Chapter 4

Stella’s POV

Julian took a call regarding foundation business and stepped out of the boutique.

Only Camilla and I remained in the fitting room.

The moment the heavy door clicked shut, the warm smile vanished from Camilla's face. She looked me up and down with cold disdain, as if inspecting a piece of cheap furniture cluttering her living room.

"You're nothing more than a placeholder," Camilla said coolly. "Stop daydreaming. Julian has only ever loved me. You were just a distraction he kept around to kill time while I was gone."

She took a deliberate step closer, leaning into my ear, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. "Do you want to know why he kept you around for so long? Because your eyes look like mine. Your profile looks like mine. Every single time he looked at you, he was thinking of me."

I stayed completely silent.

I set the mirror back onto its stand and turned to walk out. Camilla's eyes suddenly landed on the vintage watch resting against my wrist, and her gaze sparked.

"Nice watch," she said, reaching out to grab it. "Let me see."

I pulled my arm back sharply. That watch was the only heirloom my mother had left me. I wouldn't let anyone touch it.

Seeing me dodge, Camilla lunged forward aggressively. During the scramble, the leather strap snapped, and the watch went flying, crashing hard against the marble floor.

The crystal shattered, and the delicate hands stopped dead.

Camilla glanced down at the broken pieces and gave an indifferent shrug. "It's just an old watch. I'll have Julian buy you a brand new Cartier later."

Looking at the shattered glass on the floor, a suffocating pressure crushed my chest.

I raised my arm and slapped Camilla across the face.

The crack echoed sharply in the quiet dressing suite.

Clutching her cheek, Camilla stared at me in pure disbelief. "You hit me?"

I didn't answer. My hands were shaking, but I stood completely straight.

The door swung open, and Julian walked back in.

The red welt on Camilla's cheek caught his eye instantly. His face darkened. He stormed over and shoved me hard.

"What the hell are you doing?!" he barked, his voice laced with fury.

I stumbled backward, catching my heel on the corner of the stone fireplace surround. I tumbled forward, the side of my forehead smashing brutally against the sharp marble edge. A flash of blinding pain tore through my skull, followed by something thick and warm trickling down my cheek.

I looked down. Drops of blood dripped onto the stone floor. One drop, two drops, three.

Julian glanced at the shattered watch on the tiles, then at the blood pooling along my hairline. His brow furrowed in annoyance.

"It's just a damn watch," he snapped, exasperation dripping from his tone. "Did you really have to get physical? Look at Camilla's face—it's completely swollen!"

I pressed a hand to my bleeding forehead. I didn't cry, and I didn't offer a single word of defense.

Blood seeped past my fingers, running down my forearm. I stood frozen in place, watching Julian gently wrap an arm around Camilla's shoulders, murmuring soft comforts and asking if she was in pain. I watched Camilla bury her face in his chest, weeping delicate tears.

A sudden, eerie stillness washed over me.

It felt as though something fragile inside my soul had quietly shattered, so silently that only I could hear the pieces hit the ground.

That watch had belonged to my mother.

She passed away when I was twelve. Right before she died, she took the watch off her wrist and fastened it onto mine, telling me her mother had passed it to her, and now it belonged to me. The casing was worn smooth, and the strap had been replaced twice, but it had never lost a single second.

Once, I had accidentally lost it and cried inconsolably. When Julian found out, he searched every coffee shop and park bench I had visited, staying out in the freezing rain all night. He came back running a fever, clutching the watch with a scratch on the glass.

Back then, I genuinely thought he cared about me.

Now I finally understood: all he ever cared about was the face that resembled Camilla Frost.

The watch was ruined, and he called it "just a damn watch." My head was bleeding, and he accused me of making a scene.

All these years, I wasn't even worth as much as a broken watch to him.

I lowered my hand. The bleeding had slowed, congealing into a dark crimson streak down my face.

I notified the front desk staff and took a cab to the nearest urgent care clinic.

The doctor told me the laceration wasn't too deep—just two stitches, leaving minimal scarring. I lay on the examination table staring blankly at the fluorescent lights above, silent through the entire procedure.

Julian never came home that evening, nor did he call.

As I walked out of the clinic, my phone rang. It was Chloe Sterling.

"Stella, where are you?" Chloe asked frantically. "Julian told me you got into a fight with someone! Are you okay?"

I touched the gauze taped to my temple. "I'm fine."

"Come over to my place. Let me make you dinner," Chloe insisted. "I need to talk to you."

After a moment's thought, I agreed.