The morning after Wallace Walker's proposal, the city felt different.
It wasn't quieter — Lagos never is — but the noise didn't reach me anymore. I'd woken up with something I hadn't felt in months.
Purpose.
I brewed my own coffee, sat by the window of my tiny apartment, and opened my laptop. For hours, I stared at the blank page. The cursor blinked like a heartbeat — steady, patient, waiting for the new me to speak.
When I finally began typing, it wasn't just business plans. It was redemption in motion.
Project Phoenix.
The name came to me like fire in the dark. A new tech-creative hybrid brand built on innovation, sustainability, and art. Everything I'd once dreamed of building with James — but this time, it would be mine. Mine alone.
I didn't tell anyone yet.
Not Valerie. Not even Wallace.
Some things are too sacred to speak until they're strong enough to survive outside your head.
---
By noon, my phone buzzed with notifications. My name — trending again.
But not for anything good.
> "Diana Hattaway Crashes Walker Foundation Gala — Desperate Comeback Attempt?"
"Has-Been Star Tries to Seduce Billionaire for Relevance."
I almost laughed.
Once upon a time, those headlines would've shattered me. Now, they amused me. The world always underestimates a woman who's rebuilding quietly.
I clicked my phone off and whispered to my reflection, "You can't shame a woman who's already walked through fire."
Still, my pulse raced. Pain is a strange thing — even when you're strong, it still burns.
That's when the call came.
Wallace.
> "You've seen the press?" he asked, voice smooth but edged.
> "Oh, you mean the masterpiece of recycled gossip and bad journalism?" I replied. "Yes, I've read the poetry."
He chuckled softly. "You're handling it well."
> "I've learned to bleed gracefully."
There was a pause — one that felt heavier than words.
> "Let them talk, Diana. The louder they get, the closer you are to proving them wrong," he said. "Now, about your proposal… when do we begin?"
That question — those words — changed everything.
---
Two days later, I walked into the gleaming Walker Innovations Tower.
It felt surreal, stepping back into the world of boardrooms and billion-dollar ideas after being written off as yesterday's news.
But the moment I entered that glass elevator, I felt the old Diana stir again — the visionary, the strategist, the fire.
When the doors opened, Wallace was there, hands in his pockets, eyes calm and assessing.
> "Welcome to your new beginning," he said.
His words wrapped around me like a promise — or a challenge.
The meeting room was filled with his top executives. All of them men, all of them skeptical. I could feel the weight of their stares — whispers of Isn't that the woman who— silenced only when I began to speak.
I presented Project Phoenix.
Every word, every slide, every strategy was my heartbeat made visible.
At first, they doubted. Then they leaned in. Then, one by one, they nodded.
When I finished, Wallace smiled — that rare, slow smile that said, I knew you could.
> "Gentlemen," he said, turning to the board, "that's the future. And her name is Diana Hattaway."
Applause followed — hesitant, but real.
For the first time in forever, I didn't feel like a scandal.
I felt like a force.
---
But victory never comes without a price.
That night, as I stepped out of the building, flashes exploded.
Paparazzi again.
> "Diana! Is it true you're dating Wallace Walker?"
"Are you using him for a comeback?"
"James Hudson says you stole his company designs!"
That last one froze me.
James.
He was back — already poisoning the narrative.
Wallace appeared at my side, shielding me from the cameras. "Ignore them," he said quietly.
But I couldn't. Because I knew James.
If he was resurfacing, it meant war.
---
Later, in the quiet of my apartment, I stared at the city lights again — the same ones that had watched me fall.
This time, I wasn't the broken woman staring at her ruins.
I was the architect of a new empire — one they couldn't take from me again.
I raised my glass to my reflection.
"To ashes," I said softly, "and the ambition that rises from them."
And somewhere in the distance, my phone buzzed again — a message from Wallace:
> Wallace: "Tomorrow, we rise."
And I knew he meant it.
But what neither of us knew was that the higher we climbed, the hotter the fire waiting ahead would burn.
