Chapter 90 Bunnies
Damien stood a little too close, holding a plate in a way that looked distinctly awkward, pressing it against his apron-covered waist as if trying to shield himself from view.
Richelle raised a brow slowly.
Damien shook his head at her, shooting her a look that clearly said, Don’t you dare.
Richelle pressed her lips together to hide a laugh.
Jasmine turned fully now and noticed Richelle’s bags by the door.
“Oh,” she said, trying to sound casual though her heart was still pounding. “Hey.” She hurried over and pulled Richelle into a hug,“You’re already leaving?”
Richelle hugged her back and then stepped away. “Yeah. My apartment misses me.” She paused, then wiggled her eyebrows at Damien, who was glaring at her while tugging his apron down awkwardly, “And I don’t want to walk in on… something I wouldn’t be able to unsee.”
Jasmine’s face went from pink to crimson.
Richelle burst out laughing and pinched Jasmine’s cheeks gently.
“You two are such bunnies.”
“Bunnies?” Jasmine frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Ask Damien,” Richelle winked. “He knows.”
Jasmine turned to Damien just in time to see him staring daggers at Richelle.
“Walk me out, sugar?” Richelle asked.
Jasmine nodded. “Of course. Don’t you want to have breakfast first?”
Damien mouthed, No, shaking his head.
Richelle rolled her eyes. “No, I’m good. I’ll grab something on my way.”
“Tell Marco to drop you off, and thank you for staying" Damien added.
“Of course. Staying with this sweet thing was more than worth it,” Richelle said, throwing an arm over Jasmine’s shoulder.
Jasmine giggled as they walked toward the elevator.
Inside the silver doors, Richelle turned serious.
“Have you told Damien, about your uncle coming back with news about your father?”
Jasmine’s color drained from her face.
“I only told him my uncle was coming,” she
admitted quietly. “Not about… him.”
Richelle studied her with concern. “Jasmine, you should tell Damien. If there’s a chance you’ll have to leave with your uncle, don’t you think Damien should know?”
Jasmine stared down at her hands. “I can’t tell him about my sperm donor. He’s not ready. He can’t handle all the demons in my past.”
She hugged herself, rubbing her arm.
“What if he can?” Richelle asked gently. “Damien can protect you. If you tell him, you might not have to run again. You could stay. With us.”
Jasmine looked away.
“Darcy would miss you. I would miss you. Damien would be devastated.”
“But he doesn’t owe me anything,” Jasmine whispered. “I don’t want to be a burden—”
“Don’t you dare finish that,” Richelle cut in. “You will never be a burden to people who love you.”
She pulled Jasmine into a hug. “I love you. And I won’t tell Damien until you do. But please… give him the chance to love you fully.”
The elevator doors slid open.
“Think about it, love.”
Richelle rolled her bag out, blowing Jasmine a kiss.
Jasmine stood there long after she left, her thoughts tangled and heavy.
Would it really be that easy? she wondered. To tell him everything? What if he looked at her differently? What if he decided she wasn’t worth the trouble?
She pressed her hand to her chest and sighed deeply.
In two days, Uncle Thomas would arrive.
And after that… everything would change.
~
Two days came a little too quickly.
Time had slipped through Jasmine’s fingers like sand, and now it stood before her—this morning heavy with meaning, thick with everything she had been trying not to think about. Uncle Thomas would arrive in the afternoon. With him would come answers she wasn’t ready for, and choices she didn’t yet know how to make.
Damien stood in the middle of the bedroom, adjusting the stiff collar of his shirt, his tie bunched in his fist like a forgotten thought. He had already dressed for work—dark trousers, crisp white shirt, sleeves buttoned neatly at the wrists—but his movements were restless, distracted.
The mirror reflected a man who looked composed on the outside and quietly unsettled within.
The bathroom door opened behind him.
Jasmine stepped out.
She wore the pale yellow dress she had chosen that morning, the one that felt both soft and brave. The fabric flowed over her in light layers, catching the sun as it streamed in through the window. The bodice plunged into a delicate V at her chest, elegant but daring, and the dress hugged her waist before cascading into a long, airy skirt. The hem fell in gentle tiers of sheer chiffon, each layer whispering against the next as she walked. At the back, thin ribbons crisscrossed where the dress laced up—but they were still undone, trailing loosely along her spine like silk threads waiting to be tied.
Her skin glowed against the warm pastel color. Her shoulders were bare, her back exposed in graceful lines. She looked like something fragile and luminous all at once.
Damien stopped moving.
Completely.
His hands froze mid-adjustment. The tie slipped slightly from his fingers, forgotten.
Jasmine didn’t notice at first. She moved with quiet familiarity toward the wardrobe, her bare feet making no sound against the floor. She opened the door, reached inside, and pulled out the hair dryer. Her hair was wrapped in a towel, but several damp strands clung to the nape of her neck, dark and shining against her skin.
She closed the wardrobe and crossed the room to the dressing table. Damien watched her as if she were a dream he was afraid to blink away.
Jasmine plugged in the hair dryer and sat, tugging the towel from her head. She draped it around her shoulders to protect the dress and began drying her hair, running a comb through the wet strands with slow, practiced motions.
The warm air filled the room with a soft hum.
She tilted her head to one side, exposing the graceful line of her throat. The light caught on her cheekbone. Damien felt something tighten in his chest.
He had seen her every day. He had held her, kissed her, memorized her. And still—every time—she undid him. When she finished, Jasmine turned off the hair dryer and set it aside. She reached for a small bottle of oil and cream and rubbed them between her palms before working them into her hair, massaging gently, eyes half-closed as if savoring the ritual.