Chapter Nineteen —The Memorial

The Sinclair estate looked different that morning—quieter, heavier, as though the walls themselves understood what the day symbolized. A soft drizzle had washed the driveway at dawn, leaving the air cold and clear, sharpening every scent, every sound.

Inside the guest room, Dianne stood before the mirror, palms pressed to the wooden vanity. Her heart beat steadily—not out of fear this time, but because she knew something in her life was about to shift.

And she was ready for it.

She slipped into the gown Maya had sent up earlier—a deep, liquid gold with a slit that climbed mid-thigh, the fabric hugging her curves like it had been crafted solely for her body. Her curls were styled in soft waves that cascaded down her back, the front pinned to reveal the full symmetry of her face.

Her skin glowed—warm, soft, and flawless—thanks to the light shimmer she dusted across her collarbone. A pair of diamond-drop earrings framed her jaw gracefully. She finished with a soft, warm-toned lipstick that made her look like she’d stepped out of a luxury portrait.

When she took one last look at her reflection, even she paused.

She didn’t look pretty.

She looked unforgettable.

Her door clicked open. Roy stepped in—and his breath lodged somewhere between his chest and throat.

“Dianne…” His voice was barely above a whisper.

She turned slowly, and for a moment Roy forgot the entire reason for the memorial, forgot the house, forgot the tension from the night before.

She stole his oxygen.

She stole his words.

She stole every thought from his head.

“You look—” He swallowed. “You look like you were crafted, not born.”

Dianne felt her cheeks warm, but she held her chin high. “Thank you.”

He kept staring. So long that she had to touch his sleeve to break the spell.

“Roy… we should go.”

He blinked hard. “Right. Yes. Of course.”

But even as he walked ahead of her, his eyes kept drifting back, like he had no control over them.

When they descended the stairs, the soft chatter from the guests below began to shift. Heads turned—slowly at first, then all at once. Conversations paused mid-sentence. A woman nearly spilled her drink. An older couple whispered to themselves. A young man actually did a double take.

The entire hall watched Dianne as she moved down each step, her dress catching the light like molten gold. Even the string quartet seemed to falter for half a beat.

Karen was standing near the center of the room. When she turned and saw Dianne, her jaw clenched before she forced a smile so tight it looked painful.

Vanessa’s brows shot up. A single, impressed hmm escaped her lips.

Mrs. Sinclair froze completely.

For a fraction of a second, her eyes widened—surprise, irritation, and disbelief all tightening into one sharp expression. She recovered quickly, posture stiffening, but it was too late.

She had seen it.

Everyone had seen it.

Dianne was the most breathtaking woman in the room.

Roy felt the shift too. The pride that swelled in him was impossible to hide. He placed a gentle hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd. His touch lingered, protective… almost possessive.

Karen noticed. Of course she noticed.

As the memorial began, the tension thickened like humidity before a storm. Every whisper, every polite smile, every stolen glance seemed laced with unspoken meanings.

Karen hovered, trying to stay close to Roy, but he barely acknowledged her presence. Vanessa watched all of this with amused curiosity, sipping her drink like she was watching a live drama unfold.

Mrs. Sinclair avoided looking directly at Dianne, but the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed her discomfort.

During one of the speeches, a middle-aged man leaned toward Roy.

“Your plus-one,” he murmured. “She’s stunning. Good taste.”

Roy didn’t respond. He only glanced at Dianne, and the way he looked at her made something inside her tighten—softly, dangerously.

Throughout the service, she was the quiet epicenter of the room—every movement intentional, every breath composed. She didn’t need to demand attention.

The room simply gave it to her.

Near the end, Mrs. Sinclair finally leaned close and said quietly, without warmth:

“You certainly know how to… distract an audience.”

Dianne met her eyes steadily. “I’m not trying to distract anyone, ma’am.”

“Well,” Mrs. Sinclair whispered, “you have succeeded regardless.”

But Dianne didn’t falter. She held her gaze, unflinching, until Mrs. Sinclair looked away first.

Roy noticed.

Karen noticed.

Everyone noticed.

When the memorial ended, Roy walked Dianne to a quieter corner away from the crowd. His voice was low, full of awe.

“You handled all of them,” he said. “All of this. You stood there like you were carved from confidence.”

Dianne smiled faintly. “I didn’t feel confident.”

“Well, you fooled everyone,” Roy said. Then softer, “Even me.”

The air thickened between them. Tense. Charged. Dangerous.

Her heartbeat blurred into the ambient silence. Roy’s eyes flicked briefly to her lips, then back to her eyes, as though catching himself.

But before anything else could happen, Mrs. Sinclair called his name sharply from across the hall.

And the moment shattered.

Just as Roy turned toward the voice of his mother, the door at the far end opened. A tall, well-built man stepped into the hall, slightly breathless, adjusting the sleeves of his suit jacket.

Aaron.

Late, but unmistakable.

His eyes scanned the room lazily—until they landed on Dianne.

He froze.

Actually froze.

His brows shot up, his jaw slackened, and his posture straightened like someone had jolted electricity through him. He blinked once… twice… then whispered something that looked suspiciously like holy shit under his breath.

Without hesitation, he strode forward, weaving through guests with barely contained urgency.

“Roy!” he called out.

Roy turned, relief and excitement flickering across his face. “Finally, man. What happened to you?”

Aaron didn’t answer. Not immediately. His gaze was glued to Dianne, disbelief and admiration blending into one stunned expression.

“That’s her?” he whispered loudly enough for Roy to hear.

“That’s Dianne?”

Roy shot him a warning glare, but Aaron was too shocked to register it.

“Bro… you didn’t tell me she was—” His eyes swept her again. “—like this. Damn.”

Dianne felt heat touch her cheeks, but she held her composure, offering him a polite smile.

Aaron stepped forward, extending his hand. “Aaron. Roy’s friend. And you are… breathtaking, apparently.”

Roy smacked his shoulder lightly. “Stop talking.”

“What? I’m being respectful.” Aaron grinned, then lowered his voice. “Roy, you idiot, you should’ve warned me. I walked in here thinking I’d see the same girl your mother insulted yesterday. Instead I walk in and the entire room looks like they’re trying not to choke on their envy.”

Roy’s lips twitched, but he tried to remain serious. “…Yeah. I noticed.”

Aaron leaned closer. “Your mother’s face—my God. I’ve never seen shock and ego collide so violently.”

Roy let out a low laugh—short, rare, and completely involuntary.

Aaron turned to Dianne. “Honestly, you just caused a family civil war by walking down the stairs. Congratulations.”

Dianne laughed softly, easing some of her tension. “Thank you… I think.”

“Trust me,” Aaron said, “it’s a compliment. A dangerous one, apparently.”

But even as they spoke, a soft click of heels approached from behind Dianne.

Karen.

She stopped barely a foot away, wearing a smile so sweet it was almost acidic.

“So,” she said lightly, eyes fixed on Dianne with razor-edged politeness, “I see everyone is… quite taken with Roy’s guest.”

Aaron muttered under his breath, “Uh-oh,” and immediately stepped back slightly, sensing drama he did not wish to be inside.

Karen’s gaze sharpened as she looked Dianne up and down slowly, her expression flickering between forced admiration and simmering irritation.

“You look… lovely,” Karen said, voice syrupy but stiff. “Really. Very unexpected.”

Dianne felt the faint pulse of adrenaline in her fingertips but kept her voice calm. “Thank you, Karen.”

Karen tilted her head, lips curving. “Though I suppose you must be… overwhelmed? This isn’t exactly the kind of gathering someone like you is used to.”

Roy stiffened. Aaron instantly frowned.

But Dianne did not flinch. She simply smiled — soft, gracious, and lethal.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she replied. “I’ve handled far more intimidating rooms.”

Karen blinked, taken aback.

Aaron smirked. “Oh, she’s good.”

Roy hid a small smile behind his hand.

Karen inhaled slowly, her composure thinning. “Well, I just wanted to welcome you properly. You know… make sure you’re not lost.”

Dianne lifted her chin. “I’m perfectly fine. But thank you for the concern. It’s very… thoughtful.”

Karen’s jaw tightened — subtly, but enough.

Then she looked at Roy, eyes lingering on him too long, too familiarly.

“Roy, sweetheart,” she said smoothly, “I’ll be needing you to help with something later. Don’t disappear.”

Roy opened his mouth, but Karen didn’t wait. She turned sharply and glided away, leaving her perfume and tension behind her like a warning.

Aaron exhaled dramatically. “And that,” he murmured, “was the most polite knife fight I’ve ever witnessed.”

Roy rubbed his forehead. “This is going to get messy.”

Dianne looked at him. “It already is.”

Aaron lifted a brow. “Oh, buckle up. We’re just getting started.”

Mrs. Sinclair drifted back into the main memorial hall, her circle of wealthy friends gathered like jeweled hawks. Delicate laughter floated around them, the kind of laughter meant to cut, not entertain.

Dianne approached politely, trying to maintain the dignity she had carried all morning. She stood quietly at the edge, offering a mild smile as Mrs. Sinclair’s friends turned toward her.

One of them eyed her dress. “Oh, this must be the… companion Roy brought?”

Mrs. Sinclair’s smile widened, sharp as glass.

“Oh yes,” she said sweetly, “this is Dianne. Roy’s… temporary interest.”

A few of the women exchanged looks.

Karen stepped into the circle, folding her arms. “Temporary is generous.”

Dianne felt the first sting under her ribs but kept silent.

One of Mrs. Sinclair’s friends leaned in with false curiosity. “Where did you say you schooled again, dear?”

Before Dianne could open her mouth, Mrs. Sinclair laughed softly and spoke over her.

“She didn’t.”

A pause.

“Because she didn’t go anywhere noteworthy.”

The women chuckled — quiet, cruel, practiced.

Dianne’s throat tightened.

Karen tilted her head. “It’s okay. Not everyone can achieve much. Some people are meant to… fill space.”

Dianne tried to maintain composure, but her chest felt hot, heavy. She inhaled carefully.

Mrs. Sinclair smiled as though she were complimenting her.

“You’re… sweet, my dear. Simple. But let me be honest with you — Roy needs someone who fits our world. These things matter. Heritage matters. Presentation matters. Status matters.”

Her eyes hardened.

“You don’t.”

Karen smirked. “She’s just not Sinclair material.”

That one landed like a blade.

Dianne’s lips trembled before she could stop them. She blinked fast, trying to keep the tears down, but the shame rose too quickly — the pitying glances, the snickering, the subtle shakes of heads.

Mrs. Sinclair’s friends looked at her the way people look at an embarrassing accident — unfortunate but entertaining.

“Excuse me,” Dianne whispered.

But the tears were already falling.

She turned and walked away briskly, head down, vision blurred. She didn’t run — she refused to give them that satisfaction — but her pace was stiff with held-in pain.

Up the stairs.

Down the hall.

Into the guest room.

The moment the door shut, she broke.

Sobs tore out of her chest, raw, shaking. She grabbed her suitcase with trembling hands, throwing in her dress, shoes, toiletries — not bothering to fold anything. Her hands shook so hard she could barely zip the bag.

She didn’t text Roy.

She didn’t call him.

She didn’t leave a note.

She just left.

She rushed out of the house with swollen eyes, dragging her suitcase behind her, ignoring the drivers and staff who stared. She didn’t breathe until she was in the cab, the estate gates closing behind her like the end of something she wasn’t sure she had the strength to fight for anymore.

Meanwhile, in the backyard lounge…

Roy and Aaron were laughing over some ridiculous story from years back, drinks untouched beside them.

“I should go find Dianne,” Roy said at some point. “It’s been too long.”

Aaron nodded. “Yeah, man, go. Before Karen finds you again.”

Roy laughed and headed inside… but when he reached the hall, she was nowhere. Not at the tables. Not near the guests.

He climbed the stairs.

Went to their room.

Opened the door.

Empty.

Her suitcase was gone.

His heart stalled.

“Aaron?” Roy called, panic creeping into his voice. Aaron hurried over. “She’s gone. Her stuff is gone.”

They searched the corridors, the garden, the lobby. Nothing.

Roy rushed to Vanessa, breath unsteady. “Nessa—have you seen Dianne? She’s not in the room.”

Vanessa shrugged casually. “I don’t know. Maybe she left. People leave.”

Roy stared at her. “Vanessa—this is not funny.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “And I’m not joking.”

Roy turned on his heel and stormed down the hall, jaw tight, fists clenched, breath sharp with dread.

He found his mother entertaining guests and walked straight to her.

“Mum.” His voice shook with anger. “Where is Dianne?”

Mrs. Sinclair looked surprised at his tone. “How should I know? Maybe she realized this isn’t her place.”

Aaron stepped beside Roy, sensing an explosion.

Roy’s voice rose. “What did you say to her?”

Mrs. Sinclair stiffened. “Watch your tone. I simply told the truth.”

“What. Did. You. SAY?” His voice cracked.

Mrs. Sinclair folded her arms. “Only what needed to be said. Roy, that girl is not meant for this family. She cannot handle—”

Roy didn’t let her finish.

He stepped back, chest heaving, eyes filling with hurt he didn’t expect.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” he whispered.

Then he walked away.

Not calmly.

Not politely.

He stormed out of the house.

He didn’t even take his car. He snatched Aaron’s keys and left without a word.

Dianne reached home still crying. Maya opened the door and froze.

“Dianne? What happened?”

Dianne broke down again, throwing herself into Maya’s arms.

“They— they humiliated me, Maya. In front of everyone. Roy’s mom… Karen… I couldn’t— I just left.”

Maya held her tightly, stroking her back. “I told you, Dianne. I told you to stay away from that family. And this is when you’re not even dating him yet. Imagine what they’ll do if you fall deeper. Cut him off, Dianne. Cut him off completely.”

Dianne cried harder. “But it wasn’t Roy—”

“I don’t care! His family is a nightmare. And he didn’t protect you.”

“He didn’t know,” Dianne whispered weakly.

Maya pulled back, eyes fierce. “And that’s the problem.”

Hours later…

A knock.

Repeated.

Desperate.

Roy.

Maya opened the door just a crack.

“Where. Is. She?” Roy’s voice was hoarse, breathless, and frantic.

Maya glared. “She doesn’t want to talk to you. Go home.”

“Maya, please—please. I need to know she’s okay. I need to talk to her. Just one minute—”

“No.” Maya pushed the door. “Leave her alone.”

“Maya, please.”

“No!”

Roy didn’t move.

He stayed.

Thirty minutes.

One hour.

Two hours.

Five hours.

He sat on the floor in front of their door, head in his hands, eyes red, refusing to leave.

By the eighth hour — early morning light creeping in — Dianne’s pity overpowered her pain.

“Maya… open the door,” Dianne whispered from behind her.

Maya stiffened. “Dianne—no.”

“It’s not his fault, Maya. Please.”

Maya sighed angrily but pulled the door open.

Roy stood quickly, exhaustion all over his face.

“Dianne…” His voice cracked. “Please.”

But Maya blocked him with her arm. “No. Talk from there.”

Dianne stepped forward slowly, eyes puffy, cheeks blotched from crying.

Roy’s heart shattered at the sight.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Maya scoffed. “Sorry won’t fix what your family did.”

Roy ignored her and looked only at Dianne. “I didn’t know. If I had known—Dianne, I swear—I would have never let it happen. I left everything to come find you.”

Tears welled again, but Dianne shook her head. “Roy… I can’t do this.”

Maya nodded firmly. “Exactly. She can’t do this. Leave.”

Roy’s lips trembled. He lowered his head, defeated, and nodded slowly.

He turned and walked away, each step heavy.

He didn’t go home.

He wandered.

Lost.

Shaking.

Devastated.

His phone buzzed repeatedly.

His mother.

Calling.

Texting.

Messages popping up:

She’s beneath you.

I told you the truth.

Focus on Karen.

This girl will ruin your image.

Do not embarrass this family again.

Roy turned off his phone.

He didn’t want to hear her voice.

Not today.

Not after what she did.

Not after what he lost.