Dia️

Diana’s pov

"Hey Diana, it's Mom. You're going to have to talk to me eventually, sweetie".

That was the second voice note she'd sent in the last thirty minutes, the fifth in the last eight hours, and the thirtieth in the past twenty four hours.

No, she doesn't miss me. And she certainly didn't want to apologize for what happened. That part of her–– the part that felt remorse, the part that cared enough to love and show compassion, was reserved for her favorite daughter, Anna.

She's been calling nonstop, texts, voicemails, you name it, all to convince me to sell my ring ever since Brian said it's worth a fortune.

That was a week ago–– the same week I quit my job. Or, more accurately, the same week I went into hiding.

I decided to turn myself in for fraud at the police station. But when I got there, I was told there was no case against me. I was shocked, until Mom called.

Turns out, their wedding hall had been raided by police, and everyone spent the night in jail. Shocking.

What was even more shocking was that the house had been claimed by the bank. Brian and Anna were ordered to pay the remaining balance on the loan. I don't know how it happened, but I wasn't about to question it.

I submitted my resignation letter, and Mark denied it. He couldn't, or wouldn't give me a straight answer why. So, I ran.

Mom asked me to fix it, as usual. Like I was Bob the Builder.

When I refused, Brian held my hand. For a moment, my foolish heart thought he was being affectionate. But no.

He wanted my ring.

He claimed the band alone was worth $1,000,000 and the diamond was worth over $10,000,000, and he wanted me to sell it to help 'the family'.

Like hell I would.

Since then, they've been blowing up my phone with calls and texts nonstop.

Mom wants a 'deserving, all expenses paid trip to Bora Bora'. Anna wants a 'bigger, better house in the most expensive neighbourhood'. And Brian? He wants a 'new car' and an 'investor for his new business idea'.

I'm done with their selfishness and greed.

I've decided to travel to Chicago for a few months to clear my head. Doctor's orders. Plus, I got a job there. It's temporary, and the pay's great, and I need it, even though it's a bit of a downgrade. And, well… kind of weird.

I'm going to be a wet nurse.

Since I gave birth, my breast milk has been flowing constantly, and it's starting to hurt. So, I offered to breastfeed babies at the hospital for free.

One of the nurses offered me this job. It was a relief–- coming right after I lost my job and almost went broke. It feels like the universe was finally giving me a break.

Ashley has been calling and texting me all day from her vacation in Paris with Michael, reminding me that the family would send a driver to take me to the airport.

Despite my refusal, they insisted. They even sent me a gorgeous, expensive dress, and it was in my exact size.

They said there'd be a private gathering when I landed and there'd be no time to change. I couldn't argue. After all, they're my bosses now.

I stared at the dress hanging on my closet door, its shimmering fabric catching the light. It was beautiful.

Ashley's voice crackled through the phone. "Diana, don't make this weird. It's a beautiful gesture. Just wear it and be grateful".

"I know", I said, my voice tight. "But I…".

"Let me guess, it makes you look attractive", she interrupted me. "You're going to wear it and own it".

Brian hated when I looked attractive or when my curves were on display. Over time, I started to hate it too.

"I should wear something else", I said, staring at the dress.

"Dare me!" Ashley shot back, her tone teasing but firm.

"No, I'm changing it", I insisted, already reaching for another dress.

But it was too late. My phone buzzed with a text: Your ride is outside.

I headed downstairs, and there were two cars waiting for me—fancy, sleek, and way out of my league. A man in a suit opened the door, his expression polite.

I hesitated, glancing between the cars and the man. “Are you sure you’ve got the right person?”

"Yes, ma'am", he said, his tone firm but respectful.

​​I took a photo of the car's side and Googled it.

A Chevrolet. How rich are my employers?

The car stopped at what looked like a private terminal. My jaw dropped. The place was filled with private jets, all with 'Miles' inscribed on them, except one.

It was black, pure jet black. And my name was written on it in bold gold letters: Dia🖤.

"Mrs. Miles. it's time".

I turned to see the same man from my last office trip in the Rolls Royce, motioning for me to follow him to the jet with my name.