Before leaving for lunch, Henry entered the office and silently placed a file on Simon's desk.
"Her resume," Henry informed, waiting for further instructions.
Simon gave a dismissive nod, and Henry quickly exited. The moment the door shut, Simon reached into his drawer, retrieving a sleek, black bottle. He uncorked it, tilting it back as thick, crimson liquid slid down his throat. The familiar burn did little to cool the fire raging inside him.
Setting the bottle aside, he flipped open the file.
"Stella Adams Winchester," he murmured, his voice low, dangerous.
His eyes roamed over the neatly printed details, each line confirming what he already knew—she was brilliant, resourceful, too damn talented for her own good. But then, his gaze landed on a single word.
Married.
His entire body went rigid.
Mrs. Winchester.
That fucking ring on her finger.
The coffee table stood no chance. In an instant, it was airborne, crashing against the wall with a deafening thud. Papers fluttered to the floor like dying leaves, the glass surface shattering into pieces.
Simon's jaw clenched as he stared out through the tinted glass. His mind raced, his anger simmering beneath the surface like a storm waiting to unleash its full force. Something about this—about her—was getting under his skin in a way that made no damn sense.
Henry, hearing the commotion, entered cautiously, his eyes darting to the wreckage. Without a word, he signaled for two cleaners, who immediately set to work clearing the mess.
Simon, meanwhile, retreated into the adjoining room, leaning against the wall, waiting.
She would be back soon.
And she would have to face him.
Stella returned from lunch, the heavy thud of her black combat boots echoing against the marble floor as she approached Simon's office. Before she could push the door open, Henry stepped in her path.
"Mrs. Winchester, you need to go to that room," he said, nodding toward the adjoining office.
Stella arched a brow but nodded, turning in the direction he pointed. Just as she reached for the handle, something nagged at her. She hesitated, then spun back around, gripping Henry's arm firmly.
"Did you really work for Simon?" she asked, her voice lower, sharper.
Henry frowned. "Simon Winchester?" He gestured toward the office door, clearly confused.
Stella's jaw tightened. "The previous one. Not this doppelganger."
Henry let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
His expression was unreadable, but Stella wasn't convinced. Either he was a damn good liar, or Blake and Rocco had been feeding her lies to mess with her.
Her grip on his arm tightened for a second before she let go.
Her eyes darkened as she turned away, stepping toward the room where Simon waited.
Just as she was about to open the door, her phone rang and she walked to the side and picked it up.
"Aunt Stella" said Bella, and Stella smiled.
"Will you pick me up after the office, Momma is asking if that is ok with you" said Bella and Stella laughed at her cute little voice.
"Of Course sweetheart anything for you, love you bye" said Stella, placing a gentle kiss, as Bella made a mwah sound.
Meanwhile Simon who was inside looked at Stella, who was smiling and laughing outside the glass. She looked ethereal with that smile on her face. Only if she ever smiled at him like that. He focused his vamp hearing towards her, and heard her saying love you to someone and knew she was talking to her husband, thought Simon.
Stella knocked the door, and Simon muttered a come in, and Stella entered the room, the smile wiped off her face, just a plain expression.
Just as Stella reached for the door handle, her phone rang. She stepped to the side, answering it with a soft smile.
"Aunt Stella," Bella's sweet voice chimed through the speaker.
Stella's smile widened. "Hey, baby."
"Will you pick me up after the office? Momma is asking if that's okay with you," Bella asked, her tiny voice filled with hope.
Stella chuckled. "Of course, sweetheart. Anything for you." She placed a gentle kiss against the phone. "Love you. Bye."
Bella made a little mwah sound before hanging up.
Inside the office, Simon leaned back in his chair, watching through the glass. She was radiant like this—soft, unguarded, real. The way she smiled, the light in her eyes, it was a version of her he had never seen up close. It stirred something dark inside him, something possessive.
Then his sharp hearing caught the words—love you.
His fingers curled into fists. Her husband. The thought was venom in his veins. His jaw ticked, fury simmering just beneath the surface.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Come in," he muttered, his voice controlled, though his rage was anything but.
Stella stepped inside. The moment her gaze met his, every trace of warmth vanished from her face. The smile that had once graced her lips was gone, replaced with a cold, unreadable mask.
Simon clenched his jaw.
That smile belonged to someone else.
And he hated it.
There was only a couch in the room, and Simon wordlessly shifted, making space for her. Stella hesitated for a second before sitting beside him, keeping as much distance as possible.
She started the presentation, her voice calm and professional.
"The shotguns from our company are widely distributed across military bases, but there's room for improvement. The best approach would be to reduce their weight," she stated, flipping through the data.
Simon frowned slightly, already anticipating where she was going with this. He could read her mind before she even finished her sentence.
"All of us know that the heavier the weapon, the stronger the recoil. While weight helps with impact, excessive bulk affects handling. Soldiers end up with bruises on their shoulders from prolonged use. If we reduce the weight, efficiency improves, and more importantly, precision increases."
Simon leaned back, watching her intently.
Smartass.
"Good," he said simply, masking the amusement in his voice.
"Any other inputs?" he asked, his tone testing.
Stella nodded and continued, explaining the remaining points with the same sharp confidence. Simon listened, analyzing not just her words but the way she carried herself—how her lips barely parted when she spoke, the slight arch of her brows when she made a point, the way her combat boots tapped lightly against the floor whenever she emphasized something important.
It wasn't until she wrapped up the presentation that she realized just how close they were sitting. Their arms nearly touched, the heat of his presence suffocating.
She stiffened and immediately shifted away, putting space between them.
Simon smirked.
He liked watching her run.