The Diamond That Burns

With a jolt of pure terror, Mabel looked up at Carlyle. The enormous diamond ring on his finger was large enough to draw attention to her slender fingers.

“T-this… what is this?”

“Your uncle and I have already reached an agreement.”

Carlyle omitted even the formal proposal, tossing the words about Walter’s accord like they were nothing. He seemed determined not to hide the fact that in this marriage, Mabel was nothing more than a commodity being handed over in exchange for payment.

A sharp, invisible claw raked across her chest, leaving a stinging pain behind. Her gaze drifted back to her own ring finger. There was no time to waste— she needed to slip the ring off before it was too late.

She tried to pull her hand free from his grip, but he saw through her intention with those piercing blue eyes and refused to release her. His fingers— cold and dry on the surface— wrapped around hers with a warmth that was firm and unyielding. The hand atop it was broad-shouldered and veined, the tendons standing out like ropes under the skin.

Mabel suddenly caught her breath. Moments ago she had been too flustered to notice, but neither of them had been wearing gloves. This was the first time a man’s bare hand had touched hers. The rough pads of his callused fingers brushed her soft palm, sending an unsettling shiver up her fingertips.

Unlike her, though, there was no meaning in a man like Carlyle holding a woman’s hand. A bitter sting of injustice rose inside her.

Carlyle stared at her for a long moment, then let out a soft sigh, as if he were gently handling a child who had failed to understand a simple request.

“It’s… minor.”

His mocking gaze swept over her.

“Why put off the engagement over something as trivial as a small commotion? I detest wasting time.”

Wasting time…?

Mabel’s lips moved silently. To her, this was a matter of life or death— the happiness of her entire future hung in the balance.

“The engagement will proceed exactly as planned. Please do not waste your breath on useless objections.”

Carlyle glanced at the wall clock, then continued in his businesslike tone. “For the next few months I will be quite occupied. What about the wedding in mid-February next year?”

She wanted to refuse, but her voice refused to come out. His tone seemed polite enough to ask for her opinion, yet his cold eyes already declared the decision had been made.

It was an eerie experience. He issued no open threats, used no high-handed threats, but an invisible pressure still bore down on her shoulders.

The wedding date was traditionally chosen by the bride’s side. Ignoring that custom was another clear signal of how he truly regarded her—and how he planned to treat her from now on.

Carlyle tilted his head as if waiting for her answer, then ended the conversation with a single step backward.

“Then I shall take your acceptance as given….”

He stepped away, having accomplished his business, and lifted his ring-adorned hand with perfect courtesy. Their eyes met.

Carlyle did not look away as he slowly lowered his head. Mabel held her breath and waited.

The corners of his lips traced a slow arc, brushing the joint of his finger for only an instant. The ring on her finger blazed with blinding light.

“I look forward to seeing you at the wedding, Miss Darlington.”

Carlyle finally released her hand and turned to leave without another word. As his retreating back vanished from sight, Mabel’s legs gave way. She staggered to the window bench and collapsed onto it, unable to summon the strength to steady herself.

A heavy silence descended over the chaotic salon.

“Ha…”

A strangled laugh escaped her. She raised her trembling hand. The emerald-cut diamond gleamed coldly in the light.

She wrenched the ring off with rough force. In her heart she wished to open the window and toss the cursed stone into Fifth Avenue traffic, but the fear of repercussions kept her from it. Instead she clenched the sharp-edged diamond as if she meant to crush it. The facets cut into her soft palm.

Mabel’s lips moved unconsciously as she replayed everything Carlyle had done moments ago. A warm breath brushed her fingertips. A strange sense of guilt seized her and she jerked her hand away, leaving only a faint smear of lipstick on his fingers.

Disordered emotions surged through her all at once. Ever since meeting Carlyle, she had fallen into this state of confusion every time.

Will I really marry Baron de Rocheret in the end?

Mabel was certain Carlyle had married her only to hasten his entry into politics, needing a respectable wife to shield his tarnished reputation. Yet when he had appeared in the guise of the scandal-plagued flapper with her hair cropped short, he had shown no reaction at all. Every desperate measure had come to nothing.

If it isn’t for politics… then what in the world?

The only thing she could offer was the respect accorded the Darlington name in diplomatic circles and the title of Debutante of the Year. Questions tangled one after another, but no answer came.

She knew for certain that Carlyle felt nothing for her. He had slipped the engagement ring onto her finger and then, citing his busy schedule, suggested they meet again only at the wedding.

She had not expected even a romantic proposal on one knee, swearing eternal love. But she had never imagined he would be so one-sided and insulting.

That night, Mabel finally understood the true nature of the unease she had always felt around Carlyle. He cared nothing for the customs of the society to which he belonged.

How is it possible?

In this closed society, breaking even a minor rule could mean the loss of everything she possessed.

Mabel recalled the nobles she had met in London. Their conservative traditions and strict etiquette were deeply etched into their very being. That was why they never strayed far outside the bounds of acceptable behavior. The moment one crossed the line, the label “rogue” was stamped upon them and they were cast out forever. In such an exclusive circle, regaining honor and returning was almost impossible.

New York high society was no different. Even the infamous Cowboy Tucker brothers stayed within the permitted boundaries; they were wild, but never truly lawless.

Baron Carlyle de Rocheret appeared to be one of them from the outside. He knew how to behave like the perfect gentleman when he chose to.

But tonight he acted as if no boundaries existed at all.

People watched him with a mixture of fearful curiosity and vague fantasies. Some were helplessly drawn to his duality, others feared him and kept their distance.

Then what about me…?

Far away, a faint motor-engine sound echoed. Mabel looked out the window. Carlyle’s broad back, cigar clenched between his teeth, appeared beneath the streetlamp. Wisps of smoke drifted like fog behind him. The hem of his coat fluttered lightly in the night breeze, draped over his wide shoulders.

The streetlamp cast two shadows of Carlyle. One was deep and solid; the other faint, like a mere trace.

He suited the dark street far better than the perfect attire of a ballroom waltz.

A Rolls-Royce, parked at the corner, slowly reversed and came to a halt directly in front of him. Just as he was about to climb into the back seat, he suddenly lifted his head. His gaze swept straight up to the second-floor salon.

Mabel, staring at him in a daze, startled and stood up from the bench. Their eyes met. A faint smile curved the corner of Carlyle’s lips. He tipped his thin-brimmed top hat slightly toward her in a mock salute.

Mabel fled the window, face burning as if branded. Her heart raced so violently she had to pause to catch her breath.

Soon the engine sound faded into the distance.

Mabel slowly opened the clenched fist she had been holding. A sharp sting remained. The ice-cold diamond cast a cold glow across her flushed palm.

She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered to herself.

“What am I going to do…?”

A month-long ban on outings was placed upon Mabel. Ironically, the cruelest punishment she had ever received had come precisely because of Carlyle’s engagement ring.

Walter and Mildred were visibly relieved that he had not changed his mind even though she had appeared in such a disgraceful state.

Yet Mabel paced the room restlessly the entire day. The one method she had believed would succeed had ended in utter failure. The only remaining choice was a single, desperate one.

Mabel stared at the neatly written numbers in her notebook and let out a deep sigh. The figures represented the monthly allowance that flowed into her bank account from her father’s trust fund.

Beyond that, the only other items she possessed that could be sold for cash were her mother’s jewelry and the Debutante dress.

Will this be enough to last me until I find a job…?

She had never once considered the costs of food, shelter, and clothing throughout her life. She had no idea how to estimate them.

At that moment, Mildred’s voice drifted from the hallway. The woman who had acted as her warden, guarding the house and watching over Mabel, had apparently decided to leave for a short time.

Mabel slipped out from behind the curtain the instant she saw Mildred leave the house.