Diana woke to the sound of pipes groaning in the walls. The ceiling above her was stained and cracked, an ugly reminder that she no longer had silk sheets and chandeliers on her ceilings, but plaster and peeling paint. Morning light filtered through blinds that barely worked, cutting across the bare mattress where she lay curled in yesterday's clothes.
Her body ached from the lumpy bed, but it was the heaviness in her chest that hurt more. Every morning it came back, sharp and cruel: this was real. The mansion was gone. The staff, gone. The trust fund, gone. Her name, once spoken with reverence in social circles, now brought laughter or scorn. They still wouldn't let her see her father too even though more than a week had passed.
She swung her legs off the bed and pressed her hands to her face. "Pull yourself together," she whispered, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
The little apartment she had scraped together was barely livable. A hot plate on the counter, one rickety chair, a bathroom the size of her old wardrobe. It smelled faintly of mould, though she cleaned until her hands cracked. She had always told herself she wasn't fragile, that she could adapt. But each day clawed at her, showing her just how far she had fallen.
Today was supposed to be different. She had promised herself she would find work. Not another excuse, not another wasted day replaying the past in her head. If she wanted to survive, she had to start. She had no one to turn to for help. Everyone seems to have blocked her number and not even one of her father's so-called friends had reached out to her to see how she was doing.
She stood before the cracked mirror in the bathroom and tried to tame her hair. Once it gleamed with luxury treatments, now, with cheap shampoo, it barely obeyed her comb. She applied the last of her foundation, the dregs of a bottle she had stretched for weeks, painting over the exhaustion in her face. For a moment she looked almost like the Diana she used to be. Almost.
But then she smiled, and it faltered. Even her smile no longer looked like hers. Would she ever be the same again? The thought of leaving like this for the rest of her life terrified her to her bones. Diana gave her head a little shake and let out a deep sigh. She couldn't give up before she started. She quickly got ready for the day, hoping the heavens would finally have pity on her and make things less hectic like they had been since her father's arrest.
But soon the day assaulted her with rejection.
The boutique down the street took one look at her résumé and asked what real skills she had. And Diana had been left looking like an idiot when she couldn't mention a single thing.
The coffee shop laughed when she couldn't work the machine. A temp agency told her they would "call her back," the polite dismissal she knew by heart now.
Every door that closed felt like another nail hammered into her pride. She wandered the streets with blistered heels, hunger gnawing at her belly, clutching the thin folder of résumés she had printed at the library. She couldn't even afford a taxi to take her back to her wretched apartment, so she continued to wander hoping that she would finally find a place that would accept her
But by the fifth rejection, she found herself in a café, slumped over a table she could barely afford to sit at. She stared at the watery coffee she had bought to justify being there and her throat burned with humiliation.
That was when she heard the voice and her stomach churned completely.
"Well, well. If it isn't Diana Graham."
Diana's blood immediately ran cold. She knew that mocking voice, she knew it too well.
She lifted her gaze, and she saw Clara Bennett, one of her old "friends." Not a true friend, of course. Clara had hovered in her circle, always trying to edge closer to Diana's influence. Now, with Diana stripped of everything, Clara's smug smile cut deeper than a knife.
"Didn't expect to see you here," Clara said, sliding into the seat across from her without invitation. "I thought you'd vanished after the… scandal."
Diana's jaw clenched. She refused to give Clara the satisfaction of seeing her crumble. "I'm fine," she said evenly. "Just busy."
Clara's eyes flicked to Diana's cheap blazer, the frayed edges of her bag. Her smirk widened. "Busy? Doing what, exactly? Serving tables? Scrubbing floors?"
The words hit Diana like blows, each one reminding Diana of everything she had lost. Once she had been untouchable. Now she was prey.
Diana straightened, mustering what pride she had left. "Better than living off others' crumbs," she snapped. "At least I'm not pathetic enough to build my life on someone else's downfall."
Clara's smile stiffened, but before she could respond, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, and Diana caught a glimpse of the name flashing there: Devon Knight.
Her chest tightened almost immediately. She knew that name. It was the same man who had been on her mind since she left the coffee shop and heard those men talking about him. She had done a little research on him when she returned home and found more than enough information about him
Devon Knight, the man who had built an empire from nothing. The man whose cold brilliance had become legend. And the man her father had never spoken of, but seemed to come up now that her family had been ruined. Diana was unsure how she could haven't heard about him. Maybe she had been too preoccupied with the luxury she had to think much about others. She should have paid more attention; maybe she wouldn't be so stranded now.
Clara quickly tucked the phone away. "Some of us have important people to meet," she said, standing. Her eyes glittered with cruel satisfaction. "Enjoy your… coffee."
She left with a swish of her designer coat, leaving Diana trembling with rage.
Devon Knight. Why would Clara, a shallow socialite, have his name on her phone? The thought gnawed at her even after she left the café, wandering back into the city's cold embrace.
By evening, her strength was gone. Her feet ached, her throat was dry, and the little cash she had left barely covered food. Rent was due in three days. If she didn't find something soon, she would be on the street. She had paid for just a two-week stay in the hope that she would find a way to move to a better place but after spending the entire day in the street searching for jobs that she wouldn't in her wildest dream even consider just weeks before she knew leaving this tiny apartment would be unlikely for a while.
Back in her apartment, she sat on the edge of the bed, clutching an envelope from the landlord. She didn't have to open it; she knew what it said.
Her hands shook as she reached for her phone. There was one number left in her contacts that she hadn't dared call. A family acquaintance. A man she despised but who had once offered her "help" help that came with strings, always.
She hovered over the button. To call him would be to admit defeat. To put herself at someone else's mercy again.
Her pride screamed at her not to. But desperation whispered louder.
Before she could press it, a news alert flashed across her screen.
Devon Knight Expands Empire with New Acquisition
She froze, staring at the name. The article headline glowed like a taunt. Knight Industries was swallowing smaller companies whole, and everyone in the city was talking about it.
Devon Knight was everywhere. His shadow stretched over every deal, every whispered rumour. And now… somehow, fate was pulling her closer to him.
Her heart pounded as she set the phone down. She didn't know how or why, but she felt it was her path that was tangling with his. Was he really involved in what happened to her father? How was she even going to find out?
Diana lay on the hard mattress and closed her eyes. "Who are you, Devon Knight..." She muttered under her breath as she slowly drifted off to sleep, the only place she could hide from her troubles.
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Two nights later, Diana found herself standing in line outside a grand hotel ballroom. She had lied on the volunteer form, claiming she had experience serving at events. It was the only way she could get close enough to the kind of world she used to know. That was the only job that accepted her, and she had to ignore her bruised ego and accept it. She would starve to death if she didn't.
The plan was simple: work the gala, earn some money, maybe even overhear an opportunity or something that might be useful to her. People liked to gossip.
But as she pulled on the crisp white shirt and apron, she couldn't shake the sense of dread. What if someone recognised her? The thought made her heart sink, but she gave her head a shake. She just had to keep her head hung low and make sure to leave as soon as possible and not draw attention to herself.
Inside, the ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and laughter. It was like stepping into a memory of her old life, except now she was invisible, one of the staff weaving silently between tables.
She balanced trays, forced polite smiles, and ignored the whispers of guests who recognised her and sneered. Each sneer burned, but she held her head high. All they could do was gossip and nothing more. She continued with her work, but froze the next second when she heard a familiar name. "he is here! Devon Knight is here..."
One of the guests said, and Diana turned around abruptly, her eyes following her gaze to where he was. It took her a few seconds before her eyes finally landed on the commanding presence in the room that caused everyone to whisper, and then, across the room, she saw him.
Devon Knight...
Tall, commanding, dressed in black that seemed tailored from shadow itself. His presence silenced conversations as he passed, his gaze cold and unreadable.
Diana froze, her breath catching in her throat. The air shifted, heavy with inevitability.
She ducked her head quickly, her heart hammeringng. He couldn't see her. Not yet. Not like this. she was sure he knew who she was. everyone probably did. if he was involved in what happened to her family then she didn't want to be humiliated more than she already was.
But as she turned away, her tray trembled, glasses clinking as she tried to quickly scurry away.
His eyes lifted at the sound and For the briefest second, his gaze met hers across the glittering room.
It was like being struck by lightning.