His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms

Ember’s POV

The champagne in my glass has gone warm, but the memory of Chace’s blood on my hands is still unforgivingly ice cold.

I can’t stop the flashback. It hits me right there in the ballroom, superimposing itself over the laughing faces of the Syndicate elite like a double exposure film.

Suddenly, I'm back at University. The diner where I worked double shifts to pay for architecture textbooks.

Chace used to sit in the corner booth, nursing a black coffee he never drank, watching me with eyes that felt like a physical touch.

He was dangerous even then. He drove an armored SUV but walked me home every night, leaving it parked three blocks away so he wouldn't scare me.

He played the part of the rough-around-the-edges boy from the wrong side of the tracks perfectly.

Then came the attack.

A rival gang. A drive-by meant for him on the edge of campus.

He didn't duck. He didn't flinch. He threw his body over mine.

I remember the sound of the bullet hitting flesh. It sounded like a wet slap against concrete. I remember the red stain spreading across his white t-shirt, the way he gritted his teeth and looked at me—not at his wound, but at me—to check for scratches.

"You're the only civilian I'll ever protect, Ember," he had rasped in the back alley clinic while the mob doctor dug the lead out. "You're mine to keep safe."

I believed him. God, I was hungry for that safety. I was a girl with a gambling addict father and a dead mother whose name was mud in this town. Chace offered me a fortress.

But fortresses are just prisons with nicer walls.

"Smile, Ember!"

Karyn’s sharp voice drags me back to the present with the subtlety of a gunshot.

A photographer is in front of us. Karyn has looped her arm through mine, her grip bruising. She is pulling me into the frame.

"We need a picture with the friend," she says, emphasizing the word with a cruel tilt of her head.

The flash blinds me.

Chace steps in. He wraps one arm around Karyn’s waist and pulls her flush against him. He kisses her.

It isn't a chaste peck. It is a claiming. A performance of power for the press.

He kisses her with the same mouth that told me he loved me this morning.

I feel bile rise in my throat.

I pull away, stumbling back. "I need... the ladies' room."

I flee toward the cloakroom, my heels clicking a frantic rhythm on the marble.

I don't make it to the bathroom. Chace catches me in the narrow hallway near the coat check.

He grabs my elbow, spinning me around. His grip is familiar, but now it burns.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hisses. "You're making a scene."

"I'm making a scene?" I laugh, a broken, jagged sound. "You just proposed to another woman in front of me, Chace. You gave her your mother's ring."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He looks annoyed, like I'm a child throwing a tantrum over a toy he refused to buy.

"It's business, Ember. You know how this works. The Warren territory borders ours. It’s a merger. It doesn't change us."

"It changes everything!" I try to yank my arm free, but he holds tighter.

"Stop it," he commands. His voice drops an octave. "I'm doing this for us. With the Warren alliance, I secure the Boss seat. I’ll have enough money to set you up anywhere. I already leased the apartment on 5th. The penthouse. It’s yours."

"I don't want an apartment," I whisper. "I wanted you."

"You have me," he says, stepping closer, crowding me against the wall. He smells like expensive scotch and betrayal. "Karyn is just a title. She’s the Mrs. on paper. You’re my girl. You’ve always been my girl."

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a velvet pouch.

"Here," he says, pressing it into my hand. "For the trouble."

I open it. Diamond earrings. Heavy. Expensive.

Hush money.

"You think you can buy my silence?" I ask.

"I think I can buy your obedience," he says, his eyes darkening. "Be smart, Ember. You have nowhere else to go. Your father is drowning in debt. Your mother is dead. Without me, you’re prey."

He’s right. Or he was, five minutes ago.

Before I texted Keith Mosley.

"Let's go," he says, adjusting his cufflinks. "The car is waiting. Karyn is riding with us. Be polite."

The ride home is a funeral procession for my heart.

I sit facing them in the back of the stretch limo. Karyn is sipping champagne, her legs draped over Chace’s lap.

"So," Karyn says, looking at me over the rim of her glass. "Here are the rules, Ember. Since Chace is sentimental."

She holds up a finger.

"One. You never call him after 10 PM. That's my time."

"Two. No public appearances unless I sanction them."

"Three. You don't get pregnant. If you do, you handle it."

Chace says nothing. He just watches the city roll by, his hand idly stroking Karyn’s ankle.

"And Ember?" Karyn smiles. "You should thank me. Most wives would have you skinned. I'm letting you keep your feathers."

I look out the window at the blurred lights of the city.

The price is marriage.

I clutch my phone in the dark.

I’m ready to pay.