That suffocating sensation—as if her chest were stuffed with sponge, impossible to spit out and agonizing to swallow—swept over her once again.
Diana loathed that look, the one that treated her like a thief to be guarded against. Yet, the secret, shameful affection buried in her heart left her without the strength to even offer a firm rebuttal. She had a guilty conscience; she couldn't blame anyone else.
She could only blame herself.
The rules of the world seemed to scream in her ear: she was wrong. Loving William was not just a taboo; it was a heinous betrayal, the act of a shameless, delusional ingrate.
Diana took a deep breath, forcing herself to utter the words she had practiced countless times but which still burned her throat: "You can rest easy. I am only his sister. I will never be an obstacle to you."
Eleanor Hayes stirred her coffee languidly, her lips curling into a playful arc. "I don't think so. Diana, you love him. You and I both know it."
"Then what do you want me to do?" Diana finally tore away the mask of cordiality. She looked directly at Eleanor, her gaze cold and sharp. "Do you want me to issue a statement immediately severing ties with him just to guarantee your peace of mind? If that's the case, I can tell you right now—it's absolutely impossible."
"I have no intention of ruining this 'match made in heaven' in the eyes of the public, nor do I intend to influence my brother's decisions. But he will always be my brother—that is a fact etched into my bones. If you can accept that, we can coexist in peace. If you can't, that is your own choice to make. I am not obligated to pay for your 'insecurity,' nor will I bow to this unreasonable pressure."
Eleanor froze for a second, then let out a scoff. "You're as obedient as a kitten in front of William. Why is it that when it comes to me, your rebellious streak is so prickly?"
"You aren't my brother," Diana replied bluntly, her words laced with thorns. In this life, everyone has their own boundaries of intimacy. On her scale, William was her life, while Eleanor was merely a stranger who might happen to pass through it.
She stood up, her tone icy and uncompromising. "Since you won't listen to reason, let's keep it simple—marry him or don't. It's up to you."
Until this moment, Eleanor had always thought Diana Bell was made of dough—soft, obedient, and easy to manipulate. It wasn't until now that she realized beneath that supple skin lay a core as hard as iron.
"Don't be so angry. I'm not that overbearing," Eleanor said, her voice softening with a hint of calculation. "After all, one develops feelings even for a pet after a while, let alone siblings who have relied on each other for so long. But as the future mistress of the Knight family, I have the right to know how a so-called 'god sister' managed to hold such a place in his heart for so long."
"If you truly believe that is your right, wouldn't it be more satisfying to ask him yourself?"
A flicker of cunning flashed in Eleanor's eyes. "Are you sure you want me to ask him, 'Does the sister you raised actually harbor improper feelings for you?'"
That was Diana's deepest vulnerability. She hated being threatened, but she had to admit Eleanor had pinched her at her weakest point.
"I'm sure Charlotte Bell already sold you my history as a piece of gossip," Diana sat back down, her fingertips tracing the delicate porcelain rim of her coffee cup. Her voice was as calm as if she were narrating a play that had nothing to do with her. "When I was eight, my biological mother abandoned me. She stuffed me back into the Bell family like a piece of old clothing. My father was abroad, and Aunt Miller was in Europe with Charlotte. There was no one to look after me in the country, so I was placed with the Knight family."
"And her grandfather? He didn't care about you?"
"Him?" Diana's lips curled in a self-deprecating smirk. "He is the person in this world who loathes me the most. He hated my mother for giving birth to an 'accident' like me, and he detested my timid, low-born aura. After he dumped me with a nanny, he couldn't even spare me a glance."
A socialite like Eleanor, raised in the lap of luxury, found it difficult to grasp the desolation of having living relatives yet being essentially an orphan. She frowned slightly. "Then why did Julian Harrison say that William 'picked you up'?"
Diana lowered her lashes, hiding the surge of emotion in her eyes. "The Knight family and the Bell family were neighbors. My brother was passing by, saw how pathetic I looked, and took me in."
Eleanor gave her a look of pity, the kind one might give a stray cat shivering in the rain.
Diana remained indifferent. She grabbed her bag and walked straight out the door. Night had completely shrouded the city. The lights in the café were dim; she pushed the door open, leaving that suffocating sympathy behind her.
The Knight family's car was waiting outside. Diana instructed the driver to take Eleanor home first, while she walked toward the bridge spanning the river.
The wind on the bridge carried the dampness of the water, tangling her long hair. The vibrant city lights shattered into ten thousand shards of gold on the water's surface, but her thoughts drifted back against the current to that desperate year when she was eight.
In truth, the version she told Eleanor was the "clean" one.
Reality was far more brutal. That day, out of fear and defiance, she had run away from the restaurant and got lost. On those unfamiliar streets, a leering, sordid man had followed her—the most vivid nightmare of her childhood.
Until a young man, who looked as if he stepped out of the light, knelt before her. He crinkled his eyes and asked, "What's wrong, little one?"
He sat with her at the police station until late into the night, bought her a piece of overly sweet cake, and gently ruffled her hair before leaving. But when she returned home that day, what awaited her was a slap from her mother's frustrated hand.
The next day, she was completely abandoned in the Bell family villa—a place as empty as a tomb.
During those days, she was like a silent mushroom, huddling in the shadows of the garden fence, watching the sunset sink inch by inch. Her grandfather visited once; he frowned in disgust, calling her "unpresentable," before turning on his heel and leaving.
Just when she thought she would be swallowed whole by that massive house, the beautiful boy appeared again.
He was wearing a crisp school uniform, a bag slung over one shoulder, walking toward the withered "little mushroom" in the glow of the setting sun. He leaned over the wrought-iron fence, his deep eyes filled with a light she had never seen before, and whispered:
"Want to come with your brother?"
William Knight was sixteen that year.
Outsiders always assumed it was the charity of Kai Knight and his wife that led them to take in the neighbor's orphaned girl.
But only Diana knew that there was never any "grace" from the Knight family elders. The one who had raised her, from beginning to end, was only William.