Chapter 117 Where did you go
Richelle looked uncertain. Behind them, Damien’s patience snapped.“What are you two whispering about?”
His voice carried across the room.
Both of them turned. Damien was staring at them now, his eyes sharp with agitation. “There’s clearly something going on,” he said. His jaw clenched. "And if it has anything to do with my tesoro, I want to know.”
Thomas turned fully toward Richelle. He didn’t lower his voice this time. “Did she tell him?” he asked.
Richelle froze. Her gaze flickered between the two men. Damien’s eyes were now blazing into Thomas. “No,” Richelle answered quietly.
Damien’s jaw ticked sharply. Thomas exhaled slowly. “Well,” he said calmly, “there’s no need to panic yet.”
Richelle frowned slightly. Thomas straightened his jacket. “I will go back home,” he said. “And wait to see if Jasmine returns.”
He glanced toward Damien. “You should do the same.” Damien stared at him. Then Thomas added quietly, “I hope you were worth the risk.”
Damien blinked, stunned. Before he could ask what that meant, Thomas had already turned and walked back toward the elevator.
The doors slid open. He stepped inside.
And just like that— He was gone. The silence he left behind felt heavy. Damien slowly turned toward Richelle. She refused to meet his eyes. “Richelle,” he said sharply. “What was that about?”
She didn’t answer. Damien took a step closer. “What was Jasmine keeping from me?”
Richelle shook her head slightly. “It’s not my secret to tell.”
Damien stared at her. “She was supposed to tell you herself,” Richelle added quietly. Damien dragged a hand through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time that night.
This day had started so beautifully, laughed together earlier that evening. Now the entire night had turned into chaos. “Where could she have gone, Richelle?” he asked. The desperation in his voice was impossible to hide.
Richelle’s expression softened sadly, "I don’t know.” She looked genuinely helpless. “Maybe she just needed space,” she suggested gently.
“Maybe she went somewhere to clear her head.”
She forced a small reassuring smile.
“We can wait for her here. Together.”
Damien didn’t respond. Instead he turned away and walked toward the kitchen. His shoulders were tense. Anger radiated from him in quiet waves. Richelle watched him go and sighed deeply before dropping onto the couch.
Her head leaned back against the cushion.
Her eyes closed briefly. “Where did you go, Jasmine?” she whispered quietly.
JASMINE
Pushing myself into a sitting position was futile.
The moment I tried, my body rebelled violently.
A harsh cough tore through my throat, ripping up whatever little strength I had left. My chest constricted painfully as I choked, coughing over and over again until my lungs burned and spots danced across my vision. Saliva filled my mouth, thick and bitter, and I spat it out weakly onto the cold floor.
Red, there was blood in it. Of course there was.
There always was now. I swallowed painfully, my throat raw, my lips cracked and dry. Even breathing felt like a chore—each inhale shallow, each exhale shaky and uneven. I had no idea how long I had been here.
Hours?
Days?
Weeks?
Time had stopped making sense a long time ago.
The air around me was suffocating. It clung to my skin, thick and heavy, filled with a stench so foul it made my stomach twist violently. Blood. Rot. Something sour and decayed—like spoiled eggs left too long in the heat.
My nose burned, my head throbbed. It was getting harder to smell anything properly now, like my body was slowly shutting down, piece by piece.
Maybe that was a good thing.
Maybe soon I wouldn’t feel anything at all.
My body was already numb. Not just from the pain—but from everything. The ache in my bones, the sting of my wounds. The constant throbbing beneath my skin. It had all blurred together into something distant. Something I barely reacted to anymore.
Even my heart felt… quiet, empty.
Like it had given up trying. I hadn’t seen Damien in what felt like decades. His name alone made something twist faintly inside my chest, like a memory trying to stay alive in a place where nothing survived for long.
I missed him. God, I missed him so much.
I missed the way he smelled—clean and warm, like safety. I missed the way his clothes swallowed me whole, his shirts hanging loosely on my body, three sizes too big but somehow the most comfortable thing I had ever worn.
I missed the way he looked at me.
Like I mattered, like I was more than what I had been made into. A hollow breath escaped my lips.
I couldn’t cry anymore.
I had run out of tears a long time ago.
I remembered the first night I got here.
How I screamed, how I cried until my throat bled and my head pounded and my body shook uncontrollably. I cried until there was nothing left.
Until exhaustion dragged me into unconsciousness. And when I woke up… I cried again. It went on like that for days, or maybe weeks.
Until one day… It just stopped. Now, there was nothing, no tears, no screaming, no resistance.
Just emptiness. Even when the whip tore into my skin, I didn’t flinch anymore.
Didn’t scream, didn’t beg. It had become routine.
A part of my existence, pain was predictable. Pain was constant, pain was… normal. And no matter how scarred my body became… No matter how broken and ugly I knew I looked…
I didn’t care anymore. What was the point?
My will to live had disappeared, completely.
It would be foolish—stupid—to believe I would ever see Damien again.
That kind of hope…
It had been beaten out of me. Crushed.
Destroyed,so I stopped hoping. I stopped wanting, the only thing I held onto now… the only thing that mattered… Was him.
As long as he was alive, as long as he was safe. Then… this was worth it, every second of it. Because the only way to keep him safe… Was to stay far away.
A broken, humorless thought drifted through my mind. That was the funny thing about hope, once you had it—and it was taken away—
It didn’t just leave, it took everything else with it.
Left you hollow.