The first thing Diamond did when she got home was open her laptop.
She told herself she wasn't going to look. She told herself she wasn't going to care. But her fingers typed Oriana Blackwood before her brain could stop them.
Her Instagram popped up instantly — 47.2k followers. Every picture like a curated masterpiece. Sunlight hitting skin just right, designer bags dangling from manicured hands, captions that felt like they were meant to sting.
Diamond scrolled, each post like a slow twist of a knife. Oriana's hair longer. Her waist smaller. Her comments section full of fire emojis from men who looked like they'd pay rent just to breathe her air.
And there he was.
Not Zay's face — he wasn't that sloppy. But his hoodie. The grey Nike one Diamond had curled up in a hundred times. Hanging off Oriana's shoulder in a mirror selfie from last month.
Diamond's stomach dropped.
She slammed her laptop shut but the image stayed burned in her mind. The next day, she found herself in front of her bathroom mirror with makeup she hadn't touched in months. Dark liner. Deeper lipstick. She straightened her hair until it fell just like Oriana's, even though the heat made her neck sweat.
By the weekend, she was wearing tighter clothes, shorter skirts. She told herself it was for her. But every time she caught Zay looking, a part of her wondered if he saw her… or if he was seeing a shadow of the woman he couldn't let go of.
Tasha noticed first.
"Why you dressed like you about to fight for your life in a music video?" she asked, sipping her iced coffee like she had all the time in the world.
Diamond rolled her eyes. "It's just clothes."
"Nah, it's not. It's a whole… energy shift." Tasha tilted her head. "Don't tell me this is about Zay. Or worse—" she lowered her voice, "—Oriana."
Diamond didn't answer. And that silence said everything.