All Chapters of Once Discarded, I Married His Dearest Daddy: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The Mediterranean was too quiet. It felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Diane sat on the terrace of the Monaco villa, a cup of tea cooling on the glass table beside her. She hadn't slept. Not really. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the flashing red numbers of the stock ticker or heard the ghost of Marcus’s laugh. It was a paranoid way to live, but then again, looking at the ring on her finger, she realized she’d bought into a world where paranoia was just another word for preparation.Her phone buzzed. It didn't stop.It started with a single notification from a gossip rag she usually ignored. Then another. Then a flurry of messages from the Voss PR team. The headline was a sledgehammer: THE VOSS VIXEN: EXCLUSIVE LEAKED EMAILS PROVE DIANE VOSS SEDUCED FATHER-IN-LAW MONTHS BEFORE GALA DUMPING.Diane felt the blood drain from her face. Her stomach did a slow, sickening roll. She clicked the link, her fingers trembling so hard she al

The boardroom in the Monaco satellite office didn't have the same history as the one in London, but it had the view. Blue water. Infinite and indifferent. It was the kind of backdrop that made men feel like gods while they moved numbers around on a screen. Diane sat to the right of Damien. She felt the weight of the silk on her shoulders. It was a soft, pale lavender today, a color that looked harmless. Feminine. That was the point. She didn't want to look like a threat until it was too late for them to brace themselves. The air was stagnant despite the high-end ventilation. Across from her sat the "Three Pillars" as Marcus used to call them. Miller, Sterling, and Vance. Three men in their sixties who had built their careers by being useful to the Voss name, mostly by looking the other way. They were the ones who had signed off on Marcus’s "business trips" to the Maldives when he was actually with a waitress. They were the ones who had buried the receipts.Damien tapped a pen on t

Monday morning didn't creep in. It slammed.The air inside the Voss headquarters felt like it had been sucked out by a vacuum. It was too quiet. Usually, there’s a hum, you know? Phones ringing, the distant clatter of the espresso machine, the general white noise of people making too much money. But today, it was just the sound of expensive shoes hitting marble and the frantic, hushed whispers of assistants who knew something was coming but didn't know where the strike would land.Diane stood by the glass wall of Damien’s office. She had a cup of coffee in her hand, but she wasn't drinking it. She was just watching. She saw Miller first. He was walking toward the elevators, his face the color of old ash. He wasn't carrying his usual leather briefcase. He was carrying a cardboard box. A small, pathetic, brown box filled with a desk plant, a framed photo of a sailboat, and thirty years of secrets that were suddenly worthless.Security walked three steps behind him. They didn't touch h

The dining room doors hadn't even fully clicked shut before the air shifted. It was that familiar, heavy heat of Marcus’s temper. For years, that sound—the frantic, heavy footfalls of his expensive loafers on the hardwood—had been enough to make Diane’s lungs tighten. She used to brace herself. She used to wonder what she had done wrong. But today, as she walked down the sun-drenched hallway toward the terrace, she didn't even bother to speed up."Diane! Stop right there."His voice was thin. Brittle. It lacked the resonant authority of his father, sounding more like a child about to throw a tantrum in a toy aisle.Diane stopped. She didn't turn around immediately. She wanted him to see the back of her dress, the perfect line of her shoulders, and the way she stood in a house that was legally becoming hers. When she finally pivoted, Marcus was practically vibrating. His face was a blotchy, uneven mess of red and white. His hands were curled into tight, white-knuckled fists at his si

The glow from the tablet screen was the only thing lighting up Diane’s face in the dimness of her private dressing room. She watched the clip one more time. It was perfect. Sarah’s camera angle made Sophia look like a rabid animal, all flailing limbs and screeching mouth, while Diane looked like she was carved out of ice. A victim? No. She looked like a saint who had accidentally stepped in something unpleasant.She didn't send it to the tabloids directly. That would be too messy, too obvious. Instead, it "slipped" into the group chat of a few prominent Monaco socialites through an anonymous burner. By the time the sun hit the yachts in the harbor the next morning, the video had migrated to every gossip blog from London to Dubai. The comments were a bloodbath. *“Unstable.” “Cocaine eyes.” “The poor future Mrs. Voss.”* Sophia’s social standing didn't just drop. It evaporated. Diane stood by the window, a chilled glass of vintage champagne in her hand. The bubbles were tiny, rising i