Stella’s POV
The hum of voices in the pub was a comfort, the familiar clink of glasses and the soft murmur of customers settling in for the night. I was behind the bar, cleaning the counters with a practiced hand, making sure every surface gleamed just right. I loved this place. It was mine—well, for the most part. No one could ruin it for me, not unless I let them.
The door creaked open, breaking my focus. I glanced up, my fingers still wrapped around the cloth I was using to wipe down the bar. A tall woman stepped in, her heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floor as she moved with slow, deliberate steps. My first thought was: She’s overdressed for a place like this.
Her gown was tight, so tight it hugged her every curve, and the material shimmered under the low lights of the pub. A
