Chapter 77: Same man? Unbelievable?

Adrian peered at the small screen in his hand again, not wanting to believe that the entrance door of his fiancée’s penthouse just closed behind Tom Harlow.

The same Tom Harlow?

It was very very hard for him to believe.

Adrian didn’t realize he had been openly staring at his phone, his mouth hanging open until his friends noticed.

Richard Langford’s sentence trailed off mid-point when he caught the look on Adrian’s face. Victor Hale followed his gaze to the phone in Adrian’s hand. Marcus Ellison raised a brow.

"What is it, Adrian?" Richard asked.

Adrian quickly swallowed. Pride held the truth down hard. There was no version of the real answer that he was willing to put on that table.

He stood up.

"I need to leave." he told his friends flatly.

The men were visibly surprised. Julian Crowe set his glass down. "Now? Why?"

"Something urgent came up," Adrian said. His voice stayed controlled, but it had lost the easy polish from earlier.

He did not wait for more questions. He left the private room, collected his car, and when the door of his car shut, now that he was certain no one was seeing him or would ask questions, he replayed the footage again.

It was still unbelievable.

And it was still Tom Harlow.

The same ordinary-looking man from the wine table. The same man with no title worth mentioning. Walking up to Stella’s door, kissing her and being pulled inside by her own hand.

Adrian’s fingers tightened around the phone.

"Since when, has this been going on under my nose?" he muttered then raised his head as if something at his front would provide an answer to that.

After a few seconds, he gritted his teeth, closed his eyes then opened them immediately and started the engine.

~~~~~~~~~

Back in the penthouse, the locked room had gone quiet in a different way.

Stella had rolled onto Tom’s chest after the hard, breathtaking fuck, one of her legs still tangled with his, half naked, the oversized shirt wrinkled and half-forgotten between them. For a while she only rested there, catching her breath, her fingers idly tracing a line over his skin over his shirt without saying a word.

When she finally lifted her head, her eyes were calm again. Soft, but not girlish, steady in the way of a woman who knew exactly what she had just done and was not scrambling to decorate it with shame.

"What do you like? And what do you dislike?" She asked bluntly.

Tom looked at her, mildly thrown. That wasn’t what he expected after what they just had.

"I’m a simple man," he said after a moment. "Nothing dramatic. I like a lot of things. My biggest dislike is probably the unfairness of life. Some people are drowning in wealth while others struggle just to afford the basics."

Stella’s mouth curved then a low chuckle left her.

"That sounded unexpectedly serious." Her eyes studied him with lazy interest then she muttered with a high level of certainty; "You must have been one of those brainy ones in school."

Tom huffed out a short laugh. "No. I wouldn’t even say I was an average. Back then, I was just trying to survive and not drop out."

"Hmm." Stella rested her chin lightly against the back of her hand on his chest. "Then there’s nothing especially interesting about you." she paused for a moment before adding;

"Well. There are many interesting things about me."

Tom let the corner of his mouth lift. "Go on then. Tell me."

And she did, exactly that, with the composed self-assurance of someone used to being listened to. She told him the kind of coffee she preferred, strong and not drowned in sugar. She told him how roleplay had started as a private hobby and later hardened into a career because she was good at becoming other people without disappearing completely inside them. She mentioned her favorite food, her favorite color, small details offered with no rush and no need to impress.

Tom watched her while she spoke.

"Why are you telling me all this?" he couldn’t help but ask.

Stella met his eyes properly. There was no flutter in the look. Only a clear, mature admission.

"Because I’m beginning to enjoy your company."

At that admission, Tom’s face lit up with a smile, quiet and unforced.

"We should wash up," Stella said after a moment, already shifting as if the practical part of her mind had reasserted itself. "Then eat."

"I’m allowed to stay for a bath and food?" Tom asked, lifting a brow.

Stella gave a small shrug. "Nobody is chasing you out. You’re already here." Then, as if she had read the exact thought behind his eyes, she added evenly, "Adrian won’t come here tonight. He’ll be busy with that wine outing of his."

Tom nodded and started to get up, turning toward the bathroom she had pointed out earlier.

Stella caught his hand before he got far.

"Don’t you know how to be a gentleman?" she asked, half-jokingly, half-seriously.

Tom looked back at her in confusion.

Her gaze flicked pointedly down toward her still-unsteady legs. "They’re still shaking. The least you can do is carry me there and handle the bath."

Tom did not argue. He bent, slid his arms under her, and lifted her with ease. Stella was slim so it wasn’t a hassle at all. She was still faintly trembling against him as he carried her out of the room. A small satisfied smile touched her mouth at the simple fact of being carried without complaint.

They were halfway toward the bathroom when the entrance system beeped.

A second later, the housekeeper’s voice carried faintly down the hall, polite and startled.

"Good evening, sir."

Then Adrian’s voice cut through the penthouse;

"Where is Stella?" he demanded in a loud, sharp tone.

Stella’s body tensed in Tom’s arms. Her eyes widened as the sound of the front door closing echoed through the house.