Say Something - A Great Big World; Cry - Anne Marie
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Chapter Thirty- Two
The glass walls of Dalton's executive office caught the last rays of sunset, turning them into jagged streaks of gold and shadow. Diane sat at her desk, posture ramrod straight, eyes burning from hours of meetings that seemed to blur into each other. Her inbox overflowed with thinly veiled condolences disguised as professional inquiries, and she had stopped counting the number of times the words scandal and marriage had been whispered when she walked into a room.
Once, she had been untouchable. Now, she felt like an animal in a zoo behind glass, dissected, pitied, judged.
The latest board meeting had nearly tipped her over the edge. One investor had leaned forward, his voice smooth but laced with doubt. "Ms. Dalton, in light of…recent personal developments, are you confident you can assure stability?"
Her jaw had clenched so hard she thought her teeth would crack.
"Dalton Global does not rise and fall on my marriage," she snapped, eyes flashing. "We are driven by strategy, execution, and vision. And I assure you, none of those have been compromised."
The silence that followed was heavy, but she saw the flicker of unease in their faces. It wasn't just Jeffrey's reputation at stake. It was hers.
She left the boardroom with her heels striking too loudly against the polished floors, each click like a war drum. Inside, she was shaking, but she refused to let it show. She had learned young that weakness, once visible, was weaponized.
As she reached her office again, Alexander was already there, waiting by the window with a folder tucked under his arm. He didn't say you look exhausted or you should slow down. He simply handed her the folder and murmured, "The projections you asked for."
"Thank you," Diane said curtly, trying to ignore the way his calm presence steadied her pulse. She sat, flipping through the documents, pretending the world wasn't slowly collapsing beneath her feet.
Alexander lingered only long enough to ensure she had what she needed, then left without pressing further. That, she thought, was his quiet strength, he never demanded, never pushed. And for a woman drowning in demands, that restraint felt like oxygen.
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Across town, Jeffrey was unraveling.
He slammed a tumbler of scotch onto his desk, amber liquid spilling across glossy financial reports he hadn't bothered to read. His office, once a temple of order, now looked like a storm had passed through, ties discarded, papers scattered, the faint smell of alcohol clinging to the leather furniture.
His phone buzzed again with another message from his father: "You've humiliated this family. Fix it."
Fix it. As if it were that simple. As if the image of Diane's eyes, cold and unyielding when she looked at him after the affair leaked, could be erased.
Jeffrey told himself it had been a trap, manipulation. But in the silence of his own mind, the truth was impossible to outrun. He had made the choice. He had crossed the line. And Diane, brilliant, relentless Diane, would never forgive him.
That thought hollowed him out more than the headlines or the investors' retreat. For the first time, he felt the sharp edge of irrelevance.
"Damn it!" He hurled the glass against the wall, shards scattering. His assistant hovered at the doorway, pale. Jeffrey snapped at him until the young man fled.
The empire he thought he controlled was slipping, and Alexander, quiet, competent, reliable Alexander, was gaining ground. The thought made him sick with fury.
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Two nights later, Diane found herself still at the office well past midnight, the city spread beneath her like a tapestry of lights. Papers littered her desk, though she wasn't really reading them anymore. Her vision blurred, her chest tight.
The soft knock on the door startled her. Alexander entered, carrying two paper cups of coffee.
"You're still here," he said simply, setting one down in front of her.
She offered a tired smile. "And so are you."
"I figured you'd need it."
For a moment, the silence between them was filled only with the hum of the city. Diane lifted the cup, inhaling the bitter aroma, and something inside her cracked. Her hands trembled slightly as she lowered it again.
"I hate that people think I wasn't enough," she said suddenly, voice raw. The confession startled even her. "As if Jeffrey's betrayal was a reflection of me. As if I'm defective."
Alexander's gaze was steady, unwavering. "You know that's not true."
Her throat tightened. She blinked rapidly, but a tear slipped free, betraying her. She turned away, ashamed of the crack in her armor.
Alexander didn't reach for her hand, didn't rush to console her. He simply stayed, his presence grounding her, giving her space to breathe. For the first time in weeks, she felt safe enough to let the silence exist.
When she finally managed to speak again, her voice was steadier. "Thank you. For…not saying anything."
He nodded once. "Sometimes words just get in the way."
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Later that night, Diane stood alone in her penthouse, staring out at the endless sweep of the skyline. The glass reflected her back at herself, sharp, tired eyes, but still standing. Always standing.
She thought of the moments she had poured into Jeffrey, into their 'life' together, into building something that was now crumbling. For a fleeting moment, grief welled inside her, sharp as a blade. But then, something else stirred.
Resolve.
She would not let this define her. She would not be the woman whispered about in scandal sheets, reduced to pity and speculation. She was Diane Dalton for god's sake, forged in fire, built to survive storms.
Slowly, deliberately, she pulled a leather-bound journal from her drawer. Opening it to a blank page, she wrote in crisp, unwavering letters:
This is the end of the old chapter. From this moment on, I fight for myself.
She closed the journal, exhaled, and let the weight lift slightly from her shoulders. Somewhere deep within her chest, a spark reignited.
This wasn't the end. It was the beginning.
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