Chapter 28 Jace's Party
Be careful who you accept drinks from,” I continue quietly. “Stay close to me. Not everyone here is as pleasant as they pretend.”
Her body stiffens.
“Especially stay away from Jace,” I add. “I haven’t seen him yet, but he’s here.”
She nods faintly, her breathing heavier now.
Satisfied, I keep my hand firmly at her waist.
“Ah, Mr. Black!”
Mr. Bruce approaches with enthusiasm, shaking my hand vigorously.
You’re a splitting image of your father.”
I offer a thin smile.
Mentions of my father always leave me unsettled. Dick Harrison Blackwood—brilliant, charismatic, absent. A legend in business, a ghost in my childhood.
“I got by just fine,” I remind myself, as I always do.
“Mr. Bruce,” I reply evenly. “The pleasure is mine.”
“And this must be the beautiful Jasmine Scott,” he continues, eyes lingering too long.
Before I can stop him, he takes her hand, pressing kisses to her knuckles.
Something sharp twists in my chest.
I pull Jasmine firmly to my side, my arm wrapping possessively around her waist.
Bruce notices.
“Enjoy your evening,” he says quickly before retreating.
I watch him disappear into the crowd.
Then I turn to Jasmine.
“Come on, tesoro,” I say quietly.
I lead her deeper into the ballroom, positioning us at the bar where I have a clear view of the entire room.
Because Jace is here.
And I always finish the games I start.
~ JASMINE ~
I push my small frame onto the barstool, careful to steady myself as the cool, smooth surface presses against the backs of my thighs.
The marble beneath my palms is cold, grounding—something solid to hold onto when everything else feels too loud, too bright, too much.
I turn my head slightly, my gaze finding Damien where he stands beside me, his back half-turned, broad shoulders squared as his eyes sweep the ballroom with quiet authority. He looks like he belongs here—like this world of gold and glass and expensive laughter was built around him.
Controlled.
Unbothered.
Dangerous in the way he barely moves yet commands everything.
My cheeks are still burning.
I can still feel the places where he touched me—his hand at the small of my back, firm but protective, the way his fingers had lingered just long enough to leave a trail of awareness behind. My skin tingles like it’s remembering him even now, replaying every second whether I want it to or not.
I inhale slowly, then exhale, trying to calm myself.
Only Damien could make simply standing beside him feel like too much. Only his presence could knot my nerves and steady me at the same time. When he leaned down earlier and spoke into my ear, my knees had nearly buckled.
If I hadn’t sat down when I did, I’m certain I would have embarrassed myself right there in front of half the city’s elite.
Oh goodness.
I press my lips together, staring straight ahead. Get through the night, Jasmine, I tell myself. Just get through it.
It feels like I haven’t taken a full breath since we arrived. His hand is still resting at my lower back, warm and heavy, a constant reminder that he’s there. That I’m not alone.
That somehow makes everything worse—and better.
I turn toward the bartender, who has been watching me with an amused, assessing look.
I offer him a polite smile, the kind I’ve perfected over the years.
“What will the pretty damsel have?”
A damsel, indeed. One desperately in need of something to quiet the chaos spinning inside her chest.
“Just a glass of wine, please,” I say, keeping my voice light.
He smiles back—too bright, too lingering. I don’t like it, but I ignore the unease crawling up my spine.
“Sure thing. Coming right up.”
He turns away, and I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
+
By the time I finish my second glass, the world feels… softer.
The tightness in my shoulders eases, the noise dulls to something manageable, and my thoughts slow enough that I can finally think without spiraling. I sigh, setting the half-empty glass down on the black marble counter, watching the deep red liquid settle.
Everything here feels expensive.
Almost aggressively so.
The chandeliers overhead glitter like they’re showing off, diamond extensions catching the light with every subtle movement.
Gold velvet curtains frame the walls, which are also gold—layers upon layers of opulence meant to impress, meant to intimidate.
It’s overwhelming.
I hadn’t noticed before how suffocating it all felt. The brightness, the eyes, the unspoken expectations. My stomach twists slightly as I take it all in, a faint wave of nausea washing over me.
“Calm down, tesoro. We don’t want you drunk.”
Damien’s voice murmurs against my ear, low and close.
My pulse stutters.
“I—I won’t get dr-drin-nk,” I mumble, the words tripping over each other on their way out.
Oh no.
That foggy, floating sensation settles behind my eyes, and I realize too late that I might have misjudged my limit. My limbs feel lighter than they should, my thoughts a little slower, like they’re wading through water.
Damien’s expression shifts as he looks at me, something unreadable crossing his face before a faint smile tugs at his lips.
“Okay, tesoro,” he sighs softly, shaking his head. “You’re definitely tipsy.”
Why is he smiling like that?
And why does that smile make my heart do something ridiculous inside my chest?
I shake my head, determined. “No more wine,” I declare, though it comes out less convincing than I intend.
He doesn’t respond. Instead, his attention snaps to something—or someone—across the room. The warmth at my back disappears as his posture stiffens, his jaw tightening.
“Stay here,” he says quietly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be right back.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
Swallowed by the crowd.
The sudden absence of him is jarring. I feel exposed without his presence beside me, like a shield has been stripped away. I turn back to my glass, swirling the wine slowly as I watch it move, mesmerized by the way it clings to the sides.
I shouldn’t.
But I do.
I lift the glass and drain what’s left, the liquid sliding down my throat, warming me from the inside out. I set the glass down a little too hard, a hiccup escaping my lips immediately after.
“Excuse you, mia bella.”
The voice comes from too close.
My body tenses instantly.
I turn my head, and there he is.
Jace.
He’s grinning at me like we’re sharing some private joke, his teeth gleaming under the lights, ocean-blue eyes sharp and calculating.
There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes my skin crawl, even through the haze clouding my thoughts.
“Oh now, gorgeous,” he says, his gaze dragging over me in a way that makes my stomach turn. “Don’t tell me that big, bad boss of yours warned you about me.”
Another hiccup slips out, and embarrassment floods me. I squeeze my eyes shut briefly, trying to focus, trying to steady myself.
Why do I feel like this?
I didn’t drink that much.