Diane's POV
"It's quite obvious, isn't it?" I said to Calian, voice calm, posture relaxed. I wasn't someone who had life meticulously arranged, but at least I had control over the parts that mattered to me.
"So, when do you plan on going back home?" he asked. The old Scarlet house. It'd been a while.
"I'll come tomorrow—after I visit the palace," I replied, casually brushing lint off my shirt. It was time. Ashley needed proper equipment, and the Scarlet estate had more resources than Gianna's Willow house could ever offer.
"The palace?" he echoed sharply, tone rising like a wave. "Why the hell do you need to go back there?"
I blinked, startled by his sudden change. "To see Adrian."
"Diane, what is wrong with you?" he snapped, his voice now loud, unfiltered. "After everything that happened between you two? You're going back?"
His fury hit me like a slap. "Calian… what's this about?" My voice was low, concerned. "Is there something I'm supposed to know?"
He frowned, clearly shaken by my confusion. "No—I mean—I don't know," he mumbled, suddenly hesitant. I could tell he was just as lost as I was.
What was I missing?
Before I could ask further, Gianna entered, her expression tight.
"Calian, we didn't expect you," she said, eyes locking with his like she was silently telling him to tread carefully.
"I heard Diane was staying here," he said briefly, tension rolling off him. He and Gianna had always been like oil and fire—burning each other out since childhood.
"I see… hmm. Calian, can I speak with you for a moment?"
He gave me a quick glance before following her out.
---
Third Person POV
Diane packed her bags in silence the next morning. Despite Calian's words, she stuck to her plan: palace first, then home.
After loading her things into the car, she informed Gianna of her plans to shift Ashley's training back to the Scarlet house. Gianna nodded, offering no protest. She knew Diane would do what she wanted regardless.
By the time Diane arrived at the palace, Adrian was already waiting.
"Miss Diane, you've arrived," the head maid, Mary, greeted with a warm smile.
"Yes, Mary. Where's Adrian?"
"His Highness should be in his office," the woman replied. "Would you like me to show you—?"
"No need," Diane interrupted with a confident smile. "I'll find my way."
They parted ways, unaware that they were being watched.
Isabelle stepped out of the shadows, venom in her eyes. There she is, she thought. The great Diane—bold, loud, vulgar.
Isabelle's stomach twisted remembering how warmly Mary had smiled at her. Fools, she thought bitterly. They can't even tell elegance from chaos.
One of the younger maids passed by, noticing her rigid stance.
"Miss Isabelle? Do you need help with something?"
Isabelle blinked and forced a thin smile. "No, nothing."
The maid nodded, then paused. "But ma'am, it's best if you return to your room. Miss Diane is around."
That stung. A lowly maid, warning her?
She smiled again—this time tighter, colder. "Of course. Thank you."
Once alone in her room, she slammed the door shut, her anger threatening to drown her.
She grabbed her phone and dialed a number.
"Hey," she said, voice trembling with rage. "Something terrible's happened."
"She's back. Diane is back."
"…Are you sure it's her?"
"She's here. They said she lost her memory—but I don't buy it."
The voice on the other end paused. "So, you feel threatened?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm just—concerned. About you and your plans."
"And you're volunteering now? Ready to get your hands dirty?"
"If it means never seeing her again, yes."
"You were never needed," the voice sneered. "But suit yourself."
The call cut. Isabelle hurled her phone onto the bed and screamed.
"Imbecile!" she growled.
No maid would serve her. No one cared if she bled out in this palace. Everyone adored Diane. Everyone.
Thirsty and furious, she stepped out of her room. As she walked toward the kitchen, she stopped—heart sinking.
Diane and Adrian. Holding hands. Walking. Laughing.
Her nails dug into her palms.
To make things worse, Diane noticed her and began walking over.
Isabelle's instinct screamed at her to leave—but her feet wouldn't move.
"Sorry… do I know you?" Diane asked, face soft, curious.
'Of course you do,' Isabelle screamed in her head.
Out loud, she said, "No. I don't think so."
Adrian stiffened behind Diane, glaring at Isabelle like she'd just spat on his crown.
Diane tilted her head. "You sure? You look really familiar."
Isabelle said nothing, her heart thundering in her chest.
"My love," Adrian cut in smoothly, "you probably saw her in one of those old portraits in the office. This is Isabelle—my distant cousin. She's here on vacation."
"Really?" Diane asked, brows arching. "Strange. I've never seen you before."
Isabelle and Adrian froze.
But Diane just smiled. "Anyway, it's nice to meet you, Isabelle. I hope we can be friends." She extended her hand.
Isabelle stared at the outstretched hand like it was a dagger. After a beat, she took it, hand trembling.
Adrian watched them silently, unease twisting in his gut.
Was Diane truly oblivious? Or was this a carefully spun performance?
Had she really lost her memories?
Or had she finally begun her game?