Ember's POV

I woke up to the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor. The air smelled sharp—a sterile blend of antiseptic and lilies.

My throat felt like it had been scrubbed with steel wool.

I opened my eyes, blinking against the harsh light. I was in a private hospital suite.

Karyn was sitting in the armchair by the window, scrolling on her phone. She looked impeccable, as if she hadn't just watched me nearly die on a club floor less than twelve hours ago.

Chace was standing by the bed. He was holding a plastic cup of porridge.

"You're awake." His voice broke the silence. He sounded relieved, but it was the cold relief of someone who had just avoided a lawsuit, not a tragedy. "You scared us."

I tried to speak, but only a painful croak came out.

"Don't talk," he said, holding up a spoon like I was a toddler. "Doctor said your throat is swollen. Anaphylaxis. Stupid, Ember. Why did you drink that?"

I stared at him. Because you let them hunt me.

"Here," he said, offering the porridge. "Eat. You need your strength."

I turned my head away, refusing the gesture.

"Come on," he coaxed, his voice taking on that fake-sweet tone that made my skin crawl. "I'm taking care of you. See? I'm here."

"She's fine, Chace," Karyn said, not even looking up from her phone. "She did it for attention. Who forgets their own allergy?"

"She's stressed," Chace said, defending her cruelty with a dismissive shrug. "The merger is hard on everyone."

Karyn's phone rang, cutting through the tension. She answered it on speaker, because privacy is for poor people.

"Mother?"

"Karyn!" The voice was shrill and vibrating with rage. "That little rat's mother is causing problems again. The lawyers found a discrepancy in the archives. Liana Ford's name is popping up in the sealed indictments."

My blood ran cold in my veins. My mother.

"She's dead, Mother," Karyn sighed, picking at a nonexistent piece of lint on her dress.

"Her ghost isn't!" Karyn's mother shrieked. "She was a rat, Karyn. A snitch. And her daughter is probably one too. We need to bury that family's reputation before the wedding. If the Commission thinks we associated with rats, the alliance is void."

I closed my eyes. It was the same lie they had used to kill her. My mother wasn't a rat. She was just an artist who had seen something she shouldn't have—Karyn's mother leaving a hotel room with a rival Boss. They framed her to cover their own treason.

Chace looked at me. His expression hardened, all traces of the concerned fiancé vanishing instantly.

"Is that true?" he asked me. "Did your mother leave files?"

I shook my head frantically.

"If she did," Chace said, his voice dropping to a low growl, "I will burn everything she ever touched. I won't let a dead snitch ruin my empire."

He wasn't just asking. He was threatening.

"We need to get ahead of this," Karyn said, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "The Charity Auction is tonight. We need to show unity. And we need to make a statement about where our loyalties lie."

She looked at me with cold calculation.

"She comes with us," Karyn said.

"She's sick," Chace said, but his protest was weak, a token gesture.

"She looks fine," Karyn countered. "She needs to be seen supporting us. Supporting the family that graciously keeps her alive despite her bloodline."

Chace looked at me. He looked at the porridge in his hand, then set it down on the tray with a finality that chilled me.

"Get dressed, Ember," he said. "We have an event."

"I... can't..." I rasped.

"You can," he said. "And you will. The Mosley family will be there. The Don himself. I need to show him my house is in order. That means my fiancée and my... ward... are on the same page."

Mosley.

The name sparked a fire in my chest. Keith would be there.

This wasn't a punishment. It was an exit strategy.

I looked at Chace. I looked at the man I had once thought I loved, the man who was now threatening to desecrate my mother's memory to save his own skin.

I forced myself to sit up. Pain shot through my chest, but I ignored it.

I nodded.

Chace smiled. "Good girl."

He left the room to get the discharge papers. Karyn followed him, already typing a press release on her phone.

As soon as the door clicked shut, adrenaline surged, masking the pain. I snatched my phone from the bedside table.

My fingers flew across the screen.

To: Mr. Mosley

I'll be at the Auction. I'm ready.

The reply came instantly.

Wear red.

Ember's POV

The boutique reeked of old money and new judgment.

It was one of those sanctuaries of exclusion where price tags were absent because if you had to ask, you were in the wrong zip code. It was also a beautiful lie. Everyone knew the back room was where the Syndicate laundered their filth, transmuting blood money into haute couture receipts.

Chace sat on a velvet ottoman, scrolling through his phone, resembling a bored monarch waiting for his court jester.

Karyn flipped through a rack of gowns with surgical precision. The hangers clicked against the metal bar like the loading of a magazine.

"Here," she said, pulling out a dress that looked like spun sugar and bad decisions.

It was a pale, sickly pink, drowning in ruffles.

"This one," she declared. "It says, 'I know my place.'"

I stared at the garment. It was infantilizing. It was a dress for a child, or a doll.

"I'm twenty-four, Karyn," I said, my voice steady despite the frantic thumping against my ribs. "Not twelve."

"You're an Associate's daughter," she countered, shoving the hanger into my chest. The metal hook scraped my skin. "In our world, that makes you a child. Go put it on. We don't have all day."

I looked at Chace. He didn't look up.

"Just wear it, Ember," he muttered. "It's fine."

Fine. The word he used for everything that destroyed me.

I walked past Karyn toward the rack of evening gowns on the far wall. The fabric here was different. Heavier. Richer.

My hand landed on silk as cool as water.

It was red. Not a bright, cheerful cherry, but a deep, arterial crimson. It was a dress that looked like a wound, or a warning. It featured a plunging neckline and a slit that sliced up the thigh like a blade.

It was a dress for a woman who was going to war.

I pulled it off the rack.

"I'm trying this one," I said.

The silence in the shop was instant. The shop assistant, a nervous woman who knew better than to breathe too loud, looked between me and Karyn with wide eyes.

Karyn laughed. It was a sharp, brittle sound.

"That?" she sneered. "That is a dress for a Boss's wife. It demands attention. You are supposed to be invisible, Ember. You are the shadow, remember?"

"I like the color," I said, clutching the silk.

"Put it back," Chace said.

His voice wasn't bored anymore. It was low, vibrating with danger. He finally looked up, his eyes narrowing. "You aren't going to the auction to turn heads. You're going to support Karyn."

"I'm going because you forced me," I said. "If I have to be there, I'm going to look like myself."

I turned and walked into the dressing room before they could stop me.

My hands shook as I stripped off my clothes. I pulled the red silk over my head. It slid down my body like a second skin, hugging every curve, exposing the pale expanse of my back.

I looked in the mirror.

For the first time in days, I didn't see a victim. I saw a flame.

The curtain ripped open.

Chace stood there. He filled the small space, sucking the oxygen out of the room. He stared at me.

For a second, his expression faltered. I saw the hunger there—the raw, possessive heat that used to liquify my knees. He looked at the way the red silk clung to my hips, and his jaw worked.

Then he remembered who he was. And who I was.

"Take it off," he ordered.

"No," I said.

He stepped inside. The space was too small for his anger. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"You think this is a game?" he hissed, his face inches from mine. "You think because I let you sleep in the house, you have a vote? You are existing on borrowed time, Ember."

"I am a person, Chace," I whispered. "I am the woman you said you loved yesterday."

"Yesterday I was a Capo with a girlfriend," he said, his voice ice. "Today I am a man securing an empire. And you are becoming a liability."

He squeezed harder. I winced.

"Karyn wants you in the pink dress," he said. "It makes her feel secure. And if my fiancée is insecure, the alliance is shaky. If the alliance is shaky, I lose money. I don't like losing money."

"I won't wear it," I said.

He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. It felt like a violation.

"Your mother is buried in the East End cemetery," he said softly. "Plot 402. Nice spot. Quiet."

I froze.

"We need a new parking lot for the casino project," he continued, his voice casual, conversational, as if discussing the weather. "I've been looking at zoning maps. That cemetery is in the way. It would be a shame if I had to bulldoze it. If I had to dig up the bones and toss them in a landfill because the paperwork got... messy."

My blood turned to ice.

"You wouldn't," I choked out.

"Wear the pink dress," Chace said, pulling back to look at me. His eyes were dead. "Be the good little doll I paid for. Or I turn your mother's grave into a slab of concrete."

He released my arm.

"You have two minutes."

He walked out.

I stood there, shaking, the red silk feeling heavy as lead against my skin.

I took it off. I let it pool on the floor like a puddle of spilled blood.

I put on the pink dress. It was tight in the wrong places and loose in others. It made me look small. It made me look owned.

When I walked out, Karyn smiled.

"Much better," she said. "Now you look like you belong in the background."

Chace didn't look at me. He just checked his watch.

"Let's go," he said. "And smile, Ember. You're expensive to keep around."