The Stars Wont Fall for Love

"*Snap*. *Crunch*. A few bites and he'd be gone." Adrian's face went white. He lunged, fingers closing around my throat. "Hailey Henson, are you *insane*? He's just a baby!" I didn't flinch. Didn't struggle. I craned my neck and met his glare head-on. "I'm insane? Adrian, don't you know in your heart what filthy things you've done?" His grip loosened. A flicker of panic entered his eyes. In the brittle silence, my phone dinged. The expedited paternity test results. I glanced at the screen. The data confirmed everything. The rage I'd been choking down erupted. I grabbed the heavy ceramic teacup from the nightstand and smashed it against his forehead. *CRASH.* "Adrian Vance, you *bastard*! How could you deceive me like this?" Blood trickled down his brow, stark crimson against pale skin. He stumbled back, hand pressed to the wound. Three long seconds passed. Then something shifted in his expression. The mask slipped away. An eerie calm settled over his features. "Hailey... so you know." He frowned, his voice dropping to something cold and transactional. "I admit I deceived you. But for the past two years, my care was real." "Precisely because I wronged you, I tried my best to be a good husband. I gave you resources. I made sure your stepmother didn't dare look down on you. Isn't that more tangible than useless romance?" "You can't have everything. I gave you the dignity of being Mrs. Vance. I just kept a little bit of true feeling for Sara. Is that really so excessive?" I stared at him. It was the first time I'd ever heard someone speak so self-righteously about manipulation and betrayal. Since he had no bottom line, neither did I. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. "Adrian. Transfer twenty percent of the company shares to me. Do it, and I'll let your happy little family reunite." My voice turned to ice. "Refuse... and you can wait to collect your son's corpse." His pupils constricted. His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Hailey Henson. Don't push me. If you dare touch a hair on Bubu's head, I will pull every cent of investment from the Henson family. Your father will be bankrupt by morning." I scoffed. "I don't give a damn." Thomas Henson only had eyes for his new wife and young son. From the moment my mother died, I had no home. I unlocked my phone and held the screen up to his face. The video played: a tiny baby screaming, his face turning a terrifying shade of violet. "I don't know how long he can hold on, Adrian. Four hours without food or water. Just waiting for his biological father to save him." His expression darkened. He stepped forward to grab me— "Adrian Vance!" My voice sliced through the air. "You spent *three years* planning this for Sara Graves. Do you want all that effort to go to waste? Do you want to kill your child?" "The moment I walk out of this room and scream that Bubu and Xixi are the children you used to entrap me, you and Sara will be destroyed. Branded as monsters. And those children will be pariahs for the rest of their lives." I lifted my chin. "You know me. I'm a nobody with no father to love her and nothing left to lose. There is *nothing* I won't do." The veins on his forehead pulsed. He glared at me, hesitating. I tapped the screen. Another video began to play. A small baby lay beside a filthy dumpster. His cries were weak now. Fading. I chuckled. "Who knows what's lurking nearby? Rats? Wild dogs? If they get hungry enough..." Adrian snapped. He grabbed my shoulders, his voice grinding through clenched teeth. "Hailey Henson. You are *ruthless*. Fine. I agree." A pause. "One more condition. Help me get my father to accept Sara into the family. I'll give you the shares immediately." A bleak, broken smile twisted my lips. Even now—with his son's life supposedly hanging by a thread—he was still negotiating for *her*. He never forgot to plan for Sara.

I looked him dead in the eye. "Sign the papers. Then you get your son." As I walked out with the signed agreement in my hand, a bitter smile curved my lips. I wondered—when the day came that Adrian Vance had nothing left, would he and Sara Graves still be so inseparable? The moment Adrian nervously took the child from the nurse, I was already sitting in Ava's car. "Ava!" I laughed—loud, hollow, nothing reaching my eyes. "We just made two billion dollars. My treat. Drive to the Royal Club. I want the most expensive suite and eight male models." Ava frowned, her gaze heavy with concern. "Hailey... if you're hurting, just cry. You don't need to—" I wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye and slapped the equity transfer agreement onto her lap. "I'm not sad. Look at this. Three years of marriage in exchange for a twenty percent stake worth two billion. Who else is that valuable?" My voice dropped. "Before my mom died, she told me: never trust men. Money is a woman's only eternal support." Ava nodded slowly. Then she slammed on the gas and sped toward the Royal Club. When we arrived, I threw a black card onto the reception desk. The manager bowed and scraped, ushering us into the most luxurious private suite and lining up rows of handsome men for inspection. Ten minutes later, Ava and I were sipping vintage red wine while a model with sculpted abs knelt before us, massaging our calves, calling us "Big Sister" with every breath. Men are trash. As long as you have money, there will always be plenty of pretty faces willing to crawl at your feet. The models were mid-laugh when a commotion erupted next door. Through the thin walls, three words pierced my ears. *Sara Graves.* I walked into the corridor. A massive banner was draped across the adjacent suite's entrance. Gilded letters proclaimed: *"Celebrating Sara Graves on the Joyous Birth of her Precious Son and Daughter."* Inside, voices rang out—loud, boisterous, grating. "Sara, you really are the best! No morning sickness, your figure is still perfect, and you became a mother without a single stretch mark!" "Adrian is truly devoted to you. He orchestrated a surrogacy just to spare you the pain!" "In the past two years, he probably touched that haggard woman less than five times! I see his car parked at your villa every single evening!" Then Sara Graves's voice floated out—proud, coquettish, sickeningly sweet. "If it weren't for the children, Adrian wouldn't have touched her *once*. He told me the thought of her body makes him sick. He could only stomach kissing her by closing his eyes and pretending it was me." Another voice chimed in: "Sara, that gang rape rumor... Adrian arranged that too, didn't he? Just to ruin her reputation so you could force her into the surrogacy?" A light, dismissive laugh. "Don't mention that rotten woman. Today we're celebrating *my* babies. Let's drink to their health and happiness!" Cheers erupted. Flattery poured like cheap champagne. My fingernails dug into my palms until the skin broke. My chest felt like it was being crushed in a vise. So it wasn't just the baby. The humiliation. The rumors. The destruction of my reputation. All of it was designed by Adrian. He broke me so I would marry him out of gratitude and guilt—the perfect puppet to carry his children. *BANG.* I kicked the door open. Sara Graves sat in the seat of honor, wearing a crimson cheongsam that hugged every curve. A pearl hairpin glinted in her hair. She looked radiant. Seductive. And I stood there—bloated, recovering from birth, face stained with melasma. We were two different species. Our eyes met. Sara rose, a smug smile playing on her lips. "Oh, look who it is. *Mrs. Vance.*" She raised her wine glass in a mocking toast. "You came at just the right time. I should thank you—for giving birth to such adorable babies. *For me.*" Adrian must have called her. She knew the game was up. No need to hide anymore. A cold smile spread across my face. I strode into the room, grabbed the edge of the banquet table with one hand— And flipped it.

The champagne tower crashed down, glass shattering, liquid spraying everywhere. Screams erupted as the crowd scrambled back. "Boys, tear it up." The lead thug's voice scraped like gravel. "Fifty grand a head. I take the heat for any fallout." A chorus of raucous shouts exploded from his crew. "You got it, Sis! Consider this part of the premium service." They surged forward—muscles rippling under tight shirts, tough, ruthless, efficient. They plowed into Sara Graves's gaggle of toxic friends, shoving them aside like ragdolls. The private room descended into chaos. I didn't hesitate. I darted through the confusion, wound my hand into Sara's hair, and yanked her head back. *Smack. Smack.* Two sharp slaps echoed through the room. She tried to claw back, but Ava Finch was faster. Ava drove her heel into the small of Sara's back. Sara stumbled in her eight-centimeter stilettos, knees hitting the floor with a heavy thud. Right in front of me. No mercy. I gripped her hair tighter, forcing her face up, and delivered two more stinging slaps. Just as satisfaction began to settle in— The door burst open. Adrian Vance stormed in. Disheveled. Chest heaving with fury. "Stop it! All of you, stop!" His face was a mask of ice, eyes burning with suppressed rage. He shoved me aside hard enough to make me stumble, then immediately scooped Sara up from the floor. Sara, ever the performer, dissolved into tears and nestled deeply into his embrace. Her face was already swelling. "Husband... how could she be so barbaric? It must be so hard for you, having to be with this kind of woman just for my sake." Adrian shot me a look of pure loathing. "Hailey Henson, if you have a problem, come at me. You do not touch Sara." His voice dropped an octave. Menacing. Cold. "Apologize to Sara. Now. Admit your mistake, or I'll have your father come down here and teach you some manners." I looked at Adrian. At how tightly he held her. At the depth of tenderness and heartache in his eyes—something I had never witnessed in our years together. It wasn't that his personality was naturally cold. It wasn't that he was too busy with work to care. It was simply that I wasn't the one he loved. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I plucked the cigarette from the fingers of the male model beside me, took a long, hard drag, and blew a cloud of smoke directly into Adrian's face. "Adrian Vance." My voice dripped with disdain. "You want me to apologize to a mistress? Are you insane, or is your skull full of water?" I stepped closer, eyes locking onto his— And jammed the burning end of the cigarette onto the back of his hand. "Leash your dog," I hissed. "Don't let it bark at me. Push me too far, and I'll drag the entire Vance family down to hell with me." Adrian hissed through his teeth, jerking his hand away. Reflexively, he raised his arm to strike— But the male model stepped in, shielding me with his own body. "Mr. Vance." The model's voice was smooth as silk. "You can't hit a woman. Especially not such a beautiful one." Adrian watched me—tucked safely in another man's arms, my hand resting casually on the model's waist. His control snapped. "Hailey Henson," he roared. "You actually came to a club to find gigolos? You just gave birth, and you're this desperate?" Sara supported Adrian as he straightened, shooting me a look of triumphant mockery. "Adrian, maybe Miss Henson has always been... hungry. Remember back then? She was stripped naked and groped by eighteen thugs, and she didn't get hurt at all. Maybe she enjoyed it. Maybe she had the time of her life playing with eighteen men." Adrian's expression twisted. His gaze filled with a cruel, resentful light. "Hailey." His voice was a sneer. "Back then, when they stripped you... why didn't you resist?" He stepped forward, words like acid. "Is it really like Sara said? Did you sleep with all eighteen of them? Did you beg those thugs to ravage you?" I stared at him. The blood drained from my face. This was the man I had adored. The man I had loved. His words were ice blades, stabbing straight into my heart. I pushed the model aside and rose slowly. My eyes were bloodshot as I glared at him. "Adrian Vance, you are an animal. Go to hell." I grabbed a wine bottle from the table and smashed it against the floor. *Crash.* Glass shards exploded outward. My voice rose above the ringing silence—cold and final. "Adrian Vance, back then you hired people to humiliate me. Today you belittle me again." I turned on my heel and strode toward the door. "I will get justice for myself." Behind me, Adrian's voice drifted out, thick with concern. But not for me. "Sara, where did that crazy woman hurt you? Let's get you to the hospital." The crisp night wind hit my face at the hotel entrance, drying the tears on my cheeks. With trembling fingers, I dialed a number. "Uncle Walter." My voice was steady. "This is Hailey Henson. I have a proposition." Hesitant silence on the other end. I cut through it coldly. "I hold twenty percent of the Vance Group's equity. I can help you take the company. In exchange, I want Adrian Vance destroyed." The silence stretched. Then a deep, firm voice replied. "Alright. Thirty minutes. Meet me at the café."