After Diana turned seventeen, William moved out of the Knight residence to live on his own.
Once he moved, his visits became increasingly rare. The frequency with which Diana saw him dropped from every day to once a week. Maya claimed he was busy with work, but Diana remained unhappy, often leaning her chin dejectedly on her desk during class.
Her best friend had insisted with absolute certainty: "Your brother is twenty-five; he's definitely got a girlfriend. Living at home isn't convenient for that—having his own place means he can bring women over for the night."
Diana dismissed it as nonsense: "My brother doesn't have a girlfriend."
Besides, every time she visited William's apartment, she never saw any sign of a woman. She didn't believe it then—until William's birthday, when she hid in his apartment to surprise him and saw him kissing a woman with her own eyes.
At that moment, the world might as well have ended. She knew the passcode to his door; he always used the same one. She used to run there every weekend, but after that day, she never went back.
The car pulled up to the apartment building, and Diana headed upstairs carrying a thermal flask. She didn't know if William had seen a doctor or if he had medicine at home, so she had picked some up at a pharmacy on the way.
When she rang the bell, the scent that wafted through the crack of the door wasn't William's usual cool, woody fragrance. Instead, it was the cloying, almost sickeningly sweet scent of red hyacinth perfume.
A young woman opened the door. Her chestnut-brown curls fell lazily over her shoulders, and her features were as delicate as a porcelain doll's. Diana felt like she'd been struck by lightning, her fingertips instinctively digging into the handle of the flask.
This was the rising starlet currently dominating the screens. Usually seen as the "girl next door," she was now wearing nothing but one of William's white dress shirts. The collar hung loosely off one shoulder, revealing a stinging red mark on her skin. Her bare, jade-like legs were exposed as she stood brazenly in William's private sanctuary.
The actress's eyes flashed with a hint of annoyance at being disturbed, eyeing Diana's plain trench coat with defensive hostility. "Looking for William? His fever hasn't broken yet; he's sleeping."
Diana took a deep breath, fighting the overwhelming bitterness surging in her chest. Her voice remained cold and clear. "I'm here to deliver medicine."
"Are you... the sister from the Knight family?"
The woman's expression shifted instantly. Seemingly remembering something, she shed her arrogance and adopted the poise of a lady of the house. She pulled the hem of the shirt down somewhat awkwardly and offered a slightly placating smile. "Sorry, I didn't recognize you. Come in and sit; I'll go wake him up."
Diana's feet felt rooted to the spot. She couldn't take a single step inside. That shirt burned her eyes.
"No need. Give these to him." She thrust the flask and a bag of fever medicine into the woman's arms. Without waiting for a reply, she turned and headed straight for the elevator.
"Hey! Don't you want to wait for him to—"
Diana walked incredibly fast, as if fleeing from a predator.
Inside, William emerged, leaning against his forehead. His face was pale, his deep-set eyes bloodshot from the high fever. His voice was hoarse and raw. "Who was it?"
The actress, looking a bit guilty, gestured with the items. "Your sister... she left these and ran off. She seemed to be in quite a hurry."
William's gaze fell on the familiar thermal flask, and his expression turned freezing. It wasn't the coldness of illness, but a chilling aura of suppressed rage. Without a word, he grabbed a jacket, not even bothering to button it, and strode out after her.
The elevator was still on the floor. When the doors opened, Diana was staring down at her shoes until a familiar shadow loomed over her.
"Diana," William said, his voice sounding like sandpaper, heavy with the effects of the flu.
Diana didn't look up. She took a small step back, her back pressing against the cold metal wall of the elevator—a clear gesture of maintaining distance. "William, you're not well. Why did you come out?"
"Why didn't you come in?"
"I didn't want to disturb your rest." Diana gripped her bag strap tightly, trying to sound natural. "Aurora is waiting for me at the hospital. I have to go."
William stepped into the elevator, blocking her line of sight completely. "I'll drive you."
"You still have a fever..."
"I'm not going to die." William firmly pressed the button for the basement.
In the cramped space, the cloying perfume seemed to linger on William's jacket, invading Diana's senses with every breath he took. She turned her head away, watching the floor numbers change, her heart feeling like a field of overgrown weeds.
On the road, William rolled down the window. The cold air rushed in, attempting to dissipate the suffocating tension in the car. He tried to speak several times, but fell silent every time he saw Diana's distant profile.
When they reached the hospital, Diana practically bolted from the car.
"William, remember to take your medicine when you get back," she said from outside the lowered window, her tone polite yet detached. "Take care of yourself."
William's knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. He stared at her with an intensity that held a complex emotion Diana didn't understand—and didn't dare to.
After a long silence, he finally replied, "Go on in."
Diana nodded and hurried into the bustling crowd of the hospital.
Diana felt like the one with the fever. Walking under the warm April sun, she felt a chill seeping out from her very bones.
She knew William had women in his life. She'd always known. But knowing it intellectually was different from seeing it. The former was a dull, chronic ache; the latter was a sharp, piercing pain that forced the oblivious to wake up and tore open a bloody wound.
She knew in her heart that Maya had sent her there today on purpose. She wanted her to see.
Why do they guard against me to such an extent?
Reaching the inpatient building, Diana suddenly snapped back to reality. She remembered that today was the day they were supposed to sign the contract with Start.
The partnership with Jasper Sterling would determine whether Snow could be revived. Aurora's chemotherapy side effects had subsided slightly, and she felt better. To show how much Snow valued this cooperation, President Brooks had personally taken Summer to Start to sign the deal. They weren't even at the hospital.
So, Diana didn't go up. She sat on a bench outside, soaking in the sun. She closed her eyes, letting the light hit her face, feeling the warmth slowly return to her limbs.
Hadn't I already decided before coming back? To stay in my place and be a well-behaved sister? What is there to be sad about?
"Diana, Diana," she warned herself internally. You have no right to be sad.
At Start, the treatment Aurora and Summer received was significantly upgraded. They were greeted by a dedicated staff member and escorted directly to the elevator.
Since Jasper Sterling was still in a meeting, the secretary showed them into a lounge, serving exquisite coffee and pastries—including two slices of blueberry mousse cake.
Aurora couldn't eat much of it, taking only two small bites. The rest ended up in Summer's stomach.
Summer muttered while eating, "This President Sterling is so difficult to read. He's got that devious, treacherous vibe—like a tyrant from ancient times. He gives me cake now, but he might just slit my throat and dig it back out before I'm finished."
Aurora replied, "Stop it. You're making me nauseous."
A moment later, the doors to the adjacent conference room opened. A line of men in suits filed out. Jasper Sterling, walking in the center, stood out like a refined illustration in a world of sketches.
Summer gasped, "Holy crap, he's so handsome! He looks like my future husband!"
Aurora retorted, "As long as you're not afraid of having your throat slit, be my guest."
Outside the glass door, Jasper had been listening to someone with a bored expression. His secretary whispered something to him, and he glanced into the lounge. His gaze swept over the two women, paused for a microsecond, and then moved on without a reaction.
Five minutes later, they were sitting across from Jasper Sterling in the conference room. He sat with his back to the window, legs crossed, a sliver of black dress socks showing beneath his trousers.
The signing process was surprisingly smooth. He didn't even say much before briskly signing his name. Holding the fresh contract, President Brooks offered some professional pleasantries about appreciating the opportunity and looking forward to the partnership.
Jasper capped his pen and asked casually, "Why didn't Diana Bell come?"
Summer, her hope for a "future husband" rekindled like a sprouting weed, blurted out Diana's whereabouts without a second thought:
"Our little boss went to deliver ginger soup to her brother."