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

Ember's POV

For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace's chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.

On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.

Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.

Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.

When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.

"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."

My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother's grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.

He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father's massive gambling debts.

He was wrong.

With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.

Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.

I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father's debt. I am ready to pay it.

His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.

The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?

I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.

I looked down and typed three letters.

Yes.

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.

Ember's POV

The elevator doors slid open directly into the penthouse. Our penthouse.

Or at least, it was.

I stepped out, my heels sinking into the plush rug I had picked out last year. The scent of vanilla and sandalwood-my candles-still lingered in the air.

"God, it smells like a bakery in here." Karyn wrinkled her nose, stepping past me as if avoiding a bad smell. "We'll need to gut this place. It's too... domestic."

Chace followed her, loosening his tie. He didn't even look at me.

"Karyn will take the master suite," he said, his voice flat. "Move your things to the guest room, Ember."

I froze. "Excuse me?"

"The guest room," he repeated, finally meeting my eyes. There was no apology in them, just the cold pragmatism of a Capo issuing orders. "We need the master. It has the safe and the secure line."

"This is my home," I said, my voice trembling.

"It's my property," Chace corrected smoothly. "I pay the mortgage. I pay for the lights. I pay for the clothes on your back."

He walked past me toward the kitchen, pouring himself a drink without a backward glance.

I stood there, my skin burning with humiliation. Karyn was already walking toward our bedroom-my bedroom.

I turned and marched to the master suite. Karyn was standing by the bed, running her hand over the duvet cover I had bought for our anniversary.

"Quaint," she muttered. She looked at me with arched brows. "Oh, you're still here? Chace said guest room. Chop chop."

I grabbed my suitcase from the closet. I started throwing clothes into it. Not for the guest room. For the door.

I wasn't staying here. I would sleep on a park bench before I slept down the hall from them.

Chace appeared in the doorway, glass in hand. He watched me pack with detached amusement.

"Don't be dramatic," he said. "You're packing for the apartment on 5th? Fine. I'll have a driver take your boxes tomorrow. Just take what you need for tonight and go to the guest room."

He thought I was moving to the mistress apartment. He couldn't conceive of a world where I would actually leave him.

"I'm not going to the apartment," I said, zipping the bag with a decisive snap.

"Then where are you going?" He laughed. "Your dad's? He'll sell you back to me for a poker chip."

I didn't answer. I just walked past him.

He grabbed my arm. "Ember. Stop."

"Let go of me."

"You're staying," he commanded. "We have a breakfast meeting here in the morning. I need you to cook. Karyn doesn't cook."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You want me to make you pancakes after you bring your fiancée into our bed?"

"I want you to make the frittata I like," he said, his face hardening. "And stop calling it our bed. It's a piece of furniture."

Karyn walked out of the bathroom, now wearing a silk robe. My silk robe.

"Babe," she said to Chace, ignoring me completely. "Ho fame. Ordiniamo da quel posto francese?" (I'm hungry. Shall we order from that French place?)

"Sì, amore. Quello che vuoi," (Yes, love. Whatever you want.) Chace replied, switching effortlessly to Italian.

He looked at me, then back to her, and continued speaking in the rapid, lyrical language of our world-the language of business, of secrets, of family.

I understood Italian. I had learned it for him. But he pretended I didn't. He used it as a wall to shut me out, to remind me that I was a tourist in his country.

"Peasant food gives me heartburn anyway," Karyn said in English, glancing at the stove where the ingredients for our anniversary dinner still sat untouched.

She walked over to the wine rack and pulled out a bottle.

My breath caught. It was a vintage red. One of the few bottles Chace kept for special occasions.

It was also a blend heavy with sulfites. I was severely allergic. Chace knew that. We had spent a night in the ER three years ago with him holding my hand because of a bottle just like it.

"Open this one," Karyn said, handing it to him.

Chace took the bottle. He uncorked it without hesitation. He poured two glasses.

He didn't even look at the label. He had forgotten. Or worse, he didn't care if I stopped breathing, as long as his new Queen was happy.

He handed a glass to Karyn. They clinked rims.

I let go of my suitcase handle. I didn't need clothes. I needed air.

I walked to the front door.

"Here," Chace called out. He didn't turn around. He just tossed something onto the marble entry table. It landed with a plastic clatter.

His black Amex card.

"Go buy yourself something pretty," he said. "Cool off. Come back when you're ready to behave."

I opened the door.

As the latch clicked, I heard Karyn giggle. Then I heard the sound of glass being set down, followed by the soft, wet sound of a kiss.

"Bedroom," Chace growled, his voice thick with lust.

I slammed the door shut, severing the sound. But the silence in the hallway was louder. It screamed.