All Chapters of Désiré Me 2: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

187 Chapters

CHAPTER 82 : THE FEAST OF SHADOWS 1

DianeThe black dress. It hangs in the closet, alone among the other muted-colored outfits. Simple, in silk crepe, cut with a severity that speaks volumes about the taste of the one who chose it. Long sleeves, a boat neck that glides over the shoulders, falling straight to mid-calf. No frills. No lace. Just the pure blackness of the fabric and the way it will, I already know, embrace every curve without ever accentuating them, denying them while affirming them.I put it on. The silk is cold, smooth as a second liquid skin. It slides over my hips, falls with a perfect weight. Before the mirror, the effect is striking. The pallor of my face and arms emerges from the black like an apparition. My hair, dried, free and slightly wavy, frames my features in a less controlled, wilder way. The contrast is violent. I am no longer the woman with the perfect chignon from the paparazzi shots. I am something else. An elegant specter. A shadow aware of itself.I

CHAPTER 83 : THE FEAST OF SHADOWS 2

DianeHe leans on the table, bringing his face closer. The candlelight plays across his features.— I saw that you don't flee. I saw that you observe. I saw a coldness that is not indifference, but control. And I saw, in the steam of that bath, a glimmer of defiance you don't yet quite know how to hide.My heart quickens. He saw. Of course he saw. He's paid to see.— It's not defiance, I say, holding his gaze. It's survival. There's a difference.— Survival is instinct. Defiance is a choice. You choose not to collapse. Not to beg me. Not to play the role of easy seduction. It's an interesting choice. Courageous. And perhaps a little stupid.— Why stupid?— Because it makes me curious. And my curiosity, Diane, is a far more dangerous thing for you than my desire.The word "desire" hangs in the air between us, charged with the electricity that crackled in the bathroom. He named it. For the first time

CHAPTER 84 : THE INNER JAILER

DianeThe door against my back is cold, a solid reality through the fine silk of my dress. But this coldness fails to extinguish the fire he lit. It smolders beneath my skin, a sly ember fed by the wine, the chosen words, that furtive touch on my hair. A shiver I didn't summon still runs down my spine.I get up, my legs weak. The room is submerged in a bluish half-light; only the glow of the outdoor lamps filters through the immense windows. This silent luxury suddenly seems like a mockery. A setting too grand for the prey struggling within it.I tear myself from the door, walking stiffly towards the bathroom. I don't turn on the main light, only the small nightlight above the mirror. My reflection awaits me there, a pale, trembling silhouette framed in black marble. The eyes are too large, too dark. The mouth, which I still see slightly parted under his gaze, seems to belong to another. A woman waiting.Disappointed?His question res

CHAPTER 85 : THE PROGRAM

DianeDaylight penetrates my eyelids, a gray and cold blade. I wake in the limbo of a restless sleep, my body heavy, my mind stuck in the murky residues of the night. Then consciousness returns, and with it, memory. The ember under the skin. The inner jail. The shame.I sit up abruptly, the sheets sliding. And my heart stops cold, expelling all torpor in an instant.He is there.Standing at the foot of the bed, leaning against the frame of the open door. He is dressed in an impeccably cut charcoal suit, buttoning his jacket. A slow, elegant closure. The fabric molds to the breadth of his shoulders, the line of his waist. I hadn't heard the door. I didn't know he was already there. Already ready.My breath catches in my chest.He looks up, the task completed. His gaze falls on me, tangled in the linen, hair disheveled, eyes surely shadowed by the night's battle. And he smiles.It's not the knowing, cruel smile of the nigh

CHAPTER 86 : THE LONG HOUR 1

DianeThe day stretches, syrupy and thick. One hour seems to flow into the next without ever really passing.The shower water caresses my skin without cleansing it. Too hot, it burns. Too cold, it freezes. Neither manages to penetrate this internal cold, to erase the memory of the hands that held me, of the gaze that undressed me. I close my eyes under the spray, letting the steam envelop the room, fog the mirrors. I don't want to see myself. Not yet.The clothes folded in the closet are soft, neutral, a beige meant to be soothing. I slip into them. Cashmere and silk. An elegance that is a lure. The uniform of the well-treated captive.Breakfast awaits me, presented with a precision that borders on threatening. Perfect strawberries, creamy yogurt in a fine porcelain bowl, golden slices of bread. I eat without tasting, mechanically. Each bite is an act of survival, nothing more. The silence is so deep I hear the distant ticking of a clock, re

CHAPTER 87 : THE LONG HOUR 2

DimitriI walk through, leaving behind me the restored silence, tenser than the first. The heavy oak door closes, isolating me from the world.Here, it is my other kingdom. Straight lines, clear perspectives, everything under control. The city spreads out behind the window, a glittering construction set under the sun. Yet, today, my mind is not entirely here. Part of me remains in the half-light of a house, observing another's silences.Elena enters, tablet in hand, shield of efficiency.— I've prioritized the files. The Asian subsidiary shows discrepancies. The audit…— Set aside anything that can wait.Her fingers, which were flying over the screen, pause for a fraction of a second.— Everything?— Everything. I'll be out this afternoon.She nods, absorbing the information without a blink. She never questions. An invaluable quality.— Tomorrow's engagements?

CHAPTER 88 : THE APPETITE

DianeWaiting has become a tangible substance, a thickness in the air that I must part to breathe.The bath was a failure. The perfumed water, the salts that promised soothing, only softened my flesh, not my resistance. I let myself air-dry, shivering in front of the dress.It is no longer the same. Another dress has been brought, placed on the bed in a silk case like an offering. A long dress, of a deep green reminiscent of forests at nightfall, or the ocean depths. Satin cut in a way that seems both modest and wildly audacious. It will hug every curve. I am sure of it.The instruction was clear. I followed it. Out of defiance? Out of resignation? Out of morbid curiosity? I no longer know.I sat down at the vanity with its clear mirrors. The brushes, the powders, everything was there, an arsenal of transformation. I closed my eyes for a moment, searching within myself for the face I was meant to become. Then I got to work.Makeup is a mask, but also armor. A light foundation to even

CHAPTER 89 : THE LIGHTS

DianeThe car is a padded cell where silence purrs. The nocturnal city streams past the tinted windows, a torrent of anonymous lights that seem to want to suck us in, dissolve us in their incessant flow. I sit upright on the leather seat, my hands clenched on the black satin clutch resting on my lap. My nails, lacquered a dark red that looks like dried blood, dig into the fabric. Every traffic light, every neon that glides over the bodywork is like a too-fast heartbeat, a silent countdown.Next to me, he drives. One negligent hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, his wrist adorned with a discreet watch whose dial captures bluish glints. His profile is carved from shadow and shifting reflections. He exudes an absolute, sovereign tranquility that acts upon me like a provocation. He casts a brief look in my direction, a pale flash that sweeps over my silhouette imprisoned in green satin.— You’re not saying anything.His voice is low, smooth. The familiar addres

CHAPTER 90 : THE LIGHTS 2

DianeHe leads us to the raised alcove, the table that dominates the room without truly being in it. A throne, indeed. I pull out her chair for her. She sits down, the rustle of satin a serpent’s whisper. I take the seat opposite her. The ritual of the menu, the wine list, takes place. I decide, I choose, with a gesture that admits neither discussion nor delay.— You see? I say, once we are alone in our bubble of light. They are devouring you with their eyes. The men and the women.She holds my gaze. The fear that danced there earlier has transformed into haughty, almost icy defiance.— They are not looking at me. They are looking at your acquisition. They are evaluating your taste. They are calculating the price.— We have, I correct with a smile. They are looking at the alchemy. The picture that works. The improbable couple that nonetheless commands silence.She takes a sip of water. Her fingers, fine and pale, seem ready to shatter the crystal.— What is the real purpose of this ma

CHAPTER 91: THE LIGHTS 3

DianeShe barely touches her plate. She takes a sip of the dark Burgundy I chose for her. Her fingers tremble imperceptibly on the stem of the glass. She stares at the room, and I know she is evaluating every exit, every face that could be an ally, every window, every door. And she notes, one by one, their hermetic closure, sealed by the image we project.That’s when Laroche stands up. He has drunk a little too much, his face is flushed, his eyes shine with an unhealthy insistence. He heads towards our table, ignoring his neighbor’s warning look.— Dimitri! My dear fellow! What a surprise! We never see you anymore.His voice is too loud, cutting through the murmur of the room. All heads turn again.— And this… vision at your side. Are you going to introduce her to us eventually, or keep her jealously for yourself?He laughs, a thick laugh, and his gaze undresses Diane with the impudence of a parvenu. At a nearby table, the diamond-laden woman purses her lips, scandalized but delighted

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