Chapter 2: Face-to-Face With My Ex

Diana

I was almost at the Villa gate when Charles, Lawrence’s P.A, hurried over to me.

“Mrs. Grant, would you like me to arrange a car for you?” he asked, studying my face for a moment before adding, “Or perhaps I could drive you myself?”

“No!” I snapped, startling him. “I don’t need anyone to drive me anywhere, Charles. If you really want to help, just tell the security to open the gate before I get there.”

He hesitated, clearly reluctant to let me leave in such a state.

“Mrs. Grant, at least let me inform Mr. Grant that you’re going out. Or is he aware?”

I let out a bitter laugh and turned to face him. “Why? So he can tell me I’m embarrassing myself again? Please…Charles, just let me.”

His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but whatever it was, he swallowed it.

The security guards exchanged uncertain glances as I approached the gate, my face set in a hard, unreadable expression. My ex-boyfriend used to tell me I looked intimidating whenever I wore that look.

One of the guards eventually stepped forward, his brows furrowing with concern.

“Mrs. Grant, is everything all right?”

I didn’t even slow down.

“Open the damn gate.” I spat angrily, walking past him before he could ask another question. And thank goodness nobody tried to stop me after that.

The moment I stepped onto the pavement— I walked a little farther from the villa before hailing the first black cab I saw. The last thing I needed was for someone to see me flagging down a taxi outside the Grants’ residence and turn it into a headline. Worse— was someone recognizing me, though I doubted most people would. The cab pulled over, and the driver lowered his window as I hurried toward the back door.

“Where to, miss?” he asked.

I paused, gripping the door handle while I struggled to think of somewhere I could go without being reminded of the miserable life waiting for me at home.

“Somewhere loud,” I finally said, sliding into the back seat. “Somewhere with music, alcohol, and enough people to drown out my thoughts. Eclipse Lounge maybe.”

The driver studied me briefly through the rearview mirror before nodding.

“Rough day?”

“You have no idea.” I leaned back against the seat, staring out the window as the Villa disappeared behind us.

The driver seemed tempted to ask more questions, his eyes flicking toward me in the rearview mirror. “You know, sometimes talking about—”

“Please, don’t,” I cut in, raising a hand to silence him. “I really don’t want to talk.”

He pressed his lips together and nodded, finally turning his attention back to the road.

By the time he dropped me off at Eclipse Lounge, the club was already filling up, despite it being barely seven in the evening. Unlike most clubs that remained relatively quiet until later at night, this place was already buzzing with activity. Music pulsed through the dimly lit room as people chatted, laughed, and danced beneath the colorful lights. Glasses clinked at the bar, and I was certain nobody here knew my name. That was exactly what I wanted.

I slid onto a bar stool and ordered a double whisky. The moment the bartender set it in front of me, I picked it up and drained it in a few gulps, welcoming the burn as a distraction from my husband and the woman he’d brought into our home.

But the images wouldn’t leave me: Lawrence’s hand on Jasmine’s back, the warmth in his voice when he said her name, and the way he’d welcomed her as though she belonged there more than I ever had.

I hated him for it. More than anything, I hated myself for still caring.

Before the thoughts could consume me, I ordered another shot. By the time I was halfway through my third drink, my eyes wandered across the crowded room and settled on a familiar figure near the other end of the bar.

I blinked, then leaned forward, squinting through the haze.

“No, no… that can’t be Harry,” I muttered, letting out a small, drunken burp.

Harry Scot?

The man I had once loved so deeply that I’d imagined spending the rest of my life with him.

He was supposed to be in the States. As far as I knew, he had no reason to return to England, especially after the way I’d left him. I had broken his heart when I chose to marry Lawrence, allowing my family’s expectations to push me into a life I now regretted more than anything.

Sometimes, I wondered whether Harry had ever forgiven me. I doubted it.

With a bitter shake of my head, I tipped back the rest of my drink and placed the empty glass on the counter.

“Another one,” I told the bartender.

He eyed me suspiciously as he reached for the bottle. “Are you sure you’re all right, miss? You’ve had quite a bit already.”

I waved him off impatiently. “Keep your fucking mouth shut, and just pour.”

He hesitated before filling my glass and sliding it toward me.

I wrapped my fingers around the glass, but before I could take another sip, a familiar voice sounded from behind me.

“Excuse me?”

Deep. Slightly husky. Unmistakably familiar.

My fingers tightened around the glass as a shiver crept down my spine. Slowly, I turned my head.

The same man I’d glanced at a few minutes ago who looked so much like Harry Scot, was now standing right beside me. Up close, the resemblance was even more unsettling. His broad shoulders filled out his black jacket, and his features looked sharper and more mature. But those dark eyes, that familiar lips and nose shape…

My breath caught.

For a moment, I could only stare at him, struggling to make sense of what I was seeing. He looked so much like Harry, but it couldn’t possibly be him. Harry had left for the States. He couldn’t just appear in a London nightclub out of nowhere.

Could he?

I blinked, hoping the alcohol was playing tricks on me, but the man remained right where he was.

I blinked, then blinked again.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice coming out weaker than I intended.

His brows drew together the moment I spoke and his eyes widened.

“Diana?”

Hearing my name in that voice nearly broke something inside me.

I stared at him, my gaze drifting to the scar above his eyebrow. Harry had exactly the same scar. I remembered the first time he’d shown it to me, complaining that it made him look dangerous. I’d laughed and kissed it until he stopped pretending to be offended.

“Harry?”