All Chapters of Désiré Me 2: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

DianeHis gaze moves almost imperceptibly towards the closed door, towards the hallway beyond, where Liam might still be standing guard. The threat is crystal clear. My father knows. Maybe he knows everything. Or he guesses enough to use it. It's a fatal poker move.A sob tears from my chest. I turn on my heel, yank open the heavy study door, and flee. My footsteps echo in the dark corridors, hurried, disordered. I pass shadows, servants who step aside with surprised looks. I don't see them. I only see my father's waxen face, and behind him, the grotesque and menacing shadow of Gregor Volkov.I reach my room, slam the door, and collapse against it, my body shaken by violent, silent sobs. Terror floods me, cold and nauseating. Despair, a black abyss, opens beneath my feet.Everything is collapsing. My illusion of control, my dangerous games with Liam, my dreams of discovering a truth… all swept away by this sordid transaction. I am no longer Diane,

 DianeThe door closes on his back. The silence he leaves behind is heavy, electric. His words still echo in the room, in my head. From now on, every tear is a weapon you give them.My gaze fixes on the panel of dark wood. There, just seconds ago, he was still there. Liam. Not the bodyguard. Not my father's henchman. Him. The one who saw the horror and didn't look away. The one who uttered such an absolute "no" to my sealed fate.The fear, the icy distress, retreat. Not vanquished, but overwhelmed by something else. A rising tide, burning, uncontrollable. It is born from the depths of my belly, from that place he touched, possessed, awakened this afternoon. It consumes shame, resignation. He spoke of war. Of changing fronts. He appointed himself my general. My protector. My avenger.But I don't need a general right now. I don't need strategy.I need fire. His fire. The one that shattered everything. I need to feel that I am alive, not me

DianeA strangled laugh escapes my lips, immediately turning into a hiccup. Shame rises, burning, acidic. It gnaws at me from within. I threw myself at him. I begged him. I offered myself as a sacrifice on the altar of my own despair. And he accepted. Of course he accepted. What man would refuse?The tears come then. Not the silent tears of last night, full of passive horror. These are violent, heart-wrenching. They spring from the depths of my chest, torn out by a feeling of total collapse. I'm not crying for my father, or for Volkov. I'm crying for myself. For the woman I've become. The desperate woman who uses the body of a near-stranger like a drug, an anesthetic.I curl up on my side, burying my face in the pillow that still smells of his shampoo, his unique scent. Each sob shakes me like an earthquake. They are loud, ugly, uncontrollable. I can't believe what's happening to me. I can't believe this infernal spiral. A marriage contract that is an auction. A bodyguard who becomes…

DianeI get into the car. My father sits beside me. Liam closes the door, a dull, final sound, then takes his place in front, next to the chauffeur.The journey is a tunnel of silence. The city streets, so familiar, scroll past the tinted windows like a disconnected silent film. None of us speak. My father's breathing is steady, indifferent. The scent of new leather and air conditioning is nauseating. I watch the back of Liam's neck, straight, motionless. A rock in this landscape of icy absurdity.The Bentley pulls in under the marquee of the Hôtel des Bergues, the oldest and most prestigious palace in the city. The liveried doormen bustle about, but everything seems to unfold in a bubble of soundproof isolation. My father gets out first, extends a courteous hand that I take mechanically. My legs are like cotton.He doesn't let go of my arm. His grip is firm, directive. We cross the immense lobby, with its sparkling chandeliers and thick carpets that muffle our steps. Discreet glances

 DianeHis limousine waits for me outside, I get in accompanied by Liam.The limousine glides through the city streets, a cocoon of silence and steel. The night, through the tinted windows, is only a blur of stretched lights, as if the outside world were fleeing, indifferent to the collapse happening inside.I look at my wrists. Volkov's fingerprints are already visible, purplish circles encircling my fine skin. Medallions of my defeat. The dull ache emanating from them is a constant reminder: predictable, manageable, punishable. His voice still echoes in my skull, cold and implacable.My father, sitting opposite me, hasn't uttered a word since we left the dragon's lair. His gaze, evasive, caught once on my hands, then turned away, preferring to contemplate the urban void. His silence is more eloquent than an indictment. It's an abdication. A ratification of the new law: Volkov's.But it's Liam, sitting next to me on the seat, who occupi