Under Her Aunt's Embrace.

Chapter 16.

“Setting the dining already?” Jasmine’s voice filled the air—gentle, teasing.

Aunt Beatrice’s head snapped up immediately, her gaze darting in Jasmine’s direction.

Her eyes lit up. Her entire face stretched into a warm, familiar smile.

“Look who is here. Come, come!” Aunt Beatrice beckoned her closer, still plating the meals on the table with a grace only she had.

And just like that, the house didn’t feel so empty anymore.

Not when the scent of lavender, the warmth of food, and the presence of someone who never left… came together to hold Jasmine quietly.

Immediately, Jasmine found herself a spot at the dining table after dropping the bouquet of lilies she had gotten for her aunt at a flower stop store.

They were her aunt’s favorite.

The fresh scent clung softly to the petals, mingling with the air as Jasmine settled into her chair.

Her lashes fluttered, eyes slipping closed as she took in the rich, homey aroma of the food that wrapped around her nostrils like a familiar hug.

“I can already tell just how sumptuous this meal is!” she said, her voice soft and genuine.

Aunt Beatrice’s lips stretched into a knowing smile. “You trust me to come up with something sumptuous.”

Jasmine’s lips stretched wider.

Of course, she did.

Cooking had always been her Aunt Beatrice’s love language—her quiet way of saying I’m here without ever needing words. Even when maids hovered around the house, offering to help or take over the kitchen duties, Aunt Beatrice would still pick herself up, tie her apron, and cook with her whole heart.

To her, that was the greatest way to show love—to serve the people she cared about with meals made from her own hands.

The dining moment settled into silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward—just peaceful.

Jasmine dug into her plate of freshly cooked Lasagna alla Bolognese. It was perfect—layered carefully with soft pasta, slow-cooked meat ragù, béchamel, and freshly grated parmesan. The kind of perfection that came from experience… and memory.

She chewed slowly, savoring every bite—but her mind, her mind had already wandered far.

The tension in the air shifted slightly as memories came knocking. Her mind strayed back to moments like this… with her parents. With her brother.

This had been her dad’s favorite celebration meal. And her mum? She had made sure to prepare it often—birthdays, holidays, small victories. Over time, it became everyone’s favorite.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her cutlery as the emotions swirled—quiet but powerful.

Her Aunt had learned every inch of the recipe, down to the exact way Jasmine liked it. She had prepared it just the same, with no shortcuts and no help.

The gesture was simple… but it meant everything.

Jasmine blinked back quickly, letting out gentle sighs to suppress the sudden rush of emotion building in her chest. It hurt—but in a sweet way.

Aunt Beatrice had done this alone.

And Jasmine knew… it was her aunt’s way of preserving something sacred. Of keeping her memory of them alive.

Tearing up now would ruin the moment. She didn’t want that.

“How are you enjoying your meal, Jas?” her aunt’s voice broke softly through the silence.

Jasmine raised her head, meeting the curious, expectant look in Aunt Beatrice’s eyes.

Her lips formed into a soft smile. “Just as perfect as every time. I love it.”

Her voice was steady—excited, even—but it carefully masked the ache in her throat.

Her Aunt’s head dipped into a gentle nod.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I made sure no maid participated in the process of making—”

“Because, you wanted to make sure it came out in the flavor I liked it,” Jasmine completed gently, cutting her off with a small smile.

The room fell silent for a heartbeat, and the two women wore matching smiles—soft, genuine.

Aunt Beatrice’s eyes lingered on Jasmine’s longer than usual. Her smile faded slightly, replaced with something deeper.

She searched through her niece’s gaze, gently but firmly peeling back the layers Jasmine had been trying to keep hidden.

The tension in the room cracked, and the air shifted.

The tears in Jasmine’s eyes were no longer subtle. They brewed hotter, sharper—and this time, it was ten times harder to control them.

“Poor child,” Aunt Beatrice mumbled softly, seeing right through the pain Jasmine had tried to bury behind her pupils.

Jasmine’s chest tightened—and then, she broke.

The tears slipped, strolling down freely.

There was only so much a person could conceal. And even though Jasmine had always tried to be strong, in the presence of her Aunt… her strength always gave way to truth.

“Silly child,” Aunt Beatrice whispered again, rising slowly to her feet. She crossed the short distance to Jasmine, who already had a napkin pressed to her cheeks.

“Do you really think you can hide this pain from me?” she asked, her voice warm and low, reaching for Jasmine’s hand before pulling her into a hug.

Jasmine didn’t resist. She fell into her aunt’s embrace, head resting on her shoulder as the tears continued to stream—hot, honest, unfiltered.

“I am here, Jas. I am here to listen to anything. Her hand brushed against Jasmine’s back.

“It’s okay…” Aunt Beatrice murmured, her voice soft as ever, her hand gently patting Jasmine’s back until her sobs slowly, quietly subsided.

********

Jasmine walked through the quiet hallway that was now empty of guards. Her heart moved with every step she took. Being with her Aunt had eased the heaviness in her heart. Although she had not been able to bring herself to speak to her Aunt about the job she was working on at the moment she still genuinely appreciated every moment spent with her aunt.

Her Aunt Beatrice was kind, but at the same time a disciplinarian. There was no way in the world would her Aunty allow her to settle for stuff like this, but she still had plans to inform her Aunt of everything going on in her life.

To Aunt Beatrice, she had broken down because it was just some days to the memorial of the loss of her family. But in the real sense, Jasmine was tired from the tumor pain, the office slander, and the idea of selling her body just to take a revenge she didn’t know if it was worth taking.

Her footsteps echoed through the dimly lit hallway, every step laced with exhaustion and unspoken truths. Her fingers grazed the soft walls as if she was trying to anchor herself—trying not to drown in everything weighing on her chest. The pain, the doubt, the war she fought inside her every single day.

“Where are you coming from?” the family's deep voice of Jerald reverberated through the air and Jasmine’s steps flattered halting some steps away from her room.