Chapter 46

Joy Fairsprene lifted her chin triumphantly. "See? I wasn't lying."

Zachary Ellison froze, hastily wiping his palms on his pants before extending a hand. "Hi, I'm Zachary."

Stella Valentine gave a polite, brief handshake. "Stella Valentine."

"That's such a beautiful name!"

Joy crossed her arms and shook her head. "Zachary, you were so cocky on the phone earlier. What happened to all that bravado?"

His ears turned red as he fidgeted. "You just said you were bringing a pretty friend. You didn't mention she was... this level of stunning. And you usually hang out with us rough guys—how was I supposed to guess—"

Joy stomped her foot. "Do you believe me now?"

"Yes, yes!" Zachary's eyes sparkled. "Miss Valentine, are you a celebrity?"

"No."

"Then..."

"I'm currently between jobs."

He jumped in eagerly. "So you're in grad school? You look like you're barely twenty."

Stella chuckled. "I'm actually twenty-six."

"No way!" His eyes widened. "You and Joy were classmates?"

Joy lunged at him. "Zachary, what are you implying?"

"Wait, wait!" He dodged, laughing. "Normally I'd be mad you're hitting me, but since you brought such a gorgeous friend, I'll let it slide!"

The commotion drew attention from the gaming area. A red-haired guy slung an arm around Zachary's neck. "Yo, new girlfriend? This one's way hotter than that plastic-surgery disaster from last time."

Zachary bristled. "Shut up!"

Others crowded around, teasing and catcalling.

Joy stepped protectively in front of Stella. "Back off. My friend isn't feeling well."

Zachary immediately fretted. "What's wrong? I know some specialists abroad—"

"No need," Stella said with a faint smile. "The medical care here is excellent."

Laughter erupted around them. "Ouch, Zachary. Shot down hard."

Flushing, Zachary changed the subject. "Are we playing or what? Let's hit the pool tables!"

On the way, Zachary was excessively attentive—offering drinks, adjusting the temperature.

Joy rolled her eyes. "Zachary, dial it back a notch."

He grinned unapologetically. "A gentleman must pursue a graceful lady."

At the pool tables, they split into teams.

Zachary puffed out his chest. "Stella, just sit back and watch. I can take them all by myself."

Joy scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Stella spoke softly. "How about I break first?"

Zachary waved a hand. "Go for it. I've got your back."

She picked up a cue, expertly chalked the tip. Leaning low over the table, her gaze sharpened.

A crisp crack—the balls scattered, four sinking simultaneously.

The room fell silent.

Over the next ten minutes, Stella cleared the table with fluid precision. When the final black eight ball dropped, Zachary's jaw still hung open.

"Sorry, I'm a bit rusty," she said, setting down the cue.

"R-rusty?" he stammered.

Joy doubled over laughing. "Zachary, you just tried to show off in front of a master!"

"Miss Valentine," Zachary gaped, "you could go pro. Who taught you?"

Stella's expression dimmed. "...My ex-husband."

Memories surged—college days when Adrian Roland would take her to pool halls, later teaching her himself. She'd learned quickly, soon matching him shot for shot. Back then, he'd get jealous if she even spoke to a waiter, always pulling her into shadowed corners to—

"Excuse me," a staff member interrupted. "This area's been reserved."

Zachary scowled. "We're not done yet."

The door swung open.

A tall figure stepped inside.

When their eyes met, the air turned to ice.