Chapter Sixteen
Diana
S tanding here, on the precipice of what feels like a monumental collapse, is the last place I imagined I’d find myself today. Well, perhaps that’s not entirely accurate. I knew I’d end up here; it was inevitable. But now that I’m standing at this door, every instinct is screaming at me to turn around and disappear into the anonymity I’ve so carefully maintained.
Reluctantly, I knock twice, my heart sinking with the realization that he’s undoubtedly there, waiting. My father-in-law, the man who has unwittingly become the architect of my unraveling. Here lies the fault line between the world I built with precision—a delicate balance of lies and necessity—and the stark reality that threatens to tear everything down, including the life Robert and I have tried so hard to sustain.
“Diana,” Damian says, his voice a low greeting as he swings the door open and hustles me inside with urgency. My gaze instinctively flicks across the living room, seeking out any signs of company. “Caroline’s out for the weekend,” he explains, catching the drift of my quick assessment.
The question burns too brightly, impossible to hold back. “Did you tell her?” The words tumble out, driven by a constant, nagging fear of my secrets spilling out further than they already have.
“Of course not,” he assures me, his tone firm as he locks the door. I follow the familiar path to the living room, sinking into the plush couch. “I’m glad you came,” he adds, his words wrapping the room in an added layer of gravity.
“You didn’t exactly leave me any options, Damian.” My voice is a mix of resignation and defensiveness. If I’d had my way, I’d have dodged this conversation indefinitely. “How did you even find out?” It baffles me—he shouldn’t have known anything. I’ve been meticulous, always so careful to keep my two lives distinctly separate to avoid precisely this scenario.
He sighs, a hint of discomfort flickering across his features. “Ava and I are acquaintances; she and I go way back. What I didn’t expect was to come across a photo of my daughter-in-law while flipping through her very private catalog.” His tone mixes surprise with a touch of betrayal, complicating the air between us.
My eyes widen involuntarily at the revelation and the implications of him perusing Ava’s catalog. That he was even looking suggests he was interested in booking someone—maybe even me. While it’s not my place to judge—after all, who am I to cast stones from my glass house?—the thought of my father-in-law seeking such services is more than a little jarring.
He interprets my stunned silence as an invitation to explain further. “Diana, I’m not here to pass judgment,” he begins, his voice calm and measured. “Clearly, if I discovered this, it’s because I was in the market for the same sort of… companionship. I would be hypocritical to condemn you for something I was also seeking. But, Robert is my son.”
“I know, I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice thick as I fight to keep the tears at bay. I take a deep, shuddering breath. “I never want him to find out, but things were so tight at home that there were days we barely had enough to eat. I felt like I had no choice,” I admit, my voice cracking as I try to suppress a sob that’s clawing its way out.
“Why didn’t you tell him?” Damian’s question is soft, probing gently.
“I couldn’t,” I respond quickly, the words tumbling out. “He would have dropped out of school, given up on everything he’s worked towards. You know how he is about his dreams.”
He nods slowly, understanding reflecting in his eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly what he would’ve done.” There’s a pause, heavy and filled with what-ifs. “Why didn’t you come to me?” His voice is low, a mix of hurt and genuine concern threading through his words.
“I couldn’t,” I exhale, the words barely a whisper as I bite my lower lip. “Robert would’ve been furious. He holds your opinion in such high regard that he wouldn’t have wanted to seem like he needed help.”
Damian’s response is immediate, his tone earnest. “It could have stayed just between us,” he suggests, and something about the simplicity of his words twists my stomach into knots. I’m trying to understand why. It’s not like they imply anything.
“Can this stay between us?” I plead, the fear palpable in my voice. I know in my heart that if Robert ever found out, he’d never look at me the same way again.
“Diana…” Damian begins, his voice heavy, and I brace myself for the worst.
“Please, Damian, I’m begging you. I can’t lose your son—this would destroy us,” I rush the words, desperate for him to understand. He moves to sit beside me on the couch, his hand resting gently on my knee, a quiet offer of comfort.
“I won’t tell him,” he assures after a heavy pause, and relief floods through me so fiercely that I nearly gasp for air. But then he adds, “But you have to quit,” and my relief shatters.
“What?” The word escapes me in disbelief, my eyes snapping to his, wide with shock and confusion. “I can’t quit,” I whisper, more to myself than to him, my voice a mix of desperation and resolve. “You know everything depends on this.”
Damian looks at me, his gaze steady, unflinching. “It’ll depend on me now,” he says, his tone light, as if he’s discussing the weather.
“What?” The word slips from me, a single note of confusion hanging between us.
“I’ll cover whatever you lose when Ava steps back,” he explains, his casual dismissal of the financial abyss in front of us making my head spin.
“You can’t be serious,” I say, my eyes wide, my heart hammering in my chest as I struggle to digest his words. “Why would you do that?”
“I want to help,” he murmurs, his hand tracing light patterns on my thigh, soothing in a way that sends shivers across my skin. His touch reassures, distracts, and somehow, promises more.
“Damian…I—” My words falter, caught in the tempest of my thoughts.
“You don’t owe anyone anything,” he interrupts, reading my turmoil as easily as one reads the morning paper. “Just quit. That’s all.”
Can I really? Just like that? I don’t despise my work—in fact, there are moments when I downright revel in it. It’s not the job itself but the secrets and the double life that weigh heavy on my soul. Yet, I can’t deny the rush it brings; it’s intoxicating. The thrill, the mastery of nuances, the clandestine joy of being desired—it’s what makes me excel, perhaps even stand out. So, the gnawing question remains: Can I just walk away? And erase everything as if it never mattered?
“What’s making this so difficult for you?” he probes, his gaze intense, piercing deep as if he’s trying to read my very soul.
“I don’t know,” I admit, the words barely a whisper, my breath shaky. My chest rises and falls too quickly, nerves fluttering wildly within. “I guess… I’ve just gotten used to it, that’s all.” The familiarity, the rhythm of it—it’s hard to imagine letting it go.
“Used to fucking strangers?” He asks, his words sharp, slicing through the air. I stiffen; his frankness, so raw and unguarded, sends my heartbeat into a frantic race. Why does this unnerve me so?
“Yes,” I manage to breathe out, my voice a whisper lost in the tension between us. His hand creeps higher up my thigh, pausing only when he reaches the hem of my dress.
“I think you don’t want to quit because you enjoy it,” Damian suggests, his voice taking on a deeper, darker timbre. It’s a side of him I haven’t heard before, and the intensity of his words sends a thrill through me; immediately, my nipples harden under his gaze.
He’s a striking man, and despite being nearly twenty years my senior, he maintains himself well—it’s undeniable. I’ve noticed it long before today’s tangled scenario; those moments when our bodies accidentally brushed, or those summer days at the lake when his gaze lingered just a bit too long. There’s no use pretending I haven’t felt the pull, the unspoken tension swirling between us.
“Yes.” I brace for laughter or judgment, but instead, Damian looks at me with that familiar intensity, his eyes blazing as if he’s cataloging every desire he’s ever had for my body, undecided on where to begin.
“Maybe you should go,” he mutters suddenly, and the words snag my breath in my throat.
“Why?” I hear myself ask; a rebellious part of me ignited when his touch first lingered. I can’t resist; I shift closer, instinctively drawing him in, feeling my dress inch up slightly under the weight of his wandering hand.
“I could think of a few reasons.”
“Robert doesn’t have to know. He’s never known about my work,” I manage, my words tumbling out in a breathless rush.
“You’re twenty-five; I’m old enough to be your father.”
“You wouldn’t be the first man I’ve called Daddy,” I tease, biting my lip, torn between fleeing and pushing the boundary even further.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, a ragged sound of surrender, his hand tightening on my dress as if to restrain himself. I inch closer, daring him with my challenge. “But I’ll sure as hell be the last.”