Donald's POV
I drove into the driveway of the house where Diana had sent me a text earlier that afternoon. It was a suburban street, calm, lawns well maintained, white picket fences—the last place where one could think a man like me would try to taint his own reputation. It was my nervous energy that had been accumulating in me all the hours, and it was the reason my hands shook a little on the steering wheel, not with fear.
I could not help thinking of how Diana appeared in the company of her friends, the head of mischief in a place where books and lectures should have been read. I left the car, hid myself in the jacket I was wearing to hide the painful lump in my trousers, and I did not knock at the door. I touched the doorknob, and, as she had stated, it was open.
I stepped inside. T
