The next morning, Stella stumbled groggily into the living room, her phone in hand as missed calls notification flooded in; she was not surprised that it was all from her grandfather.
After checking her mails and messages she looked up. Her gaze immediately fell on Jackson, seated on the couch, scrolling through his phone.
"Good morning," she mumbled, deliberately avoiding his eyes.
"Morning," he replied curtly, his tone as cloudy as his expression.
Sensing something was off, Stella hesitated before asking, "You... Are you okay?"
Looking up from the phone in his hand "Yes, I am okay", he muttered as his attention deliberately drifted back to his phone.
Stella stood for a while unsure of how to navigate the matter and after a while she couldn't help but ask " then why the cloudy face?"
Jackson's eyes snapped to her, then drifted to the red dress she was still wearing which had some of its part revealing. "Why were you wearing that dress yesterday knowing how revealing it is?" he asked, his voice laced with frustration.
His question struck a nerve, and her temper flared. She had thought they'd moved past this when he changed the topic last night, but clearly, she had been overthinking. "What makes him think he can ask me such an audacious question?" she screamed inwardly, her frustration boiling over.
""And what's with this obsession about how I dress? You have no right to tell me what to wear! We're not that close!"
Jackson's jaw tightened, her words cutting deeper than he'd expected. "Not that close?" he echoed bitterly. "Fine. You can take the door, Miss Stallion. Since we're not that familiar."
He stormed into his room, slamming the door behind him. Stella stood frozen, stunned by his reaction. She couldn't believe she was being reprimanded over her choice of clothing. She couldn't even remember the last time anyone cared enough to criticize her like this.
But she had her pride. She wouldn't let anyone dictate her choices, let alone what she wore. Grabbing her handbag, she left in a huff, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she walked out.
In his room, Jackson paced back and forth restlessly. Over the past few days, he'd felt increasingly unable to control his emotions around her. He couldn't stop himself from questioning, "Why does seeing her dressed like that bother me so much?"
Meanwhile, Stella drove to a hotel owned by the Stallion Group. Once there, she called her assistant to bring a change of clothes. She quickly swapped the dress for something more professional, but her irritation lingered, simmering just beneath the surface.
By the time she arrived at her office, her mood was unmistakably sour. Her assistant treaded carefully, as did the rest of the staff, sensing her agitation. Sitting at her desk, Stella checked her phone, hoping for a message from Jackson. But there was none. Dropping the device onto the desk with a sigh, she muttered under her breath, "Alright, Jackson. Mind your own business."
She leaned back in the chair, a sigh escaping her lips as she struggled to rein in her fraying nerves. She had always prided herself on her self-control, but these past few days, Jackson had effortlessly unraveled her composure, leaving her unable to cling to that confidence.
Gradually, her thoughts drifted back to the morning's events, but the sharp buzz of her phone pulled her from her reverie.
Her grandfather's number flashed on the screen, and she felt the last bit of energy drain from her body. She was tempted to ignore the call, but a text followed almost immediately, delivering the message she dreaded most:
"Family meeting with the Daltons tomorrow to discuss your engagement."
Letting out a long, weary exhale, Stella set the phone down. She needed to find a way out of this mess.
Back at the bar, Jackson was a shadow of himself. His mood had taken a drastic turn since the previous day, and Carl, ever observant, decided to dig into it.
"Did you fight with Stella?" Carl asked, leaning casually against the counter.
Jackson frowned. "We didn't fight."
Carl sighed, rephrasing, "Okay, so did you have a falling out with Stella?"
Jackson's brow furrowed, but he responded, "No. We're not… close."
Carl burst into laughter, shaking his head. "Really? Then why do I always feel like she's your girlfriend?"
Jackson's expression darkened. He knew Carl loved to taunt him, but calling Stella Stallion his girlfriend was pushing it. His smirk was sharp as he replied, "It seems you've grown more talented at spewing nonsense, even while awake."
Carl blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Jackson's scorn. But it was obvious to him—Stella was the only person Jackson seemed to care about since joining them. First, it was the quiet way Jackson paid attention to her drink preferences, even coaching Carl on how to prepare her favorites in case he wasn't around. Later, Jackson showed interest in every business matter involving the Stallion Group.
With a wry smile, Carl remarked, "You really have no idea, do you?"
Jackson narrowed his eyes. "Idea of what?"
Carl shrugged, a knowing grin on his face. "Don't worry about it. You'll figure it out eventually," he said before walking away to attend to a customer.
Jackson remained rooted in place, Carl's words lingering in his mind. What was there to figure out? He had only ever meant well for Stella. And he was sure he hadn't treated her as anything more than a friend—if she could even be called that. After all, she had made it clear: "We're not close."
That evening, Stella didn't show up at the bar as usual, and Jackson found himself glancing toward the entrance more often than he'd care to admit. He was worried, though he wouldn't admit that to anyone—not even himself.
Feeling suffocated, he decided to step outside for some air. Twirling his phone in his hand, he debated whether to call her. Just as he was about to hit dial, a figure leaning against a sleek sports car caught his attention in the dimly lit parking lot.
"Miss Stallion?" he called out, his voice laced with expectation.
The figure turned, and sure enough, it was Stella. She was dressed in an elegant yet understated outfit, her calm demeanor catching him off guard. "Is this better?" she asked, her tone light but with an edge of vulnerability.
Jackson's gaze swept over her, and he nodded. "It's… better."
Stella exhaled in relief, gathering the courage she'd mustered to come here. "Can you stop being angry now?" she asked softly, her voice almost pleading.
Jackson blinked, surprised. Her words tugged at something deep within him. He hadn't realized how much his own frustration had shown. Without responding, he walked past her, trying to keep his emotions in check.
But Stella wasn't finished. She grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks, and before he could say anything, she wrapped her arms around his waist. The embrace was tight, desperate, and it caught him completely off guard.
"Stella…" he began, frozen as his heart raced. He tried to step back, but her grip only tightened.
"Just… let me stay like this for a moment," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Jackson didn't move. For the first time, he allowed himself to stay still, letting her lean into him.
After a while, Stella pulled back, her hands lingering on his sides before dropping. Her face betrayed how much the day had worn her down.
"How long have you been here?" he asked, his tone even but his gaze sharp. Her hands had been ice-cold.
"Since evening," she admitted softly.
Jackson's jaw tightened. "And why didn't you come in?" he demanded, his voice laced with anger.
"I wasn't sure if I should," she replied with a faint, almost shy smile.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration battling concern. "You just stood out here waiting? Do you have any idea how reckless that is?"
Stella tilted her head, studying him. "You're angry," she observed, her calmness in stark contrast to his heated tone.
"Of course I'm angry, Stella," he snapped. "You should've come in instead of standing out here like this."
Her lips quirked up slightly, a mix of amusement and something he couldn't quite place. "I was… thinking," she said vaguely, brushing off his concern.
"Thinking about what?" he pressed, softening as he caught the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes.
"Nothing important," she replied curtly, her smile widening before she quickly masked it. She couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth—that she had come to apologize but lost the nerve.
Jackson sighed, the tension easing. The corners of his mouth twitched upward despite himself. "You're impossible."
"And you're too serious," Stella shot back, a spark of humor in her voice.
The moment between them shifted, the air lighter now. Jackson gestured toward the bar. "Do you want a drink?"
Stella smirked. "Will you let me?"
Jackson knew exactly what she meant, and he wasn't going to let her have free rein. He nodded lightly but added, "Under my terms, of course."
Stella laughed softly, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Yes, your highness," she teased, then added, "but only if you join me by the seaside after."
Jackson agreed without hesitation. As they headed back to the bar, his hand naturally found hers, their fingers intertwining as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Inside, Carl noticed them and couldn't hide his grin. Nodding at Stella in greeting, he didn't bother to ask where Jackson had met her—she hadn't been there when Jackson stepped out. It was obvious: she'd come for him.