Page 52 of No Longer Mine (Rags & Riches #2)

Chapter Forty-Four

Scarlett

Dimitri set me up on the couch as I told him that I didn’t need to be in bed all day. As much as I loved the view and the thought of going out to the terrace, I knew I couldn’t do that with Don in my house. I didn’t know him, but for some odd reason, he was watching over me instead of Dimitri.

I raised my chin as he strolled into my home as if he owned the place. He had a small board tucked under his arm and a newspaper in his other hand. He didn’t smile or make a face. He simply set up the board on my coffee table between us and stared me down.

“What’s that?” I asked, even though I knew exactly what it was.

One of his brows raised. “It’s a chessboard.”

I sat there and stared back at him, unsure of how to proceed. I couldn’t exactly lean forward. “Why aren’t you watching over your councilman?”

“He insisted that a young, defenseless woman needed me more.”

I didn’t take the bait. This was another game of chess. “Oh.”

His lips twitched. “I sent one of my friends to drive him around today and make sure he stays out of trouble.”

“What about trouble finding him?”

He fought a smile. “He is very good at that. But Vance is the best of the best, he will stop the trouble before it even thinks of Dimitri.”

“Why didn’t he hire Vance then?”

Vance would have intercepted me, I was sure. If he was as good as Don was implying.

“Dimitri likes trouble to find him.”

“Hmmm,” My eyes flicked back to the chessboard between us. “Why chess?”

“It allows you to get to know your opponent better, it’s a great game, and I figured you would like it.”

I didn’t know if I liked where the conversation was headed, but I also wasn’t going to argue. I did like chess, a long time ago, in another life. I thought I’d buried that part of myself when I left Vanewood, but as he began to set up the board, I felt excitement shoot through me once again.

Don moved with practiced efficiency, placing each piece with quiet precision. His hands were steady, his gaze unreadable as he studied the board, then me.

“White or black?” he asked.

I hesitated. White moved first, controlled the pace, dictated the game. But black? Black watched, black adapted. Black waited for the perfect moment to strike.

“Black,” I said.

Something in his expression shifted—approval, maybe. With careful hands and steady arms, he moved the board from the table and set it on the couch. He sat down carefully on the other side of the board and then moved his first pawn forward.

“So,” I said, mirroring his move with my own, “Dimitri trusts you.”

He let out a short laugh. “He tolerates me.”

That wasn’t an answer.

“Are you his friend?”

“I work for him,” he corrected smoothly, moving another piece. “That doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“And yet he left you here with me.”

Another flicker of amusement crossed his face. “He didn’t have much choice, did he?”

I studied him. Don wasn’t like Dimitri. There was no barely-leashed fury in him, no sharp edges hidden beneath velvet-soft words. He was steady, measured—calculating in a way that felt less volatile, but no less dangerous.

I moved a knight. “And you? Do you trust Dimitri?”

His eyes met mine, sharp and assessing.

“I trust him to be exactly who he is.”

A non-answer. Again.

I bit back a smirk. “You’re very good at saying a lot without actually saying anything.”

His queen slid forward, taking one of my pawns. “And you’re very good at pretending you don’t care when you do.”

My fingers stilled on my bishop.

Check.

I hadn’t even noticed. Don leaned back, watching me, waiting to see what I’d do next. I exhaled slowly. The game wasn’t over yet.

I slid my king to safety, barely avoiding a checkmate that had come too soon. I was rusty, but the thrill of the game sent a pulse of energy through me, waking up something I thought I had long buried.

Don gave a slow nod, acknowledging my move. “Not bad.”

I arched a brow. “Did you think I’d be easy to beat?”

“Not at all.” He repositioned his knight. “But you hesitate.”

I scoffed. “I just avoided your trap, didn’t I?”

“You did.” His gaze flickered to me before settling back on the board. “But real power isn’t in reacting—it’s in controlling the board before your opponent realizes they’re already losing.”

I pursed my lips, studying the pieces between us. He was right. I’d been playing defensively, waiting for him to make his move first. That wasn’t me. At least, it hadn’t been.

I moved my queen forward, aggressive and direct. His lips twitched.

“Better,” he murmured.

We played in silence for a few more moves, the only sounds in the apartment being the occasional clink of chess pieces and the distant hum of the city outside. I felt a sharp pang of nostalgia. I pushed the thoughts and the memories away.

“Why did you think I would enjoy chess?” I asked as I watched the board.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Yes and no.

“Yes,” I said instead.

“It was a guess based on all of the chessboards in the common area at Vanewood Manor.”

There was that place again. I swallowed back the bitter taste that it brought.

It would have been easy to get angry or even defensive with Don, but I didn’t want to be.

There was no reason to have a fight, not now, not when I was so physically and emotionally exhausted.

I couldn’t keep running. Maybe it was better for me if I did finally confide in someone outside of my inner circle.

I didn’t know why I knew Don was the best choice, but I figured it was a good first step and I knew he wouldn’t go blab my secrets either.

Whether he didn’t say anything because he worked for Dimitri or not, I could feel it in my gut that he was trustworthy.

Don didn’t press me. He simply moved his next piece, waiting, giving me space to decide if I wanted to say more.

I stared at the board, at the pieces arranged in battle, and inhaled slowly. “I used to play,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. “A long time ago.”

He didn’t look surprised. “You were good.”

It wasn’t a question, and I didn’t argue. Instead, I traced the edge of my rook with my fingertip. “I had to be.”

Don studied me for a long moment. “Had to be, or wanted to be?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “In Vanewood, they were the same thing.”

He leaned back on the couch, his expression thoughtful. “It must’ve been exhausting.”

My throat tightened at the unexpected empathy in his voice. I nodded once. “You have no idea.”

He didn’t respond right away. When he finally did, his voice was softer than before. “Maybe I do.”

I met his gaze, searching for the lie. But there wasn’t one. “I wasn’t good at anything. I had to be good at something. I thought when I left there I would find another thing that I enjoyed, but unfortunately, I didn’t. I’ve searched high and low, nothing has ever made me feel like this again.”

“Why do you think you were brought to Vanewood then if you weren’t good at anything? Isn’t that the place where the most talented orphans ended up?”

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the rook. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe they made a mistake.”

Don didn’t look convinced. “You don’t really believe that.”

I let out a slow breath, staring at the board but not really seeing it.

“They chose me because… of my looks.” There was nothing good about me.

I wasn’t talented, I wasn’t special, and my family wasn’t rich.

The only thing it could have been was my looks, and when they began touching me… It was only confirmed.

Don’s expression darkened, the easygoing amusement from before vanishing like smoke. His fingers stilled on the chess piece he’d been toying with. “Scarlett…”

I shook my head sharply. “Don’t.” I wasn’t looking for pity.

I wasn’t looking for sympathy. I had spent too many years burying that truth, locking it away so deep that even I barely acknowledged it anymore.

But saying it out loud—admitting it—felt like ripping open an old wound that had never really healed.

For a long moment, Don didn’t speak. He just watched me, his gaze unreadable. And then, quietly, he moved a piece.

“Your move.”

I blinked. That was it? No forced apologies, no uncomfortable reassurances?

Slowly, I exhaled, my shoulders easing the tiniest fraction. I studied the board, forcing myself to focus on the game instead of the weight in my chest. My fingers hovered over a bishop before changing course.

I moved my knight.

Don nodded slightly, as if I’d passed some kind of test. “Better.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted. The past didn’t disappear, but it wasn’t suffocating me anymore. Not with the board between us, not with the pieces waiting to be played.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t running away.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

His head cocked to the side in question. “For?”

“For giving me a piece of myself back that I thought was stolen from me.”

We played in silence for a while, the steady rhythm of the game settling something deep in my bones. I focused on the pieces, the strategy, and the anticipation of Don’s next move. It was familiar, grounding in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

I kept my eyes on the board. “Miss what?”

“The thrill. The pressure. The way it made you feel alive when you played.”

I hesitated, my fingers pausing on my queen. “Sometimes.” The admission slipped out before I could stop it.

Don hummed, as if he already knew the answer. “That’s why nothing else has ever measured up, isn’t it?”

I swallowed hard. “Maybe.” It wasn’t just the game, though. It was the fight. The challenge. The constant battle to prove I was more than just a pretty face, that I was worth something. That I had control. I still remembered the first time I’d picked up a chess piece…

Jameson’s fingers tightened around my chin. “Do you hear me? You either enjoy this and pretend to like its, or I’m going to send you to the streets where gangsters and homeless people will do this to you.”

I ripped my face from his filthy hands. I had nowhere to go. He was right. I wouldn’t survive out there. I had nothing. I was nothing. He’d told me it enough times. His father never did, but I knew the truth.

A few kids giggled nearby and he dropped my skirt. After the first time he began touching me, I stopped wearing them until mysteriously, one day, all of my pants and shorts disappeared. All that was left were skirts. I had no other option.

“Tell dad hey when you see him next,” Jameson laughed as he walked away.

My stomach twisted and turned. His father would come calling next. That’s usually how it went. I didn’t think Mr. Vanewood knew what his son did, but the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and when his son had needs—he soon did too. I hated them both so much.

I hated this place. All I wanted to do was end it, but I couldn’t. I ran my hands down my hair to flatten it a bit, as he had wrapped his hand in it this time. My scalp still ached from where he’d yanked. I wiped the tears from beneath my eyes and left the shadows of the stairwell behind.

Oliver was sitting at one of the chessboards when I entered the commons area. He smiled at me even though there was a tightness in his expression that showed his irritation.“I hate this fucking game.”

I examined the pieces before him. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Strategy, planning, I don’t know. I just can’t see it.”

My brows furrowed. “I’ve never played before. But it looks interesting.”

Oliver looked up at me, arching a brow. “You’ve never played?”

I shook my head. “Never.”

“Lucky you.” He gestured at the board with a dramatic sigh. “Here, take my spot. Maybe you’ll actually be good at it.”

I hesitated. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching for something to focus on, something to keep me from thinking about the weight of Jameson’s hands on me, the echo of his voice in my ears.

I lowered myself into the seat, studying the board. The pieces were scattered, mid-game, as if Oliver had just been making random moves, trying to push through without any real direction.

He leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm. “Alright, Red. You wanna learn?”

I nodded once. “Teach me.”

He grinned. “Alright. First rule—” He tapped the king. “—protect this guy at all costs.”

I frowned at the piece, dragging my fingers over the smooth wood. A whole game built around protecting the one piece that couldn’t defend itself.

Go figure.

Oliver continued. “Each piece moves differently. Pawns only move forward, knights move in an L-shape, bishops diagonally?—”

I listened, absorbing every word, every possible move. My mind whirred, already seeing how the pieces connected, how every decision had consequences.

I liked that. I liked that it wasn’t random. That it was a game of control. Of power. I moved my first piece, a pawn, forward two spaces.

Oliver snorted. “You’re supposed to think first.”

“I did.”

Don didn’t say anything right away, but his gaze sharpened, catching the way my breath hitched. The ghosts of the past clawed their way up my throat, threatening to choke me. I clenched my fists against my lap, nails digging into my palms.

I hadn’t meant to go there. I hadn’t meant to remember.

But the weight of Jameson’s touch still lingered, the echo of his threats woven into my bones. Don didn’t push, didn’t press for more. He simply moved a piece across the board, his tone steady when he finally spoke. “You’re still thinking like you did back then.”

I blinked, yanked from the memory. “What?”

“You said you had nothing and you were nothing. You said all you were was a pretty face to them.” He met my gaze, unwavering. “But you survived. That means you were something. It means you were smart. You adapted. You ended up here, and where are they?”

I didn’t need to answer, his eyes told me that he already knew everything besides who really killed the Vanewoods.

I let out a slow breath, and my fingers brushed over the queen. “It didn’t feel like survival. It felt like losing.”

“Sometimes survival looks like losing. Until you win.”

I studied him for a long moment. The way he spoke, the certainty in his voice—it wasn’t just empty reassurance. He knew. He understood in a way most people never would.

I moved my piece, tipping one of his pawns over. “Then I guess I need to start winning.”

A slow smirk tugged at Don’s lips. “Now you’re getting it.”