"DIANA!"
Diana turned her head at the sound of her name, her pupils dilating at the sight of Ian Basti stepping out of his car.
He looked…frightened out of his skin. Fear, a look she had never seen on his face.
Why?
He was always on her back, yes, but she didn't think he cared. Besides, saving her was impossible, he would never get to her on time because the truck—
A pair of strong arms wrapped around her, her body pulled against a solid frame. Then came the loud bang of the truck hitting into something—her, yes her.
But it wasn't her.
Yet she felt herself tumbling into the air, pain screaming through her body at the impact, before slamming against the concrete ground.
Her head hit the harsh stone and pain exploded in her skull, the air knocked out of her lungs.
The world tilted.
"Fuck!" a voice grunted above her, thick fingers sliding into her hair and cradling the back of her head with gentleness. "Diana."
That voice…
"Open your eyes, doll. C'mon, open your eyes."
Doll…? That jerk…
Diana blinked, her vision was blurry. But the silhouette above her—somehow, she could make out his frame—was Ian Basti.
He was hovering over her with an apprehensive expression on his face.
"Diana, can you hear me?"
Ian bit off the glove on his hand and brushed her hair away from her face. "Diana, can you see me?"
"My head hurts..." she murmured, a weak smile ghosting her lips. "Don't…shout."
Her body went limp in his arms.
She'd lost consciousness and Ian glanced around first, at the crowd who'd stopped, staring with horror and concern on their faces.
He rose to his feet, lifting her frame into his arms.
Anger was evident on his face as he walked off, but before he put her into his car, he paused, locking his gaze on a particular car parked across the street.
Stefanos. He was still behind the wheel of his car, frozen, and holding eye contact with him.
How did he notice him?
Ian narrowed his gaze on him dangerously. Murderous if he'd seen right. Then he got into the car and drove off.
For a moment, Stefanos genuinely thought he'd gone mad.
He'd watched Ian get out of his car, moved faster than humanly possible—in the blink of an eye and met with Diana. He saw them get hit, and slam into the ground, yet he stood up and carried her off like nothing happened.
What was that? Did he hallucinate?
He scrambled out of his car and rushed over to where the truck was stuck. A few of the crowd were taking pictures of it and he wondered why until he looked at the front of the truck.
It was a mess—like it had slammed into a freaking oak tree. The front end was mangled—twisted metal and shattered glass.
But that shouldn't be. It'd hit Ian Basti who'd somehow reached Diana in time.
What was going on?
He didn't want anyone to think he had lost his mind because he hadn't and so he pulled out his phone and took pictures of the truck.
Stefanos turned to look back at where Ian had driven off from.
'You hurt what's mine.'
'You made her cry.'
'Your wife?'
'Diana is mine. She belongs to me. You stole her from me.'
'She was made for me.'
Suddenly his thoughts were spiraling.
It couldn't have been Ian Basti…right? The person she'd spent last night with. The soap she smelt of, surely wasn't his. It couldn't be.
Stefan felt amused.
No, Diana wouldn't do something that stupid.
But if she didn't have an affair with him, why would Ian Basti ever dare call her his right in his face? How could he ever say he stole her from him when Diana was rightfully his—his wife?!
His fingers cracked as his hands clenched into tightened fists, whitening his knuckles.
She was playing with fire.
—————
"How is she?" Ian asked.
The doctor who'd checked Diana over smiled lightly. "She'll be alright. It's just a minor head concussion. She should be up in a few hours."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, Mr. Basti. I'll take my leave now." He nodded and Killian guided him out.
Ian turned back to Diana, still unconscious on his bed. He moved closer and gently brushed stray strands off her face. Then he reached for the duvet to pull it over her, however something stopped him.
Her shirt had ridden up and he could see deep purple bruises across her sides.
He went unnaturally still.
Bruise…?
From where?
Ian let go of the duvet and further pulled up her shirt higher to her ribs.
It was so much worse.
Deep purple bruises mottled her skin, painful and angry as if someone had hurt her so badly. Too bad.
And he was confused. Who would have hurt her?
Ian rubbed a palm down his face, exhaling to soothe the rage forming in his chest. He pulled the duvet over Diana and left the room to his office.
Minutes later, the door pushed open and Harlow stepped in.
"You called for me, sir?"
"Yes, I did. Come over here."
He approached the desk, cautiously.
"Did you pay close attention to Diana when I asked you to watch over her?"
He nodded. "Yes, I did."
"Are you sure?"
"I did, sir," Harlow repeated, firmer this time.
Ian's gaze narrowed intimidatingly.
Neither he nor Killian would ever lie to him, but in the circumstances it does happen, he was sure Harlow knew how it was going to end.
"Diana has bruises all over her," he said quietly. "Like someone laid hands on her. Would you care to explain that to me?"
Harlow's face paled.
"That's—"
"You were assigned to protect her," Ian said, tone chilling. "To make sure she was never hurt, that she was always safe. So why does she have those bruises?"
Visible fear could be seen crawling all over Harlow's face.
He shook his head. "Sir, I-I don't know what happened. I never left her side. I always made sure she was safe. I mean, I go as far as to escort her to work, and wait outside her company. I even came here with her the last time she came to your office. I have never slacked. I swear it."
Ian stared at him in silence.
"So you don't know where the bruises came from?" he questioned.