Chapter 40 Mother?
JASMINE
I couldn’t bring myself to look at Damien.
For some reason I didn’t understand, guilt flooded my chest.
Guilt.
The realization made me want to scream.
Why the hell did I feel guilty?
“We were just messing around,” Ray said easily, completely unfazed as he glanced between Damien and the destroyed kitchen. “Relax, man. It’s nothing. We’ll clean it up.”
He clapped his hands together, sending another small puff of flour into the air.
“I’ll grab some cleaning supplies from the store room,” he added, already turning toward the door. “No big deal.”
Ray walked out like nothing was wrong.
The moment he was gone, the silence became unbearable.
I finally lifted my eyes.
Damien was staring at me.
His gaze was intense—sharp, assessing, burning with something dark and unreadable. His eyes narrowed into slits as they took in my appearance: flour smeared across my face, dusting my clothes, tangled in my hair.
My fingers nervously went to my lips, picking at the skin as I looked away.
I was suddenly very aware of how close Ray and I had been.
Too close.
Too… intimate.
Even though it wasn’t like that. Even though it had been nothing more than playful chaos, innocent laughter, and comfort.
Still.
I felt exposed.
Damien didn’t say another word.
He turned sharply and walked out of the kitchen.
Just like that.
The door swung shut behind him, leaving me standing there alone with my thoughts and the wreckage we’d created.
My chest tightened painfully.
Something tugged at me—an irrational, desperate urge to run after him. To stop him. To explain. To tell him that nothing was happening between Ray and me, that there was nothing to be jealous of, nothing to worry about.
But my feet wouldn’t move.
I didn’t want to look weak.
I didn’t want to look desperate.
I didn’t want to care as much as I clearly did.
With trembling fingers, I tugged at the apron tied around my waist and yanked it off, tossing it onto the counter. I brushed at my clothes uselessly, sending more flour drifting to the floor.
I ran my hands through my hair, only making it messier.
My mind was a tangled mess.
I didn’t know how I felt about Damien anymore.
I didn’t know what his reaction meant—or why it had affected me so deeply.
It shouldn’t have made my chest ache.
It shouldn’t have made my stomach twist.
And yet… it did.
I hated it.
Hated the way my emotions betrayed me.
Hated how much power he had over me without even trying.
Pushing the thoughts away, I turned and walked out of the kitchen, my steps quick and unsteady as I headed straight for my room.
I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, closing my eyes.
My heart was still racing.
And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the image of Damien’s darkened gaze—or the unsettling realization that maybe, just maybe… he cared more than he let on.
&
I sank deeper into the couch, pulling my legs up to my chest and wrapping my arms securely around them. The throw blanket slid off my shoulder, pooling around my waist, but I barely noticed.
My attention remained glued to the television screen as another episode played in the background.
Without looking away, I reached into the bowl of chips resting on my stomach and popped another one into my mouth. The crunch echoed softly in the quiet living room as I chewed, my eyes flicking back and forth across the screen.
This had become my nightly ritual.
Snacks. Silence. Distraction.
It was easier than thinking about someone in particular.
The sudden ding of the elevator shattered the calm.
I paused the show instantly and snapped my head toward the sleek metal doors just as they slid open.
Damien stepped out.
He didn’t look at me.
Didn’t even acknowledge my presence as he walked straight into the living room, his brows drawn together in deep concentration.
His phone was pressed firmly to his ear, his jaw clenched so tightly I could almost hear his teeth grind.
“Don’t you dare, Mother,” he said sharply.
My eyes widened.
Mother?
The word alone sent a strange ripple through me.
He spoke to his mother like that?
I watched him pace across the room, his free hand raking through his hair in frustration.
“Yes, you—” he started, only to stop abruptly. He pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at the screen as though it had personally offended him.
A low growl rumbled from his chest.
The sound made me shiver.
I shrank slightly into the couch when his eyes lifted and met mine. There was something dark and stormy in them, something unsettled. I quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the blank television screen.
Without another word, he turned and walked down the hallway.
I let my gaze trail after his retreating back until he disappeared around the corner.
The house felt heavier after that.
•••••••••
Later that afternoon, I wandered down the hallway with a book tucked beneath my arm, my eyes glued to the page as I read.
My footsteps were slow and careless, my mind too wrapped up in the story to pay attention to where I was going.
I pushed the kitchen door open without thinking.
A warm scent washed over me instantly.
Floral.
Vanilla.
Something sweet and comforting.
It wasn’t the usual smell of coffee or spices that lingered in the kitchen.
This scent felt… alive.
I lifted my gaze from my book.
And froze.
A woman stood near the counter, her back partially turned to me as she arranged something on the marble surface. When she sensed my presence, she turned around slowly.
Our eyes met.
Jade-green eyes stared back at me—soft, bright, and full of warmth.
My breath caught in my throat.
She smiled, and the world seemed to soften with it.
“Hi, darling,” she said kindly, flashing a set of pearly white teeth.
Her light brown hair was pulled into a low ponytail, loose strands framing her youthful face. Curtain bangs brushed her cheeks, and she wore a soft pastel blouse paired with fitted jeans.
There was something effortlessly elegant about her, something familiar.
My chest tightened.
She looked so much like my mother it hurt.
“H-hey,” I squeaked out, awkwardly clutching my book tighter.
She chuckled gently, her eyes twinkling. “You must be Jasmine.”
Before I could respond, the kitchen door opened again.
“Te—”
We both turned.
Damien walked in.
He stopped mid-step when he saw her.
“Mother?” he said slowly, disbelief coating his voice.