Chapter 25 Clean
DAMIEN
She really was something else.
“So… are you sure it’s all here?”
Sebastian’s voice pulled me back to the present, grounding me instantly.
I shifted my attention back to the multiple screens spread across my desk, lines of code reflected faintly in the lenses of his round glasses. He looked focused, meticulous as always, fingers hovering over the keyboard as though one wrong move might shatter the entire system.
Sebastian had been with the company long enough to know better than to make assumptions. He trusted data, not words. Proof mattered to him. Verification mattered.
That was why I valued him.
He leaned closer to the main screen, eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned through the final logs, his jaw tightening in concentration. The office was quiet except for the low hum of the computers and the soft click of keys beneath his fingers.
I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest, my expression carefully neutral despite the thoughts still swirling in my head—thoughts of dark eyes, stubborn pride, and a woman who refused to be bought.
Sebastian exhaled slowly, straightening just a fraction as he prepared to answer.
“Are you sure it’s all here?”
“Yes, sir. Everything.”
Sebastian stood across from my desk, posture rigid, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back like a soldier reporting to his superior.
The glow from the tablet in my hand reflected faintly against the polished surface of my desk, casting sharp shadows across the room.
I had asked Sebastian to dig into Jasmine Scott’s life—nothing too invasive. Or so I thought. Just enough to know who I was dealing with.
He had delivered far more than I expected.
“Continue,” I said, my voice even, controlled.
Sebastian hesitated. That alone was enough to tell me something was wrong.
“I was able to retrieve most of her personal records—birth registration, medical files from the age of eleven onward, academic history, residential movements, employment records,” he began.
“Everything is… clean.”
Clean.
That word never sat right with me.
“But,” he added carefully, “there are gaps. Significant ones.”
I leaned back slightly in my chair, eyes never leaving him. “Explain.”
Sebastian swallowed. “Ten years, sir. A full decade of her life is completely unaccounted for.”
My fingers stilled against the tablet.
“From birth until the age of eleven,” he continued, “there are no school records. No enrollment documents. No homeschool registrations. No foster care files. No hospital admissions beyond her birth record. No residential listings tied to her name or her mother’s.”
My jaw tightened.
“For those ten years,” Sebastian said quietly, “it’s as though she didn’t exist.”
I lowered my gaze to the tablet in my hands, scrolling through the neatly compiled data.
Dates. Addresses. Timelines.
Her records began abruptly at age eleven.
New city. New school. New identity trail.
Nothing before that.
What the hell?
How was that even possible?
No child simply vanishes for ten years and reappears without leaving a trace. Not in this country. Not in this era. Not without deliberate effort.
I felt something cold coil in my chest—not anger, not yet—but something sharper.
Interest.
Suspicion.
“How?” I asked slowly, lifting my gaze back to Sebastian. “How does a person simply… disappear for ten years?”
Sebastian shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. I ran her name through every available database.
Government, private, educational, medical. Even unofficial channels. There’s nothing.”
I stood abruptly, pushing my chair back as I walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office.
The city stretched beneath me, alive and glowing, unaware of the questions brewing in my mind.
“Possibilities,” I muttered. “Give me possibilities.”
“Well,” Sebastian said after a pause, “it’s possible she moved here at eleven. Different city. Different state. Maybe records were lost, or intentionally altered. Her mother might have wanted a fresh start.”
A fresh start.
I scoffed quietly.
That excuse worked for small gaps, not entire childhoods.
“Possibly,” I conceded, more to myself than to him. I rubbed my jaw, dismissing the darker thoughts clawing at the edges of my mind. “We won’t jump to conclusions.”
Yet.
“You are dismissed, Sebastian,” I said calmly. “Thank you.”
He nodded once, respectfully, before turning and leaving my office, the door clicking shut behind him.
Silence settled in.
I glanced back at the tablet, my eyes drifting over Jasmine’s photo. Her dark eyes stared back at me, unreadable as ever.
Who are you?
I checked my Piaget Emperador Cushion watch.
7:20 p.m.
I had exactly forty minutes to leave the office, get ready, and pick up Jasmine for the party.
The thought of her tightened something low in my chest.
I had dismissed her earlier than usual, telling her she was done for the day. I didn’t tell her why. I hadn’t needed to. She followed instructions without question—efficient, quiet, observant.
Too observant, sometimes.
I’d stayed behind specifically to receive Sebastian’s report.
Now, curiosity buzzed beneath my skin like static.
I grabbed my blazer from the back of my leather chair, sliding it on with practiced ease, then collected my phone and keys before heading out of the office.
The underground garage greeted me with cool air and echoing footsteps. My white Audi sat waiting, pristine and untouched. I slid into the driver’s seat, one hand already reaching for the door—
When my phone rang.
The sharp, familiar monotone ringtone cut through the silence.
I didn’t bother checking the screen.
“Speak,” I answered curtly, irritation lacing my tone.
All I wanted was to leave. To clear my head. To see Jasmine.
“Damien,” a voice said smoothly, amused. “Is that any way you speak to your mother?”
My blood froze.
I pulled the phone away from my ear, eyes snapping to the screen.
Ammi.
Shit.
I exhaled slowly, closing my eyes for half a second before lifting the phone back to my ear.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” I said, my tone instantly softer. “I didn’t realize it was you. I’m just… stressed.”
A gentle chuckle floated through the line.
“You always are, my son.”
“How are you?” I asked, starting the engine. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, yes,” she replied warmly. “Everything is fine. Though it would be much better if you visited more often. You work too much.”
I smiled faintly.
“Maybe you could attend Taylor’s baby shower?” she continued eagerly. “It’s next month. It would mean a lot to her—and to me.”
“I’ll make time,” I promised without hesitation.
“I knew you would,” she said happily. “Everyone will be thrilled. And Damien…”
“Yes, Mother?”
“I hope you introduce me to someone special soon,” she added, her voice teasing. “I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
I chuckled under my breath. “We’ll see.”
“See you soon, my son.”
“See you, Mother.”
I ended the call and leaned back in my seat, staring out through the windshield.
Someone special.
My thoughts drifted back to dark eyes, nervous glances, flushed cheeks, and a mysterious past.
Jasmine Scott was far from ordinary.
And I was going to find out exactly why.
I pulled out of the garage and into traffic, my phone vibrating again just as I merged onto the road.