Chapter 105 Emeralds

Chapter 105 Emeralds
I stood outside the oak door of Ernest’s study, my knuckles hovering over the wood for three shallow, trembling breaths before I forced myself to rap twice.

"Come in."

I pushed the door open, keeping my chin low and my shoulders carefully braced. "You wanted to see me?"

Ernest sat behind his mahogany desk, a glass of amber liquor resting by his hand. The moment his eyes lifted to mine, a slow, possessive smile spread across his face—the kind of warm, doting look that always made my skin crawl.

"Always, my dear," he murmured smoothly, gesturing with one broad hand. "Come here."

I stepped forward into the dim, leather-scented room, my shoes sinking quietly into the thick Persian rug. As I approached the desk, my eyes fell on a long, black velvet case resting open on the polished wood.

Nestled into the dark silk was an antique cascade of platinum and teardrop emeralds—a collar necklace and matching drop earrings I recognized instantly. I had only ever seen them in pictures of my mother.

Ernest reached out, gently tracing the outline of the centerpiece stone.

"I had this set custom-made many years ago," he said, his voice dropping into a quiet, nostalgic reverie. "Before your mother ever agreed to marry me. Before she even agreed to let me court her properly, in fact. I sent a courier across the sea to secure untreated Colombian emeralds—pure, deep forest green, entirely flawless. The platinum was hand-spun by the master jewelers in the capital. The finest craftsmanship money can buy."

A sickening knot tightened in my gut. He was recounting stalking and buying my teenage mother as if it were a timeless romance.

"I remember the exact look on your mother’s face when I first presented it to her," Ernest murmured, his eyes glazing over with that familiar, predatory fog. "I only got to give it to her many years after I commissioned it, when we rekindled. She was… Speechless. I loved seeing my beloved Ava wearing it... She wore it to the winter solstice gala the year we announced our engagement. She outshone every woman in the room."

He lifted his gaze from the velvet box, his eyes raking over my face, my bare collarbones, my lips.

"And yet... Seeing it now, I think it looks just as good on you. Perhaps even better. You carry her grace like a second skin, Iris."

A wave of bitter bile burned the back of my throat. Every word out of his mouth was revolting, an incestuous, twisted projection that made me want to claw my own skin off. But I swallowed the nausea down into the pit of my stomach, keeping my features completely blank.

"It's beautiful," I murmured, keeping my tone carefully flat and polite.

"Like you," he said, pleased with my compliance.

He rose from his chair and rounded the desk. He stepped directly behind me, his hands coming down on my shoulders. The heat of his palms burned straight through the thin fabric of my robe.

"I know I’ve been harsh with you lately, Iris," he murmured, his breath hot against my temple. "Tensions in the territory have been high, and I let my temper get the better of me. Consider this my formal apology."

I stood rigid, staring straight ahead at our dim reflection in the dark windowpanes.

He lifted the heavy necklace, the platinum links clinking softly as he brought it around my neck. The stones were freezing against my skin, like bands of solid ice. As his rough fingers smoothed over my collarbones to fasten the clasp, his thumbs deliberately traced the curve of my throat. Where deep, finger-shaped bruises had mottled my skin a few days ago, the flesh had already knit back together—smooth and seamless.

Ernest’s hands stilled. His grip tightened by a fraction of an inch, pressing directly against my windpipe.

"Your skin healed exceptionally fast," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, silk wrapped around jagged glass. "Remarkably fast… I certainly hope that isn't because you've been seeking comfort... Or proximity... With my sons again."

My stomach turned to ice. "No, sir. Absolutely not."

"Good." The threat vanished as abruptly as it had surfaced. He smoothed his thumbs upward, caressing my jawline with sickening gentleness. "I’ve been so dreadfully busy with council business these past few days. I apologize for neglecting you, darling. You must have been lonely..."

I clenched my toes inside my flats to keep from flinching. A wave of bitter bile burned the back of my throat.

He genuinely believed it. Or at least he was trying very hard to believe it. 

In his twisted, rotten mind, I wasn't his prisoner—I was his doting, eager companion, and his abuse was nothing but a dirty little secret between us. 

"The annual Hunt Club Derby is this Saturday," Ernest continued, turning me around by the shoulders to inspect the emeralds against my chest. "High society will be out in full force. Unfortunately, territorial disputes on the northern border will keep me away. I cannot attend."

A tiny, desperate flutter of relief rose in my chest. A full afternoon without him breathing down my neck. I don’t even care about these high society events anyway.

"I won't have you sitting alone at home, of course," he added smoothly. "I've arranged for Nathaniel to act as your formal escort."

My mind raced. Nate and Damon had laid everything out in the car: their open contempt and their public allegiance to Ernest were a calculated strategy. They were actively playing the dutiful, disgusted sons who despised me for "seducing" their father, solely so Ernest wouldn't suspect them of rebellion—and so he wouldn't do to them what he did to Cole.

Ernest believed Nate genuinely loathed me. If I accepted Nate as an escort without a fight, Ernest’s paranoia would instantly catch the scent of collusion. He would suspect Nate wasn't truly loyal, or worse, he would isolate me from him, too.

I had to sell their lie.

"No, please..." I blurted, shrinking back toward the chair, letting raw terror bleed into my expression. "Please don't make me go with him. Nate despises me! Ever since he found out about… About you and I, he looks at me like I'm a disgusting opportunist. He won't say two words to me, and Jessica Harlow will be there—she already wants my head on a spike. It will be miserable!"

I leaned forward, playing the desperate, cornered girl. "Can't... can't Cole escort me instead?"

The atmosphere in the study collapsed.

Before I could draw another breath, Ernest’s hand shot out. His thick fingers knotted violently into the roots of my hair, yanking my head back until I saw the ceiling. With his other hand, he clamped down on my jaw, his fingers squeezing my cheeks so hard my teeth sliced into the soft flesh of my inner lip.

"Do you take me for a fool, Iris?"