The Discarded Diamond
Chapter 1: The Eviction
“Get this lying trash out of my house before I have you arrested for extortion.”
Luke Morgan’s voice cracked across the mahogany-paneled study like a gunshot. I stood frozen in the doorway, my bare feet sinking into the Persian rug, clutching the plastic stick that had just dismantled my life.
“Luke, please,” I whispered. My voice was thin, trembling. I was still wearing the silk nightgown he had torn off me in a frenzy of passion just three hours ago. Now, he looked at me like I was a cockroach crawling across his dinner plate.
“Listen to what?” he snarled, stepping out from behind his massive oak desk. He was fully dressed now, in a charcoal suit that cost more than I made in a year. “More lies? You really think you can trap me with this pathetic scheme? Do you have any idea who I am? What my family is worth?”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “The baby is yours, Luke. You know it is. We’ve been together for eight months.”
“We’ve been screwing,” he cut me off, the cruelty in his eyes cold and absolute. “That’s all this was. A wealthy man using his maid for amusement. Did you seriously think it meant something more?”
The words hit me like physical blows. I staggered back, clutching my stomach instinctively.
Over the past few weeks, I had seen glimpses of this—the way he stiffened when his father, Richard Morgan, entered the room, the way he dropped my hand when his friends walked by. But I had told myself it was just stress. I had told myself he loved me.
“You said you loved me,” I choked out.
Luke laughed. It was a harsh, barking sound. “I say a lot of things when I’m trying to get between a woman’s legs, Tanya. Surely you’re not that naive.”
He circled me like a shark, his eyes scanning me with detached disgust.
“Let me explain how this works, sweetheart. You are a housekeeper. A nobody. I am Luke Morgan, heir to a billion-dollar empire. We don’t have babies. We don’t have relationships. And even if that thing inside you was mine—which it isn’t—do you think anyone would believe you? A desperate maid trying to cash in? That’s the oldest con in the book.”
He pulled out his wallet and threw a stack of bills on the floor.
“Here. Five thousand. That should cover a trip to the clinic downtown. Get rid of it.”
“You want me to abort our baby?”
“I want you to handle your mistake,” he sneered. He picked up his phone. “Security. I need the help removed. Now.”
I stared at him. The man I had loved. The man I had dreamed of building a life with. He was gone. Or maybe he had never existed.
“I want you to remember this moment,” I said quietly. My voice shook, but my spine straightened. “I want you to remember how you threw away the woman who loved you more than her own life. Because someday, Luke Morgan, you are going to regret this.”
“The only thing I regret is wasting eight months on worthless trash,” he spat. “Get out.”
Two security guards—men I had shared coffee with in the kitchen just yesterday—marched in. They wouldn’t look me in the eye. They grabbed my arms and dragged me toward the door.
As the heavy oak doors of the Morgan Estate slammed shut behind me, leaving me shivering in the cold night air, something inside me broke. And in the jagged ruins of my heart, something else began to grow.
It wasn’t just a baby. It was a promise.
Chapter 2: The Fall
Two months later, I was sitting in the parking lot of a Walmart, counting the crumpled bills in my wallet for the fourth time.
$43.16.
That was my net worth.
The rain hammered against the cracked windshield of my fifteen-year-old Honda Civic. The heater had died three weeks ago, and the December chill was seeping into my bones.
My stomach cramped with vicious hunger. I stared at the McDonald’s across the street, the golden arches glowing like a beacon of warmth I couldn’t afford. I hadn’t eaten a real meal in three days. Just stale crackers I’d found in a dumpster behind a gas station.
My phone buzzed. It was another rejection email.
Position filled. Thank you for your interest.
Fifteen rejections this week. Luke had done a thorough job. He had poisoned the well. Every time I applied for a housekeeping job, his name came up as a reference I couldn’t provide. Whispers had spread through the wealthy enclaves of the city—unstable, liar, extortionist.
I was radioactive.
A tap on the window made me jump. A security guard was shining a flashlight into my eyes.
“You can’t sleep here, miss,” he said, his breath fogging in the cold air. “Store policy.”
I rolled down the window. “Please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “Just for tonight. I have nowhere else to go.”
The guard looked at me. He saw the hollows under my eyes, the swell of my belly under my thin coat. His face softened, but he shook his head.
“I’m sorry. There’s a shelter ten miles south on Route 9.”
I nodded, fighting back tears. I had been to that shelter. It was full. The waiting list was six months long.
I started the car, praying the engine would turn over. It coughed to life, sputtering.
As I drove away, I felt the baby kick. A tiny flutter against my ribs.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into the darkness. “I’m so sorry.”
The thought crept in again—the clinic. The five thousand dollars Luke had thrown at me. I hadn’t taken the money, but the idea of ending this suffering, of erasing the mistake… it was seductive.
But then rage flared in my chest. Aborting this child would be letting him win. It would be erasing the only proof that what we had was real.
My phone rang. It was my sister, Kesha.
“Hey, Kesh,” I answered, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Girl, where have you been?” Kesha’s warm voice filled the car. “How’s the fancy job? Still living the high life?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t tell her. Kesha had three kids and a husband working double shifts. She couldn’t save me.
“It’s… complicated,” I lied. “Just busy.”
“You sound weird,” she said sharply. “Is it that boy? That rich boy?”
“I’m fine, Kesh. Really. I have to go.”
I hung up before I broke down.
I drove toward the city, aimless. The gas gauge hovered on empty.
I parked near the Grand Meridian Hotel. I just needed to walk. To move. To keep the blood flowing.
I stumbled out of the car. The wind cut through me like a knife. I walked toward the hotel entrance, drawn by the warmth spilling out of the revolving doors.
And then, the world tilted sideways.
Black spots danced in my vision. My knees gave way.
“Please,” I whispered, clutching my belly as the pavement rushed up to meet me. “Not the baby.”
Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground.
“Christ, she’s freezing,” a deep voice growled. It sounded like thunder wrapped in velvet. “Call an ambulance. Now.”
“No,” I gasped, struggling weakly against the solid chest holding me up. “No hospital. Can’t afford it.”
“Can’t afford to live?” the voice snapped, sharp with anger. “Look at me.”
I forced my eyes open.
I was staring into the most intense gray eyes I had ever seen. The man holding me was devastatingly handsome, with dark hair touched by silver at the temples. He wore a black cashmere coat that smelled of winter and wealth.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice softening.
“Tanya,” I whispered.
“When did you last eat, Tanya?”
The directness of the question stripped me bare. “Tuesday. I think.”
His jaw tightened. “Marcus, forget the ambulance. Bring the car around. We’re taking her somewhere safe.”
“Sir,” a nervous voice interjected. “Perhaps we should call the authorities.”
The man turned, his gray eyes blazing. “The authorities? The ones who let a pregnant woman collapse from hunger on a city street? Bring the damn car.”
He lifted me effortlessly. As he carried me toward a sleek black Bentley, I looked up at him.
“Why?” I asked. “I don’t even know who you are.”
“I’m Damon Cross,” he said simply.
The name hit me like a shockwave. Damon Cross. Luke’s sworn enemy. The tech mogul who had clawed his way up from nothing to become the only man Richard Morgan feared.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Because you need help,” he said, settling me onto the warm leather seat. “And because twenty years ago, I was sleeping under a bridge just like this. I know what it feels like to be invisible.”
Chapter 3: The Reconstruction
The suite at the Plaza Hotel was bigger than the entire house I grew up in.
Dr. Harrison, a private physician Damon kept on retainer, set up an IV drip with efficient, gentle hands.
“Severe malnutrition and dehydration,” he told Damon quietly. “Another night out there, and she would have lost the baby. Maybe her life.”
Damon stood by the window, looking out at Central Park. He turned to me.
“Whatever you need,” he said. “It’s taken care of. Housing. Food. Clothes.”
“I don’t want charity,” I croaked, the fluids already making my mind clearer. “I want to work. I have a degree in business management. I speak three languages. I ran the Morgan household better than their own staff.”
Damon’s eyebrows shot up. “You worked for the Morgans?”
I hesitated. Then, I let it all out. The job. The romance. The betrayal. The way Luke had thrown me away like garbage.
When I finished, the room was silent. Damon’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes were dark storms.
“He called my son a mistake,” I whispered.
“He’s an idiot,” Damon said. His voice was low, dangerous. “And he just handed me the greatest weapon I could ever ask for.”
He walked over to the bed and looked down at me.
“You want revenge, Tanya?”
“I want justice,” I said.
“Then work for me,” he said. “Become my Executive Assistant. Help me dismantle Morgan Enterprises from the inside out. You know their secrets. You know their weaknesses.”
I looked at this man—this stranger who had saved my life—and I saw a lifeline.
“Yes,” I said.
Eight weeks later, I stood in front of the mirror in my penthouse suite at Cross Towers.
The woman staring back at me wasn’t Tanya the maid. She was Tanya Dunn, the rising star of Cross Industries.
I wore a tailored charcoal dress that hugged my pregnancy curves with elegance. My hair was glossy, my skin glowing.
I walked into Damon’s office. He looked up from his desk, his gray eyes lighting up in a way that made my heart stutter.
“The solar deal with the Japanese closed,” I said, handing him the tablet. “They loved the proposal.”
“Brilliant,” he smiled. “And the Morgan account?”
“We poached their lead engineer this morning,” I said, a dark satisfaction curling in my gut. “Luke is reportedly throwing laptops across his office.”
Damon laughed. He stood up and walked over to me. The chemistry between us had been simmering for weeks—a slow burn of respect and attraction.
“You’re amazing, Tanya,” he murmured. “Have dinner with me tonight. Not business. A date.”
“Damon…”
“I don’t care about the past,” he said, taking my hand. “I care about the woman standing in front of me. The woman who turned her pain into power.”
That night, over candlelight, I fell in love with Damon Cross. Not because he was rich. But because he saw me. He saw the queen beneath the rags.
And when my son, Marcus, was born two months later, Damon was the one holding my hand. He was the one who cut the cord.
“He’s perfect,” Damon whispered, looking down at the baby with fierce protectiveness. “I want to adopt him, Tanya. I want him to have my name. My protection.”
“He’s Luke’s son,” I reminded him.
“He’s my son,” Damon corrected me. “Biology is just genetics. Love makes a father.”
Two weeks later, the engagement announcement hit the papers.
Tech Mogul Damon Cross to Marry Former Morgan Employee.
The photo showed me in a ballgown, radiant, with Damon’s arm around me.
The war had begun.
Chapter 4: The Checkmate
The Metropolitan Club gala was the event of the season.
I walked in on Damon’s arm, wearing an emerald gown that cost a fortune. Diamonds glittered at my throat. I held my head high.
Across the room, I saw him.
Luke looked… diminished. His suit was expensive, but he wore it like a costume. Beside him was Victoria Ashford, his vacuous fiancée.
When he saw me, he froze. His glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
I steered Damon toward them.
“Luke,” I said smoothly. “How lovely to see you.”
“Tanya?” he choked out. “You…”
“Mrs. Cross,” Damon corrected him, his voice like steel.
“You look… well,” Luke stammered, his eyes darting to the massive diamond on my finger.
“I am well,” I smiled. “Funny how life improves when you’re surrounded by people who know your worth.”
“And the baby?” Victoria asked, oblivious. “I heard you had a son.”
“Yes,” I said, my eyes locking with Luke’s. “Marcus. He’s beautiful. He looks just like his father.”
I turned to Damon and beamed. “Doesn’t he, darling?”
“Spitting image,” Damon agreed, kissing my temple.
Luke turned pale. He knew. He knew exactly what he had thrown away.
The next week, Luke tried to kidnap Marcus from daycare.
He was desperate. His company was failing, his engagement was crumbling, and the knowledge that his rival was raising his son had broken his mind.
But Damon was ready. Security was everywhere.
Luke was arrested before he even got the car seat buckled.
I visited him in jail once.
He sat on the other side of the glass, broken, weeping.
“I loved you,” he sobbed. “I did. I was just scared.”
“You weren’t scared, Luke,” I said softly. “You were weak. And now, you’re nothing.”
I walked away and never looked back.
Epilogue
Three years later.
I stood on the balcony of the Cross Estate—formerly the Morgan Estate, which Damon had bought in the bankruptcy auction.
Marcus ran across the lawn, chasing a golden retriever. He shouted, “Daddy! Look!”
Damon scooped him up, spinning him around.
I placed a hand on my belly, where our twins were growing.
Eleanor Morgan, Luke’s mother, walked out onto the terrace carrying a tray of lemonade. She was my housekeeper now. She kept her head down, grateful for the job.
“Here you are, Mrs. Cross,” she murmured.
“Thank you, Eleanor,” I said.
I looked out at my kingdom. I had won. Not by destroying Luke—he had done that himself. But by surviving. By rising.
And by realizing that sometimes, being discarded is the only way to find out where you truly belong.
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