Jasper Sterling enjoyed his cake with slow, deliberate movements, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room.
Diana looked down at the massive Doberman. The dog was fixated on her, sniffing her fingertips with a persistence that made her skin crawl; its damp nose occasionally brushed against her. She shrank back, trying to prompt the owner to exercise some basic discipline. "It's licking me," she whispered.
Jasper didn't even look up, his voice deep and resonant. "It's hungry."
Hungry?
"Then let it eat dog food!" Diana thought, her head beginning to throb. She moved further toward the inner corner of the sofa, pointedly avoiding the overly enthusiastic beast. Fortunately, she was wearing straight-leg trousers today, sparing her from direct contact with that slick, wet sensation.
"Do you... not have any dog food at home?" She finally snapped, unable to hold it in.
The man was sitting there indulging in dessert while letting his pet "hunt" the guest—this was a wildly unorthodox way to treat a visitor.
"No," he replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Then what does it usually eat?"
Jasper slowly swallowed the last bit of cream and set down his metal fork. He leaned back against the leather backrest with a lazy grace, his dark eyes drifting toward her with a hint of mischief. "Meat."
Diana's heart skipped a beat. Although she knew he was intentionally trying to rattle her, she lacked the courage to remain in the presence of such a high-pressure predator.
She stood up abruptly. "I'm leaving."
Jasper remained noncommittal, propping his head on his hand. His cold yet playful posture made it feel as though he were watching a play.
Diana stood frozen, caught in a dilemma. To her left was the overpowering presence of Jasper; to her right, the Doberman guarding the exit. To leave, she would have to brush past one of them.
She struggled for a few seconds, even entertaining the absurd thought of vaulting over the coffee table or climbing over the back of the sofa.
No, too unrefined.
"Jasper," she said, her voice tight. "Can you make it move? I can't get past."
Jasper remained nestled in the sofa like he had no bones, clearly lacking any intent to be helpful. "Negotiate with it yourself."
"..."
Diana took a deep breath, leaned down, and addressed the majestic Doberman tentatively. "Could you... please move?"
The Doberman tilted its head, seemingly contemplating her request. Then, right before her eyes, it slowly sprawled out and lay flat on the floor.
Diana was officially done. She turned toward Jasper—at the very least, Jasper wouldn't actually bite.
The gap between the sofa and the coffee table wasn't wide, especially since Jasper's long legs were stretched out carelessly, cutting off any easy escape. He sat there like a statue, showing no intention of making room.
Steeling her nerves, Diana stopped pleading. She grabbed her bag and moved to step over.
But as her lead foot hit the floor, her trailing leg caught his knee. She let out a sharp gasp, losing her balance and falling forward.
Jasper stayed as steady as a mountain. He didn't move a finger, watching her fall with a cold, detached gaze.
In a frantic bid for survival, Diana's hands flailed for support. Her fingers brushed against cool fabric before pressing firmly into something warm and solid.
When the world stopped spinning, she realized her palm was pressed squarely against the root of Jasper's thigh.
Jasper glanced down at her hand, then slowly brought his gaze up to her eyes.
"That's a very professional way to 'bump' into someone," he teased, one eyebrow arched. His voice carried a hidden laugh. "How's the grip?"
Diana's senses came rushing back. Beneath her palm, she felt the taut lines of his muscles; even through the thin fabric of his trousers, his body heat seemed to sear her skin.
She recoiled as if struck by lightning, hiding her hand behind her back. Her face flushed a deep crimson. "I'm sorry, it wasn't on purpose!"
Jasper stared at her, his eyes dangerously dark, yet his face retained that roguish charm. "I'm the one you're touching and I'm not blushing. Why are you?"
"It's because you wouldn't move..." Diana muttered, embarrassed, trying to rub the memory of the contact off her palm.
"Move where? Where are you trying to go?"
His tone lilted upward playfully. In any other context, it would be a simple question, but in this charged atmosphere, it felt like a hook. Jasper's features were aggressively handsome—deep, cold, and usually marked by a sense of world-weary indifference. But when he wore that half-smile, his hardness melted into something dangerously seductive.
"The clothes are back, I paid for the cake, we're even. Goodbye!" Diana didn't dare stay a second longer. She threw the words over her shoulder and fled.
Jasper watched her stumbling retreat until the door clicked shut. The Doberman gave a bored yawn and curled up at his feet.
At twenty years old, Diana was a blank slate when it came to romance. Her crush on William Knight hadn't even had the chance to bloom before it was doused in cold reality. No matter how calm she tried to act, she was no match for a high-level player like Jasper.
Once she stepped outside, the cool evening breeze hit her face, finally cooling her burning cheeks.
Jasper was venomous and wicked. He knew she liked William, yet he constantly rubbed salt in the wound. But that strange atmosphere just now...
Wait, he couldn't possibly think I was playing hard to get, could he?
Back at her place in the city, Diana lay on her bed scrolling through WhatsApp. The first thing she saw was a photo posted by Eleanor Hayes.
In the picture, Eleanor, Julian Harrison, and William were sitting around a table, everyone wearing relaxed smiles. As William's "fiancée-to-be" and Jasper's cousin, Eleanor was naturally welcomed into that inner circle.
A girl as bright and radiant as Eleanor belonged everywhere.
And once, there had been a place for Diana in that circle too.
It wasn't exactly jealousy; it was just a suffocating tightness in her chest, like wearing a damp shirt in the middle of the rainy season—cold and clinging to her heart.
Diana silently liked the post and turned off her screen.
She wanted to talk to Aurora Brooks, but remembered Aurora had just finished chemotherapy and was likely asleep. In this world, her safe harbors were few and far between.
She had once tried to open her heart to the world, but the softness she shared only became the blades others used against her.
The next time she saw Eleanor was at a private hair salon. Diana had just finished her haircut and was about to pay when a group of wealthy women swarmed in.
Eleanor was in the center, flanked by Charlotte Bell, who was dressed in Chanel, and several other familiar faces from the socialite scene.
"Charlotte, isn't that your sister?" someone chirped, being the first to notice.
Charlotte, now twenty, looked more like Skylar Miller—her eyes filled with the arrogance of a pampered child. She glanced at Diana and rolled her eyes dramatically. "Don't go claiming relatives for me. My mother only had one daughter. I don't have a sister."
The person beside her immediately followed suit. "True. No one in the Bell family acknowledges her anyway."
"When Sebastian went abroad, he didn't even take her. Even her own mother can't be bothered. Talk about a failure—even her parents find her repulsive."
Diana acted as if she were deaf, treating them like chattering sparrows as she calmly took back her bank card.
Eleanor frowned slightly, trying to smooth things over. "Alright, that's enough. Diana is my friend."
A pair of twins nearby adopted an air of mock concern. "Eleanor, you're just too naive. You think she's your friend, but do you have any idea how she feels about William..."
Diana, already at the door, froze. She turned around coldly, her eyes locking onto the malicious gaze of the speaker.