Chapter 9

I didn't sleep. I sat by the window all night, watching the city lights, my mother's sketchbook in my lap. I heard them in the master bedroom-giggles, whispers, the sounds of a couple deeply in love, or at least in lust. Each sound was a fresh torment.

At dawn, my phone vibrated. A text from Keith Mosley's number.

"Your mother's grave has been moved to a private, secure location. No one can touch it without your permission. The details are in your email."

Relief washed over me, so potent it felt like I could finally breathe again. I deleted the message and gently kissed the cover of the sketchbook. "It's okay, Mom. We're safe now."

I picked up my broken suitcase and walked downstairs. The penthouse, once my home, now felt like a prison.

Karyn was in the living room, wearing one of Chace' s shirts, a smug, proprietary look on her face. "Leaving so soon? Going to your little family recognition party? Don't embarrass yourself."

Chace came down the stairs, tying his tie. His eyes landed on my suitcase. He scoffed. "You're really going? Don't come crying to me when they treat you like dirt."

He walked over to me, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, you don't have to go. You can stay here. With me. We can still be together, Ember. Karyn doesn't have to know."

He was offering me the role of a secret mistress. Again. After everything.

I looked him straight in the eye. "No, thank you. I'd rather not end up like Karyn's mother, the secret mistress who had to hide her child's true parentage for decades."

Chace' s hands, busy with his tie, froze.

Karyn's voice trembled. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you didn't know?" I feigned surprise. "Your mother wasn't your father's first wife. She was his mistress. The real Mrs. Warren was my mother's best friend."

The silence in the room was deafening.

Chace let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "You're pathetic, Ember. Making up stories to hurt Karyn."

He grabbed my arm, his grip tight. "You're not going anywhere."

He turned to Karyn, who was pale and shaking. "Don't listen to her, honey. She's just jealous." He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. "Let's go. We'll be late for work."

As they walked out the door, he shot me a look over his shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid."

I watched them go, a perfect couple built on a foundation of lies. I took out my phone and pressed send on a pre-written email. An anonymous tip to a gossip columnist, complete with names, dates, and verifiable details.

Then I closed the door on that chapter of my life for good.

The banquet was as grand as my uncle had promised. The room was full of powerful people, all murmuring about the re-emergence of the long-lost Ford heiress.

I stood on the stage in a simple white dress, my face calm. My real father, a man I barely knew, stood beside me.

"I would like to introduce my daughter," he announced, his voice booming. "Ember Ford."

The room erupted in whispers.

I stood there, a statue of serenity, letting their gazes wash over me.

My father's assistant leaned in and whispered something to him. He nodded, then turned to me. "The car is here for you. For the wedding."

"Wedding?" a voice in the crowd asked.

"Yes," my father said. "She is to be married to Keith Mosley, as per my wishes."

My gaze was steady. I had accepted my fate. This was a transaction. A way out.

"I will clear your mother's name," my father promised in a low voice, a hint of guilt in his eyes.

I gave a slight nod and walked off the stage, through the stunned crowd, and out the grand doors.

A black, sleek limousine was waiting. The Mosley family crest was on the door. This was it.

I got in without hesitation. The door closed, and the car pulled away, leaving my old life behind.

A man was sitting across from me. He was handsome in a severe, powerful way, his presence filling the small space. He wore a perfectly tailored suit, and his eyes were sharp and intelligent. This had to be him.

"Keith Mosley," he said, his voice deep and calm. He extended a hand. "We should head to the city hall to get the paperwork done."

"Why?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"

He didn't answer right away. The car moved smoothly through the city traffic. Only when we were a few blocks from city hall did he finally speak.

"Years ago, when I was just starting out, I was in a terrible accident. I was trapped, and no one stopped to help. Except for one woman."

He looked at me, and I saw a flicker of old pain in his eyes.

"She pulled me from the wreckage. She saved my life. Her name was Liana Ford."

My mother.

I stared at him, speechless.

"I never got to repay her," he continued, his voice soft with regret. "By the time I found her, she was gone. And I heard what they had done to her, the lies they spread. So now," he looked at me, his gaze intense and unwavering, "it's my turn to save her daughter."