You Were There For Me - Henry Moodie; Sad Bitch - Anne Marie
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Chapter Thirty
The Sterling Foundation Gala was everything the city had been waiting for. The kind of night where champagne sparkled brighter than the chandeliers, where gowns flowed like painted silk across marble floors, and where every camera in the room was ready to capture history, or scandal.
Diane's arrival silenced the crowd. She wore midnight blue satin that clung and shimmered with every movement, her hair swept into an elegant chignon, her skin radiant beneath the warm golden lights. She didn't need Alexander Pierce by her side to command attention, but the fact that he was there, hand resting gently on her back as he whispered something that made her laugh, made her glow even more.
Jeffrey saw it the moment they walked in. His jaw tightened, his grip on his glass threatening to shatter it.
From across the ballroom, Chelsea leaned in to her father, smirking. "It's working."
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Jeff couldn't take his eyes off Diane. Every laugh she gave Alexander was a knife to his chest, every glance they shared a dagger to his pride.
Finally, when Diane excused herself from Alexander to step toward the bar, Jeff cornered her.
"You're really enjoying yourself, aren't you?" His voice was low but sharp.
Diane turned, her expression cool. "Is that a crime, Jeffrey? Smiling? Talking to someone who actually listens?"
He scoffed. "You mean Pierce? He's not listening. He's circling. Waiting for you to slip so he can swoop in."
"Funny," she shot back, her eyes flashing, "that's exactly how people describe you."
Gasps echoed around them. They hadn't realized until then that half the ballroom had gone silent, eyes glued to the spat between the two Sterlings' centerpieces.
Jeff's face flushed red as the whispers spread. "Don't do this here."
"You started it," Diane hissed, before turning on her heel and storming out.
The cameras followed. So did the rumors.
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Outside, the night air was crisp against her flushed skin. Diane wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the city skyline glittering beyond the marble steps.
Jeff appeared seconds later, breathless. "Diane, wait..."
She didn't turn. "Go back inside. Your audience is waiting."
"I don't care about them," he said roughly, stepping closer. His voice cracked with something raw, something desperate. "I care about you. Do you have any idea what it's like, seeing you with him? With anyone but me?"
That made her spin, her eyes narrowing. "Then why do you keep pushing me away? You can't have me when it's convenient and throw me aside when it's not!"
Jeff reached for her wrist. "Because you terrify me. Because every time I'm near you, I can't breathe. Because you're the only one who makes me want to,...."
He stopped. His words hung between them, unfinished, dangerous.
Their eyes locked, the distance shrinking. For a heartbeat, the world stilled. He leaned closer, and she didn't move away. Their lips hovered, trembling on the edge of a kiss that could change everything.
But Diane pulled back first, breaking the moment. "I can't trust you, Jeffrey. Not like this."
Her heels clicked sharply against the marble as she walked away, leaving Jeff gutted in the shadows.
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Inside, the gala spun on without them. The champagne poured, the music swelled, and the sharks circled.
Jeff returned, his composure unraveling glass by glass. The whiskey dulled the ache, or maybe it magnified it, he couldn't tell.
That's when she appeared. The heiress. A Sterling family ally with striking emerald eyes and lips that curved like they knew secrets.
"You look like you could use another drink," she purred, sliding onto the seat beside him.
He didn't answer, but he didn't push her away. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the humiliation burning in his chest. Maybe it was the gnawing fear that Diane was already slipping from his grasp into Alexander's arms.
The heiress leaned in closer, her perfume wrapping around him. "Poor Jeffrey. Always losing the one thing he wants most. Maybe you just need… distraction."
When her lips brushed his, he should've pulled back. But he didn't.
Flash.
One camera. Then another.
By the time Jeff stumbled into the waiting limo with her, his head spinning, the flashes were relentless. Seemingly, both the Blacks and the Daltons, from a distance, exchanged satisfied looks. The trap was perfect.
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The morning papers screamed louder than any alarm clock:
"Sterling Heir Cheats at Charity Gala – Spotted With Heiress in Scandalous Embrace."
The photos were damning. One of them kissing. Another of her practically draped across his lap in the limo.
Diane sat frozen at her breakfast table, her phone buzzing nonstop with messages she didn't want to read. Her stomach twisted as she stared at the headline again and again.
So it was true. Everything people warned her about. Every instinct telling her not to trust him.
Jeff called. Dozens of times. Finally, she answered.
"Diane, please, it wasn't what it looked like. I was drunk. They set me up."
Her voice was ice. "You still kissed her, Jeffrey. Drunk or not, set up or not, you did it."
"I love you!" he shouted, raw and broken. "I can't lose you over this..."
"You already have," she whispered, hanging up.
As tears burned her eyes, a knock at the door came. Alexander stood there, steady as always, his expression filled with concern and quiet strength. He didn't need to say a word. Diane's resolve cracked, and she fell into his arms.
Somewhere across the city, Jeffrey sat alone, staring at the wreckage of his choices, realizing, maybe too late, that he had just destroyed the only thing that ever truly mattered.
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