under the lamplight.

The cruel words he’d spat at her earlier resurfaced.

"We ended long ago."

"Stop deluding yourself."

Each syllable had been a blade—piercing her heart, and carving his own in the process.

The screen dimmed, reflecting his pallid face. As he moved to drape his jacket over her shoulders, her fingers suddenly closed around his wrist.

"You came." Her voice was thick with sleep, but her eyes burned bright.

Adrian recoiled as if scalded. "Just passing by."

"With my jacket?" She lifted the fallen garment with a faint smirk. "Since when did Mr. Roland learn to lie?"

He turned to leave, but she held his wheelchair in place.

"I can’t fix this design." She gestured at the screen. "The client needs it by tomorrow."

Adrian glanced at it. "Your color ratios are off."

"I know." She sighed. "But how do I adjust them?"

After a weighted pause, he wheeled closer. His fingers flew across the keyboard, and the design instantly transformed with vibrant precision.

Stella watched, mesmerized. "You always know how to perfect a piece."

"Commerce requires balance with art." His tone remained icy. "You’re too idealistic."

"So that’s why you forced me to practice calligraphy?" The sudden question stilled his hands. "To master that script?"

Dawn’s first light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, etching his sharp profile in gold.

"Yes." The admission came quietly. "Pure selfishness."

He’d wanted to leave his mark on her. To ensure she’d never forget him.

Even if they became strangers, every stroke of her pen would carry his influence.

Stella laughed softly. "And now?"

"What?"

"Still selfish?"

Adrian’s throat tightened as he met her smiling eyes. In the morning glow, he saw his own reflection—the man who could never truly let go.

"About Penny Anderson..." She shifted topics. "Should I handle it as you suggested?"

"Yes." He looked away. "Let her choose."

Just as he was choosing now.

He could have walked away. Instead, he stayed beside her, refining this shared creation.

Selfishness be damned.

Somewhere along the way, Stella Valentine had become his inescapable fate.