Chapter 2 The Family That Failed Me

DIANA POV

The cab pulls up to my parents' townhouse at half past ten. The lights are still on in the front windows-Victoria Sanders never sleeps before midnight, and Alexander never sleeps before the markets close in Tokyo. I pay the driver, step out onto the sidewalk, and stand there for a moment, looking up at the only home I've ever known.

I don't know why I came here. I should have gone to Olivia's. She would have opened the door in her pajamas, taken one look at my face, and poured me a glass of something strong without asking a single question. But some part of me-the part that's still eight years old and believes her mother can fix anything-needed to come home first.

I ring the bell. My mother answers.

"Diana." Her eyes sweep over me-the overnight bag, the smudged makeup, the coat I didn't bother to button. "What on earth happened to you?"

"I need to talk to you and Dad."

She steps aside, and I walk into the foyer. The house smells like lavender and lemon polish, exactly the same as it always does. Nothing here ever changes. Nothing here is ever allowed to.

"Alexander!" my mother calls up the stairs. "Diana is here. Something's happened."

He appears at the top of the staircase a minute later, still in his shirt and tie, his reading glasses perched on his nose. "It's late. What's going on?"

"Can we sit down?" I ask. My voice sounds strange to my own ears. Thin. Fragile. "Please."

We settle in the living room. My mother perches on the edge of the armchair, already bracing herself. My father stands by the fireplace, arms crossed. Neither of them offers me a drink or a tissue or a hug. They wait, watching me like I'm a client who's arrived with bad news about a contract.

"It's Sebastian," I say. "He's been cheating on me. With Sofia."

The silence that follows is not the silence I expected. It's not shock. It's not outrage. It's something careful, measured-the silence of two people deciding how to handle a problem.

"With Sofia?" my mother repeats slowly. "Your sister?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain?"

"I walked in on them." My voice cracks. "They were in his bed. Together."

My mother exhales, pressing her fingers to her temple. "Oh, Diana."

Finally. Finally, someone is going to be on my side. I lean forward, desperate for the comfort I've been craving since I walked out of that apartment. "Mom, I-"

"Do you have any idea what this will do to our family?"

I blink. "What?"

"Sebastian Thomas." She says his name like it's a stock that's just crashed. "The Thomases are connected to everyone, Diana. Richard Thomas sits on three boards with your father. Do you understand what kind of position this puts us in?"

"I-no. I don't." I look at my father. "Dad?"

He clears his throat. "Your mother has a point. This isn't just a personal matter. The Thomases are important to this family."

"Important to-" I stand up, my hands shaking. "Dad, he cheated on me. With Sofia. She's our family."

"She's your half-sister," my mother corrects, as if the distinction matters. As if the prefix changes the betrayal.

"She's still my sister." I turn to face her. "She slept with my boyfriend. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

My mother smooths her skirt. "Sofia has always been... impulsive. You know how she is."

"I know exactly how she is. That's why I'm here."

"Diana, sit down."

"No." I stay standing. "I want to know why you're not angry. Why neither of you is angry."

My father steps forward. "We didn't say we weren't angry. But there's a way to handle these things, and screaming about it in the middle of the night isn't it."

"Handle it?" I laugh, and the sound is hollow. "How exactly would you like me to handle it? Should I send Sebastian a polite note? Should I congratulate them on their relationship?"

"Don't be dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic! I'm being betrayed!" My voice rises, echoing off the high ceilings. "He lied to me. For months. And you're standing there talking about boards and connections and-"

"Lower your voice," my mother snaps. "The staff can hear you."

"Let them hear me!"

"Diana." My father's voice is sharp now, the voice he uses when he's done negotiating. "Enough. You're not a child. Start behaving like it."

I stare at him. At both of them. The two people who are supposed to defend me against the world, and they're more concerned about the staff hearing me than the fact that my life has just been torn apart.

"Say something," I whisper. "Please. Just once. Tell me you're on my side."

My mother sighs. "It's not about sides, Diana. It's about damage control."

"Damage control."

"Yes. You can't confront Sebastian publicly. Do you understand me? You cannot make a scene, you cannot post anything on social media, you cannot tell anyone outside this family what happened."

"You want me to keep quiet."

"I want you to be smart." She stands, crossing to me, and for one hopeful second I think she's going to take my hand. She doesn't. "If this gets out, the Thomases will look like villains-which they are-but we'll look like fools. Everyone will say we couldn't keep our own house in order. Sofia will be branded a homewrecker, and you-" She pauses. "You'll be pitied. Do you want to be pitied, Diana?"

"I want to be defended."

"Then defend yourself by keeping your dignity."

"My dignity?" I step back from her. "I caught my boyfriend in bed with my sister. What exactly do you think I have left?"

"Composure," my father says. "Which you're losing."

"And what about Sofia?" I turn to him. "Are you going to say anything to her? Are you going to tell her that what she did was wrong?"

My parents exchange a look. It's quick, barely a flicker, but I see it.

"Sofia will be dealt with," my mother says.

"How?"

"That's between us."

"She's my sister. I have a right to know."

"You have a right to a lot of things, Diana, but you don't always get them." My mother's voice has gone cold. "Now. Are you going to listen to reason, or are you going to make this worse than it already is?"

The words land like stones. I stand there, in the middle of the living room, surrounded by my mother's lavender and my father's silence, and I understand-for the first time, maybe, in my entire life-that they are not going to save me.

"Say it," I whisper. "Just say it. You think this is my fault."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." I look at my father. "You're not going to say anything at all, are you?"

He picks up his glass of water from the mantel. "Your mother is right. Making a scene won't help anyone."

"I'm your daughter."

"And Sofia is also my daughter."

I flinch. Because there it is. The truth I've spent twenty-four years pretending not to see. Sofia has always been easier to love. Sofia has always been the one they excuse, the one they protect, the one they choose. And I've always been the one they expect to be reasonable.

"Say it again," I hear myself say.

"Say what?"

"That she's your daughter. That she gets to ruin my life and you'll still take her side." My voice is steady now. Cold. "Go on. Say it to my face."

"Diana-"

"No." I grab my overnight bag from the floor. "You know what? Don't. I don't need to hear it. I've been hearing it my whole life."

"Where are you going?" my mother asks.

"Somewhere I'm not a problem to be managed."

"Diana, don't be ridiculous. It's late-"

"Goodnight, Mom." I walk toward the door. "Goodnight, Dad. I'll be sure not to embarrass either of you."

"Diana, wait-"

I don't wait. I open the door and step out into the night for the second time tonight, and this time, the cold doesn't even register. I'm too numb. Too angry. Too done.

I stand on the stoop, my hands shaking, and I understand something I've been avoiding for years: I cannot depend on my family for justice. They don't want justice. They want silence.

They won't help me. They never will.

So I'll have to do this on my own.