The Beginning of the End
Jasmine had mastered the art of pretending.
She smiled when necessary, laughed at the right moments, and never let her mask slip—not in front of Luke, not in front of Belle, and certainly not in front of herself.
But some days, like today, the cracks threatened to show.
She sat at the vanity, staring at her reflection. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, a reminder of the restless nights spent in a house that no longer felt like hers.
A house where Luke now lived with Belle.
She should leave.
She knew that.
But a twisted part of her wanted to stay—to watch him suffer under the weight of his choices, to make him realize he had thrown away something irreplaceable.
Jasmine exhaled sharply. Get a grip.
She stood, slipping into a silk dress, something sleek and effortless. If she had to endure another day in this suffocating house, she'd do it looking damn good.
---
Tension at the Breakfast Table
Belle was already at the table when Jasmine entered the dining room.
Luke, too.
Their conversation died the moment they saw her.
Jasmine smirked, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Don't stop on my account."
Belle hesitated. "We weren't—"
"I don't care." Jasmine took a slow sip, eyes flicking to Luke. "I assume you both slept well?"
Luke set his fork down, tension visible in his shoulders. "Jasmine."
"What?"
"You don't have to do this."
She arched a brow. "Do what?"
"This." He gestured vaguely. "The sarcasm. The jabs."
Jasmine hummed thoughtfully. "That's funny. I seem to recall you loving my sarcasm once."
Belle shifted uncomfortably.
Luke clenched his jaw. "Jasmine, please—"
"Oh, I'm sorry." She set her coffee down with a soft clink. "Am I making you uncomfortable? In my house?"
Belle exhaled shakily. "Maybe we should all just—"
"No, Belle," Jasmine interrupted, her tone deceptively light. "Let's hear him out. I'd love to know how Luke justifies everything he's done."
Luke pushed back his chair abruptly. "I'm done with this conversation."
Jasmine watched him go, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.
Belle hesitated before following him.
And Jasmine?
She sat back, sipping her coffee, letting the silence settle around her.
She had won this round.
But for how much longer?
---
A Drink with Rita
That evening, Jasmine met Rita at an upscale bar.
Rita took one look at her and groaned. "You're doing that thing again."
Jasmine raised a brow. "What thing?"
"The 'I'm fine' thing when you're clearly not fine."
Jasmine sipped her drink. "I'm perfectly fine."
Rita scoffed. "Sure. And I'm a nun."
Jasmine smirked. "I'd pay to see that."
Rita rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Jas. How long are you gonna do this?"
"Do what?"
"Play this twisted game with Luke. You deserve so much more."
Jasmine twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers. "Maybe I just want him to suffer."
Rita exhaled. "And what happens when you wake up one day and realize you wasted years on revenge instead of healing?"
Jasmine stilled.
Rita reached across the table, squeezing her hand. "You're worth more than this."
Jasmine swallowed hard. "I know."
But did she?
Because if she did, why was she still there?
---
Luke's Late-Night Thoughts
Luke lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling.
Belle slept peacefully beside him.
But he couldn't stop thinking about Jasmine—about the way she smiled, the sharpness in her words, the way she refused to break.
She should hate him.
Maybe she did.
But what scared him most?
The fact that, deep down, he didn't want her to hate him.
Because if she hated him, it meant she still cared.
And if she stopped caring…
Then she'd finally be free of him.
And for some reason, that terrified him.
---