Chapter 2

Stella Mercer POV

The moment I decided to marry Adrian Sterling, I felt lighter than ever before.

I decided to go see Julian Vance. Not for any other reason than to put an end to this absurd crush that had started in the snowy mountains and died in reality. I wanted to tell him myself that I was getting married.

Julian's room was at the end of the hallway. As I approached, I noticed the door wasn't fully closed, leaving a narrow crack.

Just as I was about to raise my hand to knock, the scene through the crack hit me like a bolt of lightning, sending a chill straight down my spine.

In the dimly lit room, Julian stood with his back to the door.

In his hands was a bright red dress—specifically, Gemma's favorite haute couture gown.

He then lowered his head slightly, burying his nose and mouth deep into the scarlet fabric. With each deep breath, his chest rose and fell dramatically, accompanied by a low, contented rumble from deep in his throat.

His profile, usually so cold and aloof, was now consumed by a near-pathological obsession and ecstasy, as if that dress were the very oxygen he needed to survive.

My stomach churned, a wave of nausea rushing up my throat.

I bit my lower lip hard to keep myself from making a sound. Standing outside the door, my lips curled into a smile that looked more painful than a sob.

This was the man I had loved for so long. Back in the snowy mountains, even though he was blind, his voice had been so clear and his posture so straight. He had promised me that once he made it out, he would surely repay me for saving his life.

Yet now, he was like a total creep, hiding in a dark corner, obsessing over the clothes of a fake heiress who had stolen my place.

I turned and walked away, without a single trace of reluctance.

Walking down the empty corridor, my past memories sliced through my nerves like razor blades.

When I first returned to the Mercers, I realized everyone adored Gemma. Gemma loved wearing red dresses and laughing loudly, vibrant and fiery.

To please my parents and catch Julian's attention, my reserved, introverted self began to clumsily mimic her.

I put on ill-fitting red dresses and forced exaggerated smiles, trying to turn myself into a flame too. But what did I get in return?

It was Catherine's disgusted look: “What are you wearing? Such a pathetic imitation. You are making an utter fool of the Mercers!”

It was Gemma covering her mouth, mocking me: “Stella Mercer, you're just a peasant deep down. No matter how much you play pretend, you'll never have the grace of a true socialite.”

And worst of all, it was Julian's bone-chilling gaze. He had looked at me as if I were a piece of trash, his voice dripping with blatant disgust: “You will never be her. Stop this nauseating imitation.”

Nauseating? Only now did I realize that the one who was truly nauseating was this man who fancied himself so deeply devoted.

That afternoon was scheduled for Julian's tutoring session.

I sat at the desk as usual, flipping through my books with a detached expression. Before long, Gemma burst in furiously and slammed her textbook right in front of Julian.

“I'm not studying anymore!” Gemma's eyes were red as she pointed aggressively at Julian's face and shrieked, “Who do you think you are? A broke private tutor thinking he's worthy of marrying me? Let me tell you, even if that bitch Stella forced my mom to agree, there's no way in hell I would ever marry you! Get the hell out of the Mercer house!”

The hand Julian was using to write abruptly froze. The chalk screeched sharply against the blackboard. He turned around, his face instantly darkening as a terrifying hostility surged in his eyes. But as he looked at Gemma, he forcibly suppressed that anger, turning it into a restrained indulgence.

He took a deep breath, directing none of his anger toward Gemma. Instead, he snapped his head around, his gaze piercing like a sword straight toward me as I sat there reading.

“Stella Mercer!” Julian strode over to me, slamming both hands heavily onto my desk. He loomed over me, glaring down with gritted teeth. “What kind of nonsense did you spew in front of Gemma? What dirty tricks did you use to force Mrs. Mercer? Who gave you permission to make a mockery of her marriage!”

I slowly closed my book, raised my head, and met Julian's furious eyes. My gaze was as dead as stagnant water—no grievances, no explanations, only endless mockery.

“Nonsense?” I let out a soft chuckle, my voice quiet yet laced with infinite chill. “Why are you getting so worked up? Is it because I exposed your dirty little secrets, or is it because...”

I leaned forward slightly, whispering in a cold voice only the three of us could hear: “...or is it because you're afraid someone will find out you sniff her clothes?”