On You Way Home - Patrick Droney; Unfaithful - Rihanna
Chapter Thirty-Three
The boardroom was silent, but Jeffrey could feel the contempt simmering just beneath the polished expressions. The long mahogany table, usually a place where his words commanded obedience, now felt like an arena where he was the one being judged.
"Mr. Black," one of the senior directors said, his voice even but sharp, "the investors are uneasy. This… scandal has made them question the stability of the company. We've already lost two contracts this week."
Jeffrey's jaw clenched. His fingers drummed restlessly against the arm of his chair. "Temporary setbacks," he said tightly. "I'm handling it."
Another voice spoke up from the far end. "With respect, sir, perhaps Ms. Dalton would have weathered this better. She had a reputation for discretion and diplomacy. People trusted her."
The words hit like a slap. The room tilted, just for a second, and Jeffrey's composure cracked. He slammed his palm against the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot.
"Diane is not relevant here," he snapped. "I am the one running this company."
But even as he spoke, he caught the fleeting glances shared across the room, the subtle shifts of loyalty, the unspoken consensus that perhaps Diane Dalton would have been the steadier hand. The thought burned him alive from the inside.
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That night, across town, Diane stood before the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of her gown. The invitation to the charity gala had arrived a week ago, and she had almost declined. The thought of stepping back into the spotlight, with whispers still swirling about Jeffrey's infidelity, had felt unbearable.
But Alexander's words had lingered. You don't have to prove anything to them, Diane. But if you want to remind the world who you are, this is your stage.
And so here she was, hands trembling slightly as she fastened her earrings, her reflection looking back at her with equal parts fear and determination.
At the gala, the room hushed when she took the stage. The weight of every eye pressed against her skin, but she forced her chin higher. She began slowly, her voice wavering at first, but soon it steadied. She spoke not of scandal or betrayal, but of resilience, of rebuilding, of the power to stand again when the world tried to break you.
Applause thundered through the hall when she finished. For the first time in weeks, she felt seen not as the woman betrayed, but as the woman reborn.
Later that evening, outside beneath the warm glow of streetlamps, Alexander walked beside her. He had stood in the audience, his quiet smile steadying her even when her knees threatened to buckle.
"You know," he said lightly, "I think half the room was holding its breath while you spoke. And the other half was falling in love with your courage."
Diane laughed, a soft sound that surprised even her. "You're exaggerating."
"Not in the slightest." His eyes held hers for a moment too long, and she felt the air shift between them. For a heartbeat, neither spoke, the silence humming with something unnamed. His hand brushed hers as they walked, almost by accident, but she didn't pull away.
Still, when she reached her car, she kept her voice steady. "Thank you, Alexander. For everything. For being there when I… didn't think anyone would be."
He nodded, the hint of something deeper flickering across his face, but he didn't press it. That was his way, never pushing, never demanding. Just standing, solid as stone, when the world seemed determined to crumble around her.
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Jeffrey saw the headlines the next morning. Diane Dalton Shines at Charity Gala. A Vision of Grace and Strength.
The coffee cup in his hand shattered against the floor as he hurled it across the room.
She was supposed to be broken. Humiliated. Defined by his mistake. Instead, she was rising, and every article, every picture of her standing poised with the world clapping for her, made it clear: Diane was no longer his shadow.
His paranoia grew roots that day. At the office, he barked orders, fired two long-serving employees for imagined slights, and accused his assistant of leaking information to the press. He drank too much in his office, the smell of whiskey clinging to his tailored suit. Each night, he replayed the board's words, the comparisons to Diane, until fury gnawed holes in his chest.
By the end of the week, he couldn't contain it anymore.
"Admit it!" Jeffrey's voice roared through Diane's living room as he paced like a caged animal. "You and Alexander planned this. You wanted me to look weak, to humiliate me in front of everyone!"
Diane stood near the window, arms folded, her face calm but unyielding. "You humiliated yourself, Jeffrey. I had nothing to do with that."
"Don't lie to me!" His eyes were bloodshot, his movements sharp. "He's been circling you like a vulture, waiting for me to slip, and now you're just, just handing him the pieces of what we built!"
Her voice cut clean through his chaos. "Don't mistake me for the girl who once begged for your honesty. I won't play that role again."
The words hung heavy in the air. For a moment, Jeffrey froze, as if the reality of her strength struck him harder than any insult could.
Then, without another glance, Diane walked past him, her heels clicking against the hardwood. She didn't look back.
Jeffrey remained alone in the hollow silence of her home, his fists clenching at his sides, his empire slipping through his grasp.
And Diane, for the first time, felt the weight of his shadow lifting from her shoulders.