Chapter 88 MR AND MRS CHEF
JASMINE
I woke to silence.
Not the comforting silence of early morning, but the kind that felt… wrong. Heavy. Like the air itself was holding its breath.
For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then the faint scent of Damien’s cologne reached me, warm and familiar, and I relaxed into the sheets. His arm had been around me when I fell asleep. I remembered that clearly—his heartbeat under my ear, the steady rhythm that had lulled me into rest.
But now, the bed beside me was empty.
I turned my head slowly and his side of the bed was cold. Panic stirred in my chest before I could stop it. “Damien?” I called softly.
No answer.
I pushed myself up on my elbows and scanned the room. The bathroom door was open, lights off. His jacket was gone from the chair. The pastries we had barely touched still sat on the bedside table, wrapped and forgotten.
My fingers tightened around the sheet.
He had left without waking me.
A knot formed in my stomach. I told myself it was nothing—maybe he had gone to make a call, maybe he had stepped out for air—but unease crept in anyway, slow and insistent.
I slid out of bed and pulled one of his shirts over my body. It swallowed me whole, the fabric hanging past my thighs, smelling like him. The scent made my chest ache.
I padded into the living room.
The curtains were still drawn. Pale morning light leaked through the edges, painting thin silver lines across the floor. The clatter of cutlery and the low hum of movement reach my ears and I follow the source to the kitchen.
Damien.
Relief washed through me so suddenly that I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. When I reached the kitchen doorway, I stopped short.
Damien stood at the counter and he was shirtless, wearing nothing but an apron tied around his waist.
The thin strings stretched across his broad shoulders, and on the front of the apron, in bold black letters, were the words: MR & MRS CHEF
I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud.
My anxiety melted instantly, dripping away like sugar in hot tea. He held a bowl in one hand and a whisk in the other, his muscles flexing as he beat eggs with intense concentration. He added milk carefully, like he was performing some sacred ritual, then whisked again with the seriousness of a five-star chef.
I leaned against the doorframe, watching him.
He looked… peaceful. Focused. Domestic in a way that made my heart ache. The apartment smelled warm, rich, and comforting. Coffee. Eggs. Something buttery and familiar.
I walked in quietly, barefoot on the cool tiles, and slipped my arms around his torso from behind.
“Now I understand why you like watching me in the kitchen,” I murmured against his back.
Damien startled.
The bowl tilted dangerously, and the whisk clattered against the counter. He abandoned both immediately and turned around, wrapping his arms around me as if I might disappear.
“Good morning, tesoro.”
His voice was warm, still rough with sleep.
“Morning,” I answered brightly. “You woke up before me.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling down at me. “I wanted to make breakfast and surprise you.”
Something strange fluttered in my chest.
“Well,” I said softly, “I’m here now.”
I pulled away and took a seat at the kitchen island, resting my chin in my hands. “Carry on, Mr. Chef. I’m enjoying the view.”
I bit my lower lip slowly, deliberately.
“Tesoro,” he warned, his voice low.
But his eyes betrayed him completely.
Damien turned back to the stove, shaking his head as if trying to regain control. He poured the egg mixture into the pan and began stirring, then moved to start the coffee maker. I watched him move around the kitchen in that ridiculous little apron, and I had to cross my legs to keep myself from doing something impulsive.
He worked with quiet confidence, like he had rehearsed this moment in his head a hundred times.
When everything was ready, he plated the food carefully—scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and steaming coffee—and slid into the seat beside me, placing my plate in front of me like it was an offering.
“There,” he said. “Breakfast.”
I inhaled deeply. The scent of coffee beans, eggs, and a quiet morning wrapped around me.
“It smells perfect,” I whispered.
We ate in companionable silence for a moment. The kind of silence that didn’t feel awkward, just full.
I sipped my coffee and finally spoke. “Was Raymond charged?”
Damien froze mid-bite. He set his fork down slowly and nodded. “Yes. He is in a secure prison now. He will never bother you again, tesoro.”
His hand reached for my cheek, cupping it gently, his thumb brushing across my skin. “I promise.”
I leaned into his touch,“I’m proud of you.”
I took his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm.
“I know it was hard. Not personally dealing with Raymond.”
His face changed. Pain flickered across it, deep and unguarded. “The hardest part,” he admitted quietly, “was finding out what he did… and knowing I wasn’t there to stop him. Or help you.”
“No.” I shook my head and moved closer to him.
“Don’t blame yourself. Raymond is gone. He will serve his time.”
Damien nodded and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. I melted into it for a second—just a second—before remembering.
I pulled back too quickly, “Um… there’s something I need to tell you.”
His brows knit together,“What is it?”
“Uncle Thomas is coming back in two days. I’m going to meet him when he arrives.”
I twisted my fingers together nervously. I couldn’t tell him the rest. I couldn’t tell him that there was a good chance I would be leaving soon. He would never let me go.
Damien studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Of course, tesoro. I will drop you off on my way to work.”
I swallowed hard and forced a smile.
“Thank you.”
But inside, dread curled like smoke.
Uncle Thomas returning would change everything.
And not for the better.
.