WILLIAM POV. The club throbbed with bass heavy music, but it was a lot quieter in the private VIP section. The lights were dim, and the air was filled with different scents of perfume and cigar smoke. Mateo sat beside me, legs stretched out, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. Mine sat untouched on the table in front of me, the amber liquid still as glass.A dancer waved at us from across the room—tall, with red hair and long legs, wearing nothing but glitter and heels.Mateo smirked and nudged my side with his elbow. “You are really not gonna wave back? He is a married man now,” he said in a mock whisper, grinning like a bastard.I didn’t look. “That’s right.”He barked a laugh. “Come on, don’t be like that. It’s not even a real wedding. You can cheat if you want. Honestly, I would be disappointed if you didn’t.”I gave him a look sharp enough to cut glass.His grin faltered. “Wait… Are you actually trying to be faithful to her?”“No,” I said a little too quickly. “I just don’t like
WILLIAM STONE. I was on my way home when I caught sight of a small flower shop tucked between a boutique and a café. I didn’t plan on stopping, but I pulled over anyway. Jasmine loved flowers—she always had, even back when we were young teenagers. There was something in the way she looked at them, like they gave her a moment of peace in a world that never gave her enough.So yeah, maybe part of me just wanted to make her smile and also to manage the guilt I was feeling. I felt so guilty about lying to her that the white envelope was a harmless thing to shrug off. It was a warning. A threat. And the fact that it was sent to her instead of me meant that Judas—my cousin, the one who vanished years ago because of some family dispute, reappeared and probably believed our marriage was real, and he thought hurting her would hurt me more, and he will be right.But how do you drop something like that on someone without breaking them? Jasmine’s had enough on her plate her whole life—grief, bet
JASMINE POV.I was leaning over the pool's edge, trying to coax a frightened stray cat away from the water. It was trembling, stuck on a narrow ledge, and I stupidly thought I could help. But I misstepped and plunged into the water. I panicked when the cold water hit me hard; I couldn’t swim; I scattered my arms and kicked my legs uselessly, trying to float on top. I tried to scream but only swallowed more water. Everything felt too loud and too far away like I was screaming inside my own head, and no one could hear me. My chest burned, and it became so unbearable that I blacked out.Then, faintly… a familiar voice called out to me in the dark.“Please wake up… Please…”I felt something firm and warm pressed against my chest, and then his ear touched my skin.“Come on, Jasmine. Come back to me. Please…”He sounded broken.Another push—again—and suddenly, air tore into my lungs. I gasped, coughing, sputtering out water as I jerked forward. My whole body convulsed, shaking from the col
WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN YOUR HUSBAND OF FIVE YEARS CHEATS ON YOU WITH ANOTHER WOMAN? NOT JUST ANY WOMAN—HIS COUSIN.What do you think would be the most natural reaction for a woman to have? Cry? Scream? Turn her back and walk away? Or maybe jump on the both of them and beat their asses?Maybe you would choose one of those. Maybe you would think that’s what I would do. But I didn’t.Instead, I closed the bedroom door as if I hadn’t just seen my husband, the man I built a life with naked in bed with another woman and made my way to the kitchen. I should pick up a knife and make his heart hurt the way mine does right now, carve the pain into his skin so he understands. But I didn’t.Instead, I went to the cellar and pulled out the most expensive bottle of wine we owned—one I had kept for a special occasion. And in a way, today was a special occasion. It’s not every day you catch your perfect, doting husband screwing another woman in your marital bed. If someone had told me that Martin—the m
JASMINE’S POVI tried to stay composed and not show how much I was hurting, but when she called me a worthless whore, I snapped. I could not take the disrespect any longer. I picked up the wine bottle and hurled it in her direction. She managed to dodge it just in time, but not without a shard of glass cutting her cheek. A small sense of satisfaction bloomed within me.Are you crazy?!” Martin yelled as he wrapped his arms around Kimberly like she was a delicate flower. She clung to him, whimpering—probably more for effect than actual pain.Crazy? He had the audacity to call me crazy?“No, let me show you what crazy looks like,” I hissed, picking up a baseball bat resting on the fridge and dragging it slowly across the floor. His eyes widened in fear as I stepped closer. Good. Let him be scared. Let him feel even a fraction of what I was feeling.But I wasn’t going to swing it at them. No. That would make me the villain. Instead, I turned and swung the bat at the nearest wedding phot
THREE MONTHS LATERJASMINE’S POV“The court has given their order for you to be discharged. You can go now.” The doctor announced. I nod stiffly. “Thank you,” I say, though I don’t mean it. What am I thanking him for? For disregarding the truth? For playing Martin’s game? For watching as I rotted in here, day after day, knowing I didn’t belong?I pick up the only things I have left: a single wrinkled gown, my old jacket, and my iPhone. That’s it. Three months ago, I had a home, a husband, a life, and a flourishing business. Now, all I have is this.The first few weeks in the ward had been depressing. Martin had bribed everyone, even the doctors, spinning a lie where I was the unstable, violent ex-wife who needed to be locked away. My legal team abandoned me. The media swallowed his lies whole, painting me as some deranged woman who couldn’t handle a divorce. My name was dragged through the mud whenever I turned on the news.Jasmine Carter: From Wealthy Socialite to Violent Lunatic.J
JASMINE’S POV“Do you want me to get you anything?” William asked.I shook my head, afraid to speak. Then I cleared my throat. “No,” I managed to say.“There is something in your hair.” He reached forward, plucking a dry leaf tangled in the strands. It must have gotten there in the wind earlier.I felt my face heat up. God, I probably look exactly like the media describes me—messy, unstable, a fallen socialite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to—”He didn’t let me finish. Instead, he offered a small smile. “You look perfect, Jasmine.”The way he said my name—it was deep, smooth, like honey. Just like I remembered. My stomach twisted at the familiarity, at the memories of how much I once loved hearing him say it.“How long has it been? Six, seven years?” he asked.“Seven.”He leaned back in his chair, unbuttoning the top of his crisp shirt, revealing the hint of a tattoo on his chest. Then, he rolled up his sleeves, exposing his toned forearms. He had always been attractive, but now? No
JASMINE’S POV“Take my hand,” William murmured. I slid my fingers into his, letting him lead me into the ballroom. This was his night—the opening of his second luxury hotel in the city. The event was strictly invitation-only, a gathering of the elite, where people sipped on aged champagne and whispered deals that could change entire industries.After William’s speech, a line of eager businessmen flocked to him like moths to a flame, each one desperate to strike a deal, hoping to catch even a sliver of his wealth. I wasn’t paying much attention to any of it. My only focus was on one man only.Martin.There he was, my cheating, scheming, spineless ex-husband, strolling toward us with his arm hooked around Kimberly’s waist like a prize he’d won. I gripped my champagne glass too tight, fingers trembling with the urge to throw it straight at his smug face. William must have noticed my discomfort because he pulled me closer to himself.“Mr. Stone,” Martin greeted with too much enthusiasm
JASMINE POV.I was leaning over the pool's edge, trying to coax a frightened stray cat away from the water. It was trembling, stuck on a narrow ledge, and I stupidly thought I could help. But I misstepped and plunged into the water. I panicked when the cold water hit me hard; I couldn’t swim; I scattered my arms and kicked my legs uselessly, trying to float on top. I tried to scream but only swallowed more water. Everything felt too loud and too far away like I was screaming inside my own head, and no one could hear me. My chest burned, and it became so unbearable that I blacked out.Then, faintly… a familiar voice called out to me in the dark.“Please wake up… Please…”I felt something firm and warm pressed against my chest, and then his ear touched my skin.“Come on, Jasmine. Come back to me. Please…”He sounded broken.Another push—again—and suddenly, air tore into my lungs. I gasped, coughing, sputtering out water as I jerked forward. My whole body convulsed, shaking from the col
WILLIAM STONE. I was on my way home when I caught sight of a small flower shop tucked between a boutique and a café. I didn’t plan on stopping, but I pulled over anyway. Jasmine loved flowers—she always had, even back when we were young teenagers. There was something in the way she looked at them, like they gave her a moment of peace in a world that never gave her enough.So yeah, maybe part of me just wanted to make her smile and also to manage the guilt I was feeling. I felt so guilty about lying to her that the white envelope was a harmless thing to shrug off. It was a warning. A threat. And the fact that it was sent to her instead of me meant that Judas—my cousin, the one who vanished years ago because of some family dispute, reappeared and probably believed our marriage was real, and he thought hurting her would hurt me more, and he will be right.But how do you drop something like that on someone without breaking them? Jasmine’s had enough on her plate her whole life—grief, bet
WILLIAM POV. The club throbbed with bass heavy music, but it was a lot quieter in the private VIP section. The lights were dim, and the air was filled with different scents of perfume and cigar smoke. Mateo sat beside me, legs stretched out, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. Mine sat untouched on the table in front of me, the amber liquid still as glass.A dancer waved at us from across the room—tall, with red hair and long legs, wearing nothing but glitter and heels.Mateo smirked and nudged my side with his elbow. “You are really not gonna wave back? He is a married man now,” he said in a mock whisper, grinning like a bastard.I didn’t look. “That’s right.”He barked a laugh. “Come on, don’t be like that. It’s not even a real wedding. You can cheat if you want. Honestly, I would be disappointed if you didn’t.”I gave him a look sharp enough to cut glass.His grin faltered. “Wait… Are you actually trying to be faithful to her?”“No,” I said a little too quickly. “I just don’t like
THIRD PERSON POV. Martin's step was unsteady as he walked into his home, the same house he had managed to wrangle from his ex-wife in the divorce. He had gone out for a few drinks after discovering that William Stone, the new boss he had been so excited to work with, was now married to his ex-wife. The news hit him like a slap, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he got.At the bar, a waitress, far too chatty for his liking, had interrupted his spiraling thoughts one too many times. In a fit of rage, he had hurled a glass of beer at her. It missed, thankfully, but the outburst earned him a permanent ban. “Didn’t like the place anyway,” he muttered to himself as he stumbled down the street.People gave him odd looks as he passed, kicking stones and debris out of his path. His once crisp white shirt was mostly unbuttoned, his tie now wrapped haphazardly around his head like a bandana. He had left his suit jacket behind on the barstool when the bouncer shoved him out.Today co
WILLIAM POV“Thank you for having me once again,” Martin said as he took a seat with a cheerful tone.I gave him a tight smile and nodded once toward my assistant. She understood the cue and left to fetch the file. I hated these kinds of meetings. The ones where men like Martin walked in with cheap cologne and overconfident grins, pretending they belonged in rooms they didn’t earn. I listened as he rambled about his appreciation, thanking me at least three times in the span of a minute. I smiled through clenched teeth. I didn’t like him. Never had. But some partnerships weren’t about liking. They were about leverage.He pulled out the contract with sweaty fingers and signed his name with a little flourish, clearly thinking it meant something more than it did.“My team has been putting together ideas for the charity gala,” Martin said as he slid the signed paper across the table. “I think it’s going to make the press rounds. We have already spoken to—”“You will want to wait for my wif
JASMINE POV. It’s been a week since the wedding. Seven long days living alone in this mansion I now share with William, though I’d hardly call it ours. I haven’t seen him since the reception. He didn’t even tell me he was leaving. Instead, he sent word through Anna, the maid who clearly can’t stand me. Her tone had that stiff politeness that might as well have said, He is gone, and you are not worth a proper goodbye.The loneliness has been suffocating. I have no friends, no one to talk to, and no one to check in with.So, like a sad little ghost of my past life, I spent most of the week stalking people I swore I was done with. I logged into my fake account, one I used to roll my eyes at but now cling to like a lifeline. I started with Martin and Kimberly’s pages. Nothing new. Just old photos of forced smiles and staged perfection. Typical.Then Kiara.Her page was filled with new pictures. Happy pictures. One of Emma smiling in the backyard, holding her baby sister like a doll. My t
JASMINE POVThe wedding was small and intimate by most standards. Just his parents, ten carefully selected guests, and… her. The woman who dared to call herself my mother. I had seen her sitting there during the vows, clapping politely like she hadn’t vanished from my life when my father and I needed her the most. If I had my way, we would have signed the contract in a dim room, alone, maybe over a bottle of champagne and a worn-out pen. No dancing. No flowers. No ghosts from the past.“I need to use the bathroom,” I said to William as I turned to leave, but he held me back, “wait,” I turned, and before I could speak, he kissed me softly, catching me off guard. My eyes widened in shock, and he stroked my lips gently, looking at me like I was the only one that mattered. I cleared my throat, opening my mouth to say something, but nothing came out, so instead, I gave him a small smile. The guests were watching, and they all seemed surprised that William was now a married man. I can se
FORTY-EIGHT HOURS LATERJASMINE POV.I stood still in front of the full-length mirror, barely breathing, as Gaston Laurent gently adjusted the delicate lace sleeve of my wedding dress. The fabric shimmered under the soft morning light pouring in through the windows, clinging to my body like a second skin. “Ah, mon Dieu,” he whispered. “You take my breath away. Look at you.” He gestured at the mirror with both hands. “A vision. No—an art. You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen in my entire career.”I swallowed, and my mouth suddenly felt dry. I didn’t know what to say. I blinked slowly, trying to take in my reflection—the woman staring back at me looked like someone else—someone softer and happier. But I wasn’t happy. The dress hugged my waist perfectly, the train flowing like liquid silk onto the floor. I looked like I belonged in a dream. I don’t remember looking this beautiful at my previous wedding. “You say nothing?” Gaston leaned in. “Are you stunned by your reflecti
JASMINE POV.I opened my eyes as sunlight poured through the curtains. William was no longer beside me, but his side of the bed was still warm, indicating He hadn’t been long since he left the bed. I yawned, still feeling the sadness from last night. My eyes were aching, and I had a headache. I sat up and took a deep breath, remembering how William had found me last night, and my cheek heated up in embarrassment. He had seen me in one of my rarest forms, and I wondered if he would judge me for it. I walked to my bag, reaching for the small zipped compartment where I hid my anxiety medication. I hated this part of myself: the pills, the dependency, and the stigma that came with it. For most of my teenage years and well into my adult life, I relied on them to silence the noise in my head. They made me feel defective, so I rarely spoke about it. I looked at the bottle still sealed in its pack and felt a rush of anger, remembering how Kimberly and Martin had used it against me. I hisse