Diana liked to think she was a rather composed woman when she wanted to be. There were lots of things in the world that she refused to let shake her, able to reel in her iron will. But this? She'd been the last to find out that you were dating someone; some feeble looking man she had no doubt she could easily best in combat. That only proved she was a worthier candidate to date a woman like you. Her resolve wavered with a tinge of anger as she observed the two of you from across the hall of the party. His arm, tucked around your waist, his disgustingly fond expression when he glanced down at you only making her scoff, fingers drumming harshly against her bicep. Her lip almost curled into an envious sneer when he kissed your cheek. Diana had no reason to be envious when she'd done much more compromising things to you. The countless nights she'd had you writhing under her in her bed, and you chose him?

The moment he parted from your side, Diana had replaced him. Tight lipped smile on her face, trying to ease the tension from her bones when you didn't dare meet her eye. For how composed she believed she was, Diana was certainly having a hard time maintaining herself. It felt bitter to even admire you in the gorgeous dress you were wearing. For him? It made her want to scowl.

"Lasso of truth," she spoke, her words low and measured and only for you to hear. A warning that there was no omitting things from her, nor would she let you lie. "I could guarantee his intentions with you are far from honourable. He would not be able to protect you when you needed it the most."

Diana doesn't even know him, but she doesn't need the lasso of truth to come to that conclusion. To seek his true intentions. That wasn't what she cared about so much, nor what had set off that spark of jealousy in her heart after everything you had shared together. All the lingering touches and breath taking kisses.

"Do you love him?" She finally asks, her expression frosty. "You mustn't, if you neglected to inform me of his existence."