Diana didn't come home until well after ten o'clock that night.

She stood in the entryway for a long, heavy moment before unceremoniously dropping an assortment of shopping bags onto the floor. Among the designer logos, she carried a box of my favorite blueberry cake.

I sat motionless on the sofa, keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead.

Diana approached, holding a tube of burn cream. She crouched down in front of me, dabbing the ointment onto my hand with extreme care.

I stayed silent. Every time we fought, she did exactly this. She would buy the things I loved, convinced that throwing money at a conflict would fix it.

For over 20 years, that tactic had never failed her. I had forgiven her every single time.

This time, I simply yanked my hand back. She froze mid-motion, her fingers suspended in the air.

"I'm going to start looking for a job tomorrow," I said evenly. "I won't be staying here anymore."

She raised an eyebrow, her gaze finally shifting past me to notice the suitcase propped against the door.

"Pierre, are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now?" she scoffed, pushing herself to her feet. "Looking for a job? Do you have any clue how many years it's been since you last touched a legal file?

Her sharp taunts cut through the room. "Eight years. You've been out of the game for eight whole years. Do you seriously think you can just waltz back into a firm? You're joking. You probably can't even remember half the state bar rules."

She wasn't worried for a second, completely writing off my decision as a ridiculous bluff. But she wasn't wrong.

Eight years was a lifetime in this field. I'd drifted too far from my career.

"Don't bother. I've got my plans," I said, letting out a dry laugh. "Might as well clear the way for your little boyfriend. That way, he doesn't have to hide in the shadows anymore."

Diana gritted her teeth, pinning me with a sharp, freezing stare.

"Don't bother? Pierre, don't you dare forget who you are. Without me and my family, you'd still be a homeless orphan living on the streets. Your father was an institutionalized schizophrenic. Did you finally inherit his crazy genes?"

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water, freezing me to the core.

My mother was dead, and my father was broken. That stigma had been glued to me since the day I was born. In the orphanage, everyone had kept their distance from me, as if trauma were contagious.

The girl I grew up with had protected me from that past. I had almost forgotten it existed. But now, she was slapping that same degrading label back on me without a second thought.

I lifted my head and looked her in the eye. "You think I'm crazy too?"

My voice wavered, thick with a sudden rush of emotion.

She took a deep breath, then tossed the tube of burn cream into the trash can.

"I've been sick of this for years," she spat, unleashing a torrent of built-up resentment. "Ever since we were kids, you've been breathing down my neck, controlling every little thing I do. Who the hell do you think you are?

"I let you have your way half the time, but can you just leave me alone already? I'm exhausted. Sometimes, I think the gossip was right. No wonder you were abandoned. Who could put up with a jinx like you?"

A wave of intense nausea rolled through my empty stomach, a bitter lump forming in my throat. I couldn't throw up or swallow it.

The ten-year-old Diana, the 17-year-old Diana... I had spent years trying to fuse all those cherished versions of her into the woman standing before me.

But she felt like a total stranger. The way she looked at me held no affection—only deep annoyance and indifference.

"Is this because of Tyler?" I asked, my hands trembling. "Is that why you're saying all this?"

We'd been together longer than we'd been apart, but now the last illusions were popping like soap bubbles.

Diana looked down at me, her expression entirely cold. "Tyler and I are exactly what you think we are. I need some excitement in my life, Pierre. If you can't handle that, we can get a divorce."

She paused, a slow, cruel smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "But let's be real. Can you give up this perfect, luxurious life? What could you amount to without me?"

I didn't come to my senses until Diana left the house.

When I first left the orphanage to live with the Grant family, I thought I had finally found a home. But over the years, I realized I would never stand on equal footing with Diana.

I studied relentlessly, worked myself to the bone, and fought tooth and nail to build a career. Yet, in Diana's eyes, I remained a mere freeloader living off her family's wealth.

I sat alone in the dark living room all night until my phone vibrated. It was Diana. Her tone was completely casual, almost playful, as she spoke. "Pierre, I found your father. He's still alive."

A loud, violent ringing exploded in my ears. For a split second, the world went entirely silent.

"Give me the address," I said eagerly, clutching my phone.

I was terrified she was playing a cruel trick. For 25 years, I had never stopped searching for my father. Even knowing the severity of his mental illness, I desperately wanted to see him one more time—to lay eyes on the only blood relative I had left in the world.

The moment the text with the address came through, I didn't hesitate. I didn't stop to question if it was real. I drove blindly, far too fast, and rear-ended the vehicle in front of me.

Before I could react, a semi-truck came barreling forward, causing my car to spin out violently and flip onto the shoulder of the road.

Cuts and bruises lined the entire side of my body. The panicked truck driver rushed over, frantically trying to call an ambulance, but I merely wiped the blood from my face, shook my head, and stepped away.

The crash had occurred just a few blocks from the address Diana sent. Bleeding and dazed, I began to walk, taking one agonizingly slow step after another.

The closer I got to the private lounge, the harder my heart hammered against my ribs. My breath caught as my fingers curled around the brass doorknob.

Forcing myself to hold it together, I pushed the door open. What greeted me was loud whistles and raucous laughter.

"He's here! He fell for it!"

"Diana, that husband you've kept is so obedient. He's practically a trained puppy."

I froze in the doorway, my heart slamming painfully against my chest. I had braced myself for the worst, but the reality hit so hard it stole the breath from my lungs.

I felt entirely hollow, stripped of any remaining power.

"Diana, you won the bet," Tyler chuckled, swirling a glass. "I'll take a drink to pay up. But honestly, isn't it a little messed up to lie to him like that?"

His voice snapped me out of my trance. Only then did I look around and notice the decorations. It wasn't a reunion; it was Tyler's birthday party, filled with Diana's wealthy circle of friends.

Diana took one look at my bloodied, disheveled state and frowned. Rising from her seat, she walked over to me and lowered her voice.

"It's Tyler's birthday. We're just playing a game, Pierre. Don't take it so seriously," she whispered. "I'm still looking for any leads on your father, but there's nothing so far. Let's talk once this party is over."

From across the room, someone shouted over the music, "Pierre, give it up already! Your dad's probably been dead for years. He was a nutjob anyway. What do you expect from him, fatherly love?"

Another round of roaring laughter broke out, but Diana didn't even attempt to stop them.

"Since you're here, just stay and celebrate Tyler's birthday with us," she said, reaching out to grab my arm.

I flinched away before her fingers could make contact. Ignoring the sudden darkness in her expression, I turned on my heel to leave.

Behind me, her voice rose with anger. "If you walk through that door, don't you dare come back!"

I didn't slow down for even a second or look back.