Chapter 52 Pink Hibiscus
Jasmine barely recognized herself. The dress transformed her—made her look powerful, elegant, grown. Not the scared girl hiding behind oversized hoodies.
She swallowed. “It’s beautiful.”
Darcy clapped. “Makeup and hair.”
“I knew it,” Jasmine muttered.
Darcy sat her down and worked quickly and skillfully. Soft curls framed Jasmine’s face. Her makeup was warm and glowing, her lips painted a deep wine shade, her eyes highlighted with gold and brown.
When Darcy finished, Jasmine looked up—and froze.
She looked ethereal.
Like she belonged here.
Like a Blackwood.
Her heart fluttered dangerously.
Darcy stepped back, smiling proudly. “You look like you were born for this life.”
Jasmine whispered, “I don’t want to like that…”
But she did.
Darcy left to check the cookies.
Jasmine remained seated, staring at her reflection in silence.
Then she heard a familiar deep voice from the hallway.
Her heart slammed into her ribs.
Damien.
She stood quickly, panic flooding her body. “No, no, no…”
She crept toward the door, hoping to hide—
But Darcy appeared suddenly and took her arm. “Come on.”
“No, Darcy, please—”
Too late.
She was pulled forward.
And there he was.
Damien stood in the doorway, frozen.
His eyes locked onto her.
The room went silent.
Jasmine felt exposed.
Vulnerable.
Seen.
His breath caught.
“Jasmine…”
She couldn’t speak.
His gaze traced her slowly—from her hair, to her shoulders, to the slit of the dress. His expression softened with something raw and dangerous.
“You look…” His voice dropped. “You look incredible.”
Her chest tightened painfully.
And in that moment, she realized—
There was no running from this anymore.
~
I let my gaze drift down his full, suit-clad form, slow and disbelieving. The maroon handkerchief tucked neatly into the front pocket of his jacket was the first clue. It matched my dress too perfectly to be coincidence.
Damien.
He was the one who had bought it.
My chest tightened as I took him in properly. His dark hair was neatly tamed, brushed back from his forehead in a way that made his sharp features even more striking. His face was devilishly handsome—too handsome—and those emerald green eyes of his were fixed on me with an intensity that made my pulse stutter.
In his hands was a bouquet of pink hibiscus flowers.
My favorite flowers.
I blinked, genuinely stunned.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
“You…” My voice failed me.
He took a step forward, his lips curving into a soft smile that looked nothing like the dangerous one he usually wore. This one was warm. Almost shy.
“You look absolutely stunning, Tesoro,” he said.
The nickname rolled off his tongue with reverence, as though he were afraid the word might break if he spoke it too loudly.
I inhaled a shaky breath.
I wasn’t ready to face him. Not like this. Not looking like this. Not with everything still tangled inside my chest—fear, guilt, longing, confusion.
But Darcy stood only a few feet away, beaming like a proud matchmaker, and I didn’t want her to see the storm inside me.
So I forced myself to smile.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
Darius stepped closer and held out the bouquet. “These are for you.”
.
I hesitated for half a second before taking them. The flowers were cool and soft in my hands, their sweet scent wrapping around me like a memory I wasn’t ready to feel.
Darcy clasped her hands together dramatically. “Oh my goodness, look at the two of you! You’re absolutely breathtaking!”
My lips pressed together as I tried not to flinch. I gave her a polite smile, though my heart was racing far too fast.
She waved a hand excitedly. “Wait right there! Don’t move. I need my camera.”
My brows knit together in confusion. I turned toward Damien. “Camera?”
He chuckled softly. “My mother keeps empty frames around for what she calls picture-worthy moments.”
I blinked. Only now did I realize how close we were standing. His arm brushed mine, heat radiating through the thin fabric of my sleeve.
Darcy returned almost immediately, camera in hand, grinning from ear to ear. “Stay close, you two.”
Before I could protest, Damien slipped his arm around my waist and gently pulled me nearer to him. The movement was smooth, natural—too natural.
He leaned down slightly and whispered into my ear, “Is this okay?”
The question should have been simple.
It wasn’t.
I forgot how to speak. I forgot how to breathe.
My eyes lifted to his face, tracing from his brows, to the bridge of his nose, and then—unavoidably—to his lips.
Pink.
Full.
Familiar.
I tore my gaze away quickly and nodded, heat flooding my cheeks.
The camera flashed.
Darcy had already taken the picture.
“Oh, look at this!” she gushed, shaking the photograph gently as it slid out.
She held it up between us.
In the photo, I was gazing up at Damien, and he was looking down at me. We looked… intimate. Like a couple deeply in love. Like nothing in the world existed except us.
My face burned.
Damien studied the picture for a long moment, then said softly, “It’s beautiful, Ammi.”
Darcy smiled proudly. “Now hurry along. Tomorrow I’ll bring you cookies. And don’t bother coming back here tonight.”
She winked at us.
My cheeks grew impossibly hotter.
We said our goodbyes, and moments later we were inside the elevator.
The doors slid shut with a soft metallic hum, sealing us in together.
Only then did I release the breath I had been holding.
I turned toward him.
“You got me the dress.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a realization.
He hummed in approval, eyes roaming over me without shame. “Of course I did.”
The elevator felt suddenly very small as he straightened and took two steps toward me.
“How did you know?” I asked. “How did you know I liked it?”
We spoke at the same time.
“Darcy,” I said.
“Mother,” he said.
I giggled despite myself, the tension cracking just a little.
He tilted his head. “Who else did you think would buy it for you, if not your husband?”
The word husband sent a strange flutter through my stomach—part guilt, part something dangerously close to excitement.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
I just stared at him, caught between everything I wanted and everything I was afraid of.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, trying to sound normal.
He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”
Then his hand rose to my face. He cupped my cheek gently, his thumb brushing over my skin with care. His voice dropped, deep and intentional.
“You look gorgeous. You look just like mine.”
My breath caught.
He stepped closer until the only thing separating us was the bouquet in my hands. My pulse thundered in my ears. The world narrowed to his eyes, his warmth, the scent of his cologne.
I leaned in without meaning to.
I missed the feel of his lips.
The elevator dinged.
I pulled back instantly, heart racing, guilt crashing down on me like cold water.
Damien’s expression shifted—surprised, but controlled. He offered his hand. I slipped mine into his.
As he led me out, butterflies swarmed in my stomach.