ANMELDENDiane’s POV Days passed. Wednesday folded into Thursday. Thursday into Friday. Saturday morning came fast too fast and I woke up with the uncomfortable realization that my weekend had already been claimed by everything except rest. I moved on autopilot. Laundry. Shower. Coffee. A half-hearted attempt at cleaning my apartment before stuffing a small overnight bag with clothes and heading to Susan’s place. When I arrived, the door swung open dramatically. “Well, well,” Jonathan said, leaning against the frame like he’d been expecting a scene. “My girlfriend arrives.” I dropped my bag and smirked. “Hey, boyfriend.” Susan burst into laughter from the couch. “Oh this is already chaotic. I should give you two space.” Jonathan placed a hand over his chest. “Please. Respect our relationship.” Susan threw a pillow at him. Jonathan had the same free spirit as his twin effortless charm, careless laughter, zero hesitation. Being around them felt light. Uncomplicated. Safe.
Diane’s POVBy the time I got home, my body felt heavier than it should have.Not sore. Not injured. Just drained in a way sleep didn’t immediately promise to fix.I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my shoes, barely bothering to switch on the lights. The apartment was quiet, unfamiliar after a day spent around controlled voices and measured movements. I let myself collapse onto the couch, still in my work clothes, staring at the ceiling as if it might explain what had just happened.I hadn’t done anything wrong.And yet it felt like I’d spent the entire day proving something I hadn’t volunteered to defend.I reached for my phone and called Susan before I could overthink it.“Diane!” she said immediately, like she’d been waiting. “Talk. I need details.”I laughed, tired and shaky. “I survived.”“Survived isn’t enough. Start from the beginning.”So I did.I told her about the building the cold, efficient hum of glass and steel, the way voices moved with purpose, the weight of e
Diane’s POVMonday came in like any other day.Nothing dramatic. Nothing new. Just time moving forward, indifferent to whether I felt prepared to move with it.I accepted it the way I had learned to accept most phases of my life quietly, without demanding meaning from it too soon. This job, this building, this version of myself didn’t feel permanent, but it felt deliberate. Like a door I had stepped through without fully seeing what waited on the other side.The executive floor was already awake when I arrived. Voices stayed low. Movement was purposeful. Even the air felt disciplined, stripped of warmth. I reached my desk early, not out of ambition, but habit. Early mornings gave me space to settle before expectations crowded in.Eddie West was already in his office. Through the glass wall, I could see him standing at his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled, posture rigid, attention absolute. He didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. This was a man who assumed the world would adjust itself a
Diane's POV (Real Time) The chant reached me before the kiss did. Kiss. Kiss. It rippled through the room light, playful, careless. I barely registered it at first. My attention was fixed on the stage, on the way Eddie stood beside Shine, on the tension locked into his shoulders. It wasn't nerves. It was control coiled and deliberate, like something waiting to be unleashed. Then he moved. Not hesitantly. Not reluctantly. He pulled her in. Time didn't slow. It fractured. My breath hitched painfully. For one humiliating second, I forgot how to look away. My eyes refused to blink as his hand settled at her waist firm, possessive drawing her closer until her body fit against his with practiced ease. And then he kissed her. Slowly. Deliberately. The room erupted cheers, whistles, applause but the sound collapsed inward, muffled and distant, as though I'd been dragged underwater. My ears rang. My chest tightened until breathing became something I had to conscious
Diane's POV Dinner did not end. It dragged. The silence sat heavy at the table, pressing against my chest until breathing felt deliberate. I kept my gaze lowered, my fork tracing meaningless patterns through food I had no intention of eating. My thoughts spiraled, each one darker than the last. What was he doing here? Why did his presence feel intentional? I lifted my head slowly, as if bracing myself. He was still watching me. Not with curiosity. Not with politeness. But with a calm, unsettling patience as though he had already decided something and was simply waiting for the right moment. His eyes didn't flinch when they met mine. The faint smirk from the club returned, restrained but unmistakable. Heat crept along my spine. I looked away, my fingers tightening until the silverware trembled slightly in my hand. When dinner finally ended, relief came sharp and rushed. We left immediately. The drive home passed in a tense silence, streetlights flashing across the window lik
I started doing my makeup with more care than necessary, as if precision could quiet the unrest inside me. My wardrobe suffered for it. clothes pulled out, rejected, discarded. Fabric brushed my fingers, none of it right, none of it strong enough. I needed something that looked effortless, something that lied convincingly. Then I saw it. The yellow floral dress rested at the back like it had been waiting, pearls sewn delicately along the neckline soft, deceptive. Innocence tailored to perfection. I slipped into it and nodded at my reflection. Perfect, I told myself, though my chest felt tight. I chose the burgundy sandals Susan had gifted me, the color deep and unapologetic, grounding me. My hair went into a ponytail before I deliberately ruined it, tugging strands loose into a messy bun. Controlled chaos. After one last look in the mirror steady eyes, neutral lips I went downstairs. Mom smiled first. Emily followed, her expression cautious, almost guilty. "I'm sorry, sis," Emil







