Her Best Friend
1628 Words
As Diava went out of vouge she went straight to Rhiss estate,tires screaming on the gates. She saw the news of her being wanted, but the guard at the post just stares at her and looks away. She heard commotion inside,He heard the commotion too.
The iron gates are open. Unlocked.
She kills the engine and steps out. Afternoon light spills over the marble courtyard, but the house doesn’t look calm. It looks like a held breath.
Then she hears it.
Voices. Shouting. Shattering the quiet.
Diava moves fast across the steps, heels clicking, and stops just short of the tall double doors. They’re cracked open an inch. She pushed them a little and listens.
Stacy is inside. Stacy, she's the one shouting.
“You think you can erase her?!” Stacy’s voice cracks like a whip. “You let guards drag her out at 2 AM in front of the staff, like she’s nothing, and now you sit there sipping tea like this house isn’t bleeding?!”
Diava freezes. She presses her back to the cold stone wall beside the door.
Inside, Lady Benita sits on the velvet couch, spine straight, face carved from ice. Lia leans against the mantel, arms crossed, that ugly smirk on her face. Three guards stand by the exit, eyes on the floor. And Stacy paces in the center of the room, hands shaking, eyes blazing.
“No one talks about Diava,” Stacy continues, voice shaking but not stopping. “No one says her name at breakfast. No one puts her chair at the table. You wrote her out of the family portraits, Lady Benita. You told My father to hold me down. You told the press she ran off with money. But I was there. I was always there.”
Lady Benita lifts her cup. “Lower your tone, Stacy. You’re hysterical.”
“Hysterical?” Stacy laughs, and it sounds broken. “You want hysterical? I watched her fold your laundry when her hands were blistered. I watched her smile at your charity galas while you introduced her as ‘the girl we took in’. I watched her take every hit, every cut, every silence, and she still call this house home. She’s more Rhiss than you’ll ever be.”
Lia rolls her eyes. “She’s dramatic. Just like Diava She’ll come crawling back when her card declines.”
“She won’t,” Stacy snaps. She stops pacing. Turns to face them full on. “And that’s what terrifies you. She’s not coming back to you. Not if you beg. Not if this whole mansion burns.”
Diava’s breath catches. She didn’t know Stacy had this in her. Ten years of Friendship, and Diava thought Stacy was quiet because she had nothing to say.
Stacy turns to the guards. Her finger stabs toward them. “You. You put hands on her. You dragged her by the arm like she was trash. If she doesn’t walk back through that door on her own terms, you’ll regret it. Not because I’ll touch you. Because she will. And when Diava comes back—and she will— she won’t be the girl who pressed your suits. She’ll be the woman you should’ve feared years ago.”
One guard shifts his weight. Lady Benita stands. The cup clatters in the saucer. “That’s enough.”
“It’s not enough,” Stacy says. She slams both palms on the coffee table. The porcelain tea set jumps. “If you don’t find her, if you don’t use every cop, every camera, every connection you have to bring her back—then you’re all going to regret it. When she comes back, she won’t knock. She won’t ask. She’ll take. And I’ll hand her the matches.”
Silence drops. Heavy. Ugly.
Lia opens her mouth. Nothing comes out. Lady Benita’s face goes white, then red. For the first time in years, she has no words.
And Diava hears it.
A sound behind her. Soft. Choked.
She turns, slow.
Diava stands in the garden archway.
She’s not supposed to be here. She's wanted,But she climbed the back wall. She came.Eyes red-rimmed. But she’s standing. She’s here.
Diava’s hand flies to her mouth. Tears spill down her face. Silent. Fast. She doesn’t make a sound. She just stands there, listening to Stacy tear the Rhiss family apart for her.
She didn’t know Stacy could be this. This loud. This fierce. This willing to burn the whole name to the ground for her.
Stacy finally notices movement. She turns. Sees Diava.
Her whole body goes still. The storm drains from her face in one second.
“Diava,” Stacy whispers.
Lady Benita spins. Lia drops her phone. The guards reach for her to hold her down but they stopped.
Diava doesn’t move. Tears keep falling. She stares at Stacy like she’s seeing her for the first time.
She was wrong.
Stacymoves first. She steps through the door, heart pounding. “You’re hurt,” she says to Diava, reaching for her arm.
Diava flinches,She looks her. Straight at Stacy.
“You…” Diava’s voice is hoarse, barely there. “You don’t have to—”
“I do,” Stacy says. She crosses the room in three steps. She doesn’t touch Diava. Not yet. She just stands close enough that Diava can feel her. “I should’ve done it years ago. I’m sorry I waited until they dragged you out for me to grow a spine.”
Lady Benita finds her voice. Cold. Cutting. “Guards. Take her.”
No one moves.Not the guards.
Stacy doesn’t look away from Diava. “Let them try,” she says quietly. Then louder, to the whole room: “You want her? You come through me. Through every person she ever saved in this house while you were busy performing ‘perfect family’.”
Diava cries harder. She covers her face with both hands. Not from fear. From shock. From the weight of being seen, finally, after a decade of being invisible.
She spent years thinking she was alone in this house. That no one noticed when she cried in the kitchen at 3 AM. That no one cared when Lady Benita cut her from the photo wall.
She was wrong.
Stacy puts an arm around Diava’s shoulders. “We’re leaving,” she says to the room.
Lady Benita steps forward. “She signs no contracts until—”
“Until what?” Stacy interrupts, eyes still locked on Diava. “Until you control her again? No. She goes where she wants. With who she wants. And if you touch her, I’ll make sure every newspaper in this city knows exactly how you treat your wife.”
Diava lowers her hands. Her tears keep falling, but she’s looking at Stacy now. Really looking. Memorizing her face. The way Stacy’s hands are still shaking from shouting. The way her voice is hoarse.
“I didn’t know,” Diava whispers.
Stacy smiles. Small. Sad. Brave. “You weren’t supposed to,” she says. “That’s what fruends does. We fight when you can’t.”
The front door is still open behind them.
Diava takes one shaky step forward. Then another. Stacy steps aside so Diava can go her out.
As they pass Lady Benita, Diava stops. She doesn’t speak. She just looks at her. Really looks.
Because for the first time, Diava isn’t the girl who begs to stay.
Elena leads her out. Stacy follows, walking close, like a shield. No guards stop them. No one speak.
Diava doesn’t stop crying until they’re past the gate. Not from pain. From relief.
She didn’t know Stacy could be this supportive.
Now she does.
[8pm~ Highzee hotel]
Night falls over the city. Diava sits on the hotel bed Stacy booked for her. Silk sheets again, but this time no one’s watching through a camera. Just quiet.
She can’t sleep. Her mind replays Stacy’s voice from the mansion. "I’ll hand her the matches.”_ Her chest aches. Ten years she thought she was alone. Now there her best friend. Now there's Stacy.
“I need air,” she whispers.
She grabs the hoodie Stacy left on the chair and slips out. The hotel lobby is empty. The streets outside are lit, but quiet. She starts walking. Just to think.
Footsteps behind her. Then more footsteps.
Diava stops. Turns. Three men, then four, then six. Too many. They don’t look like hotel guests. They look like they were sent to her”.
“Come out,” she shouts. Her voice echoes.
They step from the shadows. No words. Just circling.
Her heart slams. She run immediately.
Alley. Street. Alley. Her lungs burn. Heels clicking, then abandoned as she kicks them off. She’s tired, legs shaking, but she doesn’t stop.
Headlights flare. A car screeches to a stop right beside her. Sit to driver sit door swings open.
No time to think. She dives in, slams the door, head down, breath ragged.
“Drive,” she gasps.
The car peels away. Tires scream. The men are left in the rearview mirror, shrinking.
Only when they’re two blocks away does Diava dare to look up.
Her head bumps something solid. She jerks back, eyes wide.
A man sits in the driver’s seat. Dark jacket. Watch glinting under the streetlight. He doesn’t look at her. Just drives, one hand steady on the wheel.
Diava’s mouth opens to speak, to ask who he is, what he wants—
He bent her head to his middle Knowing.
Diava gasp and her open mouth hit something not just anything but a dick
She raised her head again but he still press her head down and the crown head of the d**k entered her mouth
- Writer
