Chapter 3

Stella's POV

The next morning, I woke up to the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Justin was already fully dressed. His tailored suit made him look tall and commanding, his legs long and straight.

Looking at him now, no one would ever guess that this man, who now dominated the New York business world, had been confined to a wheelchair for three long years.

He walked to the bedside holding a cup of black coffee, leaning down to press a soft kiss on my lips.

"Morning, beautiful. I have to fly to Los Angeles," Justin said, his long fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His eyes were so warm they could melt ice. "There's a merger deal that needs my signature. I'll be gone for about three days."

I leaned against the headboard, holding the warm mug. My gaze fell on his right hand.

It was bare. No ring.

But just yesterday, he had signed marriage papers with Chloe in LA.

"Okay," I said, taking a sip of the bitter coffee. The bitterness slid down my throat, settling heavy in my stomach. "Don't push yourself too hard. Keep your legs warm."

"I will. Wait for me at home," Justin said, ruffling my hair before turning to stride out of the penthouse.

The heavy door clicked shut, leaving the massive penthouse in a silence as heavy as a grave.

I set the coffee mug down and got out of bed. Instead of heading to the bathroom, I walked straight into the study. I unlocked the safe and pulled out a pre-drafted equity transfer agreement from the very bottom, along with a sleek business card.

The card read: Arthur Lane, Chairman of the Lane Group.

Justin's grandfather.

No one in the Lane family had ever accepted me. To them, I was just a thrill-seeker who liked extreme sports, a girl from a common background.

Even though I had given up flying for Justin, and even though I had forced myself to become a top Chief Risk Officer to stabilize their family empire, Arthur still saw me as a gold-digger trying to climb the social ladder.

I picked up my phone and dialed Arthur's number.

It rang three times before a cold, commanding voice answered. "Miss Stella, if you're calling to beg for Justin, don't waste your breath."

"I agree to the terms you proposed last month," I said, my voice completely flat, devoid of any emotion. "I will hand over my ten percent stock options in the Lane Group, along with all the core data from the risk management department."

There was a stunned silence on the other end, followed by a mocking chuckle. "So you finally woke up? Finally realized you don't belong in Justin's world?"

"Yes, I don't belong," I said, looking out at the gray New York skyline. "But I have two conditions. First, approve my transfer to the San Francisco branch immediately, with maximum executive authority. Second, give me fifteen days to wrap things up here."

"Fifteen days? Fine," Arthur replied, his voice dripping with the satisfaction of a man who had finally cleared a nuisance. "But after fifteen days, I want you gone from New York forever. Never show your face to Justin again."

"Don't worry. I won't look back."

After hanging up, I let out a long breath.

Fifteen days.

That was the deadline I was giving to this five-year relationship.

I opened my phone. At the very bottom of my contact requests was an invite from yesterday. The profile picture was Chloe, a woman in a white ballet tutu, sporting a radiant, perfect smile.

Chloe's latest Instagram story was posted at 2:00 PM yesterday.

It was a photo of a massive bouquet of red roses sitting next to two official marriage certificates. Although the names were carefully blurred, the corner of the photo captured a man's hand.

On his wrist was a Patek Philippe watch.

The very watch I had bought Justin for his birthday last year.

Her caption read. "He said as long as I need him, he'll always be there. Thank you, fate, for bringing you back to me."

This story was set to be visible only to me.

I stared at the photo, my chest completely numb. The pain had been replaced by a cold, calculating detachment. I wasn't even angry. I just found it pathetic.

I closed Instagram, opened the Federal Aviation Administration website, and logged into my account.

A prompt popped up on the screen. "Your Commercial Helicopter Pilot License has been inactive for five years. Would you like to apply for reinstatement and schedule a re-evaluation?"

Without a second thought, I clicked "Yes."

Justin didn't need me anymore.

It was time to take back my own sky.