Chapter 6 - Ashes and EmbersBy dawn, the fires had been extinguished, leaving the grand Ashford mansion smelling of charred timber, wet ash, and scorched stone. The northern wing was gutted, but the main structure still stood like a scarred fortress battered by a siege.
The police—all of whom were on Daniel’s payroll—had quietly classified the attack as a "gas leak and domestic dispute," sweeping the cartel war neatly under the rug before the morning news cycles could pick it up.
I sat on the edge of the stone terrace overlooking the Hudson River, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, watching the first rays of golden sunlight break across the New York skyline.
Footsteps crunched softly on the gravel behind me.
Daniel walked up, holding two steaming mugs of black coffee. He handed one to me before sitting down on the stone balustrade beside me. He had changed into a clean dark sweater, though a faint scratch still marked his jawline from the night before.
"You're awfully quiet," Daniel noted softly, taking a sip from his mug.
"I'm just realizing that my entire life was a lie," I murmured, staring down into the dark liquid of my coffee. "My father didn't send me here to be a spy. He sent me here to be sacrificed. And instead... I blew up my entire existence for a mafia boss."
Daniel was silent for a long moment. He reached out, taking the mug from my hands and setting it aside, before gently turning my face toward his.
"You didn't sacrifice yourself for a mafia boss," Daniel said, his voice deep, steady, and utterly sincere. "You saved a man who was ready to drown in a sea of blood and betrayal. You gave me a reason to look past the violence of my own world."
"What happens now, Daniel?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly as I looked into his dark eyes. "My father is still out there. My cover is blown. I can't go back to being Emily McBride, event planner."
"No," Daniel agreed, a slow, certain smile breaking across his face. "You can't."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-lined box. He opened it to reveal a ring—not the sparkling diamond engagement ring he had worn for the public sham with Katherine, but a heavy, intricate band of platinum embedded with a single, deep ruby, carved in the ancient style of the Ashford family crest.
"I don't want a fake fiancée, Emily," Daniel said, his voice dropping into a register that made my heart race faster than any gunfight. "I don't want a spy, and I don't want a pawn. I want a partner. A queen to sit beside me on a throne built of truth, not lies."
I stared at the ring, then up at the man who had stared down death without flinching.
The fear I had felt weeks ago when I first stepped into his world was completely gone. In its place was something far more powerful—something dangerous, real, and absolute.
May you like
I slowly lifted my left hand.
Daniel took my fingers in his, his warm, calloused skin sliding the heavy ruby ring onto my finger, where it fit perfectly, as if it had been waiting for me all along.
