Diana Park is everything I am not.
I realize this approximately four minutes into our first real conversation, which takes place not at Chen Industries but at Marlene's Corner, because Diana has somehow discovered that this is where I spend my mornings and has decided to "drop by" for coffee. She arrives looking effortlessly elegant in a soft gray cashmere sweater and simple gold earrings, her dark hair loose around her shoulders instead of pulled back in its usual sleek ponytail. She looks approachable. Warm. Like someone you'd want to tell your secrets to.
I hate it.
"Vivian," she says, her smile genuine and disarming. "I was hoping I'd find you here. Lucas mentioned this café when we spoke—he said it's become something of a second home for you. I can see why. It's lovely."
