Chapter 11 Tom
JASMINE
Damien followed behind me, his presence heavy and unmistakable, and I internally groaned.
Of course he would.
I could feel him there without even turning around—the faint brush of his cologne cutting through the layered scents of wine, spice, and polished wood, the subtle shift in the air that seemed to happen whenever he stepped closer.
My shoulders tensed instinctively, and I fought the urge to speed up my steps like a startled child running from trouble.
My uncle noticed immediately.
He watched us approach from across the dining area, his sharp, observant eyes narrowing just a fraction before he straightened from where he stood. The moment we reached him, he stepped forward, his expression polite but guarded, the way it always was when he sensed something was off with me.
“Are you two acquaintances?” he asked, glancing between Damien and me.
Before I could answer, Damien spoke.
“Of course,” he said smoothly. “She just got a job at my empire.”
A hint of a smile tugged at his lips, slow and deliberate, like he knew exactly the effect those words would have on me.
I stiffened.
My uncle’s gaze snapped to me immediately, concern flashing through his eyes before he masked it with a warm smile.
“Well,” he said carefully, “why don’t we take a seat? We can catch up on lost time.”
He placed a hand at the small of my back, steadying me in a way that felt achingly familiar. Protective. Grounding. It was a gesture he’d used since I was a child, whenever he sensed I was close to unraveling.
He could tell how uneasy I was.
And judging by the sharp glance Damien gave us, he could too.
“Sure thing, Tom,” Damien replied casually. “Let me get my date and we’ll join you.”
My uncle nodded, not missing the way Damien emphasized the word date, but choosing—for now—not to comment on it.
He kept his hand on my back as he led us through the hallway toward a quieter section of the restaurant, never once letting go.
I was grateful for it.
I hadn’t really changed much in the past three years, no matter how much I pretended otherwise. Uncle Tom could still read me like an open book.
We sat, and the moment I settled into my chair, he smiled at me with unmistakable pride.
“I’m so proud of you, Jess,” he said softly. “I see you’re building quite a future for yourself.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes, Uncle,” I replied, lowering myself carefully into my seat. “I really don’t want to have to drop everything and leave with you.”
My gaze dropped to the white silk tablecloth beneath my fingers, suddenly fascinating in a way it had no right to be.
“Don’t worry, Jess,” he said firmly. “You won’t have to move. You won’t have to run away. I’ll find him, and I’ll take care of it.”
He offered me a reassuring smile, one meant to calm the storm raging in my chest. It worked—just a little.
I knew my uncle would try his best to protect me. He always had. He blamed himself for what my mother went through, for not being there when she needed him most.
He wasn’t there to protect his little sister from a cruel world.
He had left their parents, unable to endure the abuse any longer, but he left her behind. He promised to come back for her. Promised. But when he finally did, years later, he was too late.
She was gone.
Sold to the man who would become my sperm donor.
Uncle Tom hated himself when he found out. He blamed himself every single day for not taking her with him. And when all hell broke loose the night she was killed… he blamed himself for that too.
He never forgave himself.
Even though my mother never blamed him.
She was too good for this world. No matter how many tried to taint her, she was never stained. An angel, through and through.
I sighed, offering my uncle a sad smile.
He needed redemption, and I was going to let him have it. Maybe then his conscience would finally rest.
\-DAMIEN -
I let my eyes linger on her longer than I should have.
Jasmine sat beside her uncle, shoulders slightly tense, hands folded neatly on her thighs.
Her pink dress wasn’t a bodycon, but it hugged her in all the right places regardless, revealing just enough to stir something dark and possessive in my chest.
Too much.
The soft pink fabric complemented her olive skin perfectly, making her glow beneath the restaurant’s warm lighting.
Her milky brown hair was pulled into a messy bun, loose strands framing her face in a way that looked effortless and natural. Small diamond studs glinted at her ears—simple, understated, elegant.
She was beautiful.
Not overdressed like the other women here. No heavy makeup, no loud accessories. Just her. Raw and unpolished in a way that made the rest of the room fade into the background.
Mesmerizing.
“My date—Mrs. King,” I said, stepping aside as Amelia joined us.
Both Jasmine and Tom turned toward me. I caught the way Jasmine subtly sized Amelia up, her dark eyes flicking over her with quiet caution.
“Nice to meet you,” Amelia said brightly, extending her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you, Jasmine.”
Jasmine hesitated, then accepted the handshake, her cheeks flushing faintly.
She was easily flustered.
Duly noted.
We took our seats, and conversation began to flow—mostly thanks to Amelia. She was a chatterbox, always eager to fill silence, though I knew her well enough to recognize the sharp edge beneath her friendliness.
Overbearing. Bitchy, when she wanted to be.
Jasmine clearly wasn’t impressed.
She answered politely but briefly—yes, no, I’d rather not—effectively shutting Amelia down without being rude.
I had to suppress a smile at that.
Not much of a social butterfly, then.
Interesting.
I studied her openly as the minutes passed. The way she sat upright instead of leaning back. The way her hands stayed folded, as if grounding herself.
The beauty mark on her right cheek. The subtle variations in her hair color, from light brown to deep chocolate.
Her eyes met mine.
And just as quickly, she looked away, suddenly captivated by her empty wine glass.
I smirked to myself.
“So, Damien,” Tom said, drawing my attention back. “What position will Jasmine be working as?”
“Personal assistant,” I replied smoothly. “I’ve been needing one for quite a while.”
I swirled the red liquor in my glass before downing it in one go, the burn sliding down my throat. From the corner of my eye, I caught Jasmine watching me.
The moment our gazes met, she looked away again, her cheeks flushing.
Someone likes to stare.
“It was nice catching up with you,” I said as I stood, straightening my jacket. “But I have to go. Time is money.”
Tom rose with me, and we exchanged a firm embrace.
“See you around, Thomas,” I said, offering a curt nod.
Jasmine stood as well, stepping closer.