Chapter Sixteen
Jasmine
The coffee cup warmed my palms through the ceramic, heat seeping into fingers that never quite felt warm enough.
Morning light slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, softer than yesterday's sharp winter glare, as I sat at the breakfast table with a plate of eggs and toast that I'd actually felt hungry enough to request. The penthouse was quiet except for the distant sounds of Lucian moving through the kitchen.
I'd slept through the night without waking, without nightmares, and that minor victory felt significant enough that I'd smiled at my reflection in the bathroom mirror while brushing my teeth.
The newspaper sat folded beside my plate, delivered with breakfast. I'd ignored it initially, focused on the food. But curiosity got the better of me, and I reached for it, unfolding the pages with the practiced motion I'd learned from reading discarded papers in coffee shops.
The photo stopped me mid-breath.
My face stared back at me from the front page, caught in a three-quarter profile. The light in the photo hit my face in a way that made my features look sharper and more defined than I'd ever seen them.
The headline sat above the photo in bold type: "Killion Records' Latest Discovery is Going to Take the Music World by Storm."
My hands started shaking before I'd finished reading the first line. The coffee cup rattled against the saucer as I set it down. I was visible. Completely, undeniably visible to anyone with eyes.
The article continued below the fold, speculation about my background, my relationship with the pack, and the upcoming gala performance.
Someone had dug up details. They weren’t accurate ones, but close enough to make my chest constrict.
"Sources say the young Omega was discovered singing on street corners," and "rumored to have fled an abusive pack situation. "
My vision blurred at the edges. I blinked, trying to focus on the words, but they swam together like ink in water.
If I could see this, anyone could see this. Any Alpha with a newspaper and too much time could see my face, could know I was here, could know exactly where to find me.
Alpha Bane would know.
The thought materialized with such force that I actually jerked backward in my chair; the legs scraped against the hardwood floor with a sound that made me flinch.
My old pack leader's face surfaced in my memory with the clarity of yesterday rather than nearly a year ago.
Cold blue eyes that never held warmth, even when he smiled.
The particular set of his jaw when he was deciding whether to hit me.
The way his pine scent would intensify right before violence.
I pressed my hand flat against my stomach, fingers splaying over the fabric of my shirt, and felt the phantom ache of impact. His fist connecting with my abdomen, the way I'd doubled over, gasping, trying to protect what I'd already known was too fragile to survive that kind of assault.
The blood had come three days later. Dark and wrong... my body rejecting what it could no longer carry.
My breakfast sat untouched, the eggs congealing on the plate; the toast going cold. The smell of butter and coffee that had been appealing moments ago now made my stomach turn. I pushed away from the table, stood on legs that felt uncertain, and the penthouse suddenly felt too small.
Too many windows, too much exposure, too many ways for someone to see in.
The walls that had felt protective yesterday now seemed like a cage, beautiful and expensive, but still confining.
I needed air. Needed space. Needed to think without feeling like the glass walls were pressing in on all sides.
My feet carried me toward the hallway, moving on instinct more than conscious decision.
“Jasmine?”
I turned. Theo stood in the doorway leading from the kitchen, a dish towel draped over his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes as he tracked the distress on my face.
“I'm going for a walk,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level, to not betray the panic clawing at my throat. “I need some air.”
He took a step closer, his movement careful, non-threatening. “Want company?”
The offer was gentle, genuine, and with no pressure attached.
Part of me wanted to say yes, wanted the protection of his presence, the way his size alone discouraged attention.
But another part, the part that had survived alone for months, needed to be by myself, needed to prove I could still function without an Alpha shadowing my every move.
“No,” I said, softer now. “I need to think.”
Theo studied my face for another moment, then nodded. The concern didn't leave his eyes, but he respected my boundary, and didn't push. “Alright.”
He disappeared back into the kitchen, and I heard drawers opening, the sound of something being moved. He returned holding a small black rectangle that I recognized after a moment as a mobile phone.
“Here,” he said, extending it toward me. “Take this.”
I stared at the phone as if it might bite me. “I don't—”
“It's yours,” he interrupted, his voice still gentle. “I set it up for you this morning. All our numbers are programmed in. If you need anything, if something happens, just call.” He paused, then added, “Or if you just want to talk. Whatever you need.”
The phone sat in his palm. My instinct was to refuse it, to maintain my independence. But the newspaper photo flashed in my mind, and I knew it was safer to accept it, just in case.
My hand reached out before I'd fully decided, fingers closing around the phone. It was lighter than I expected, the metal cool against my palm.
“Thank you,” I whispered, the words scraping past the tightness in my throat.
Theo's expression softened, something that might have been relief flickering across his features. “Be safe, honey.”
I nodded, slipped the phone into my pocket, then walked toward the door.
The elevator ride down felt endless, each floor a countdown to either freedom or exposure. I wasn't sure which. When the doors finally opened to the lobby, I stepped out into the cool air and told myself I could do this.
I could walk outside. Could breathe. Could think.
I just needed a few minutes alone to figure out what visibility meant, what danger I'd invited by accepting Kade's offer, by letting myself be seen.
The revolving door spun me out onto the sidewalk, and the morning air hit my face, making me shudder.
The morning air filled my lungs, and I stood on the sidewalk and let myself breathe. Really breathe, deep inhales that reached down to my diaphragm and reminded me that my body was mine, that I could still make it move and function despite the fear.
The street hummed with morning activity.
A woman in a navy suit hurried past, coffee cup in one hand and phone pressed to her ear.
Two men in construction gear stood near a food cart, laughing about something.
A taxi honked somewhere down the block, the sound sharp but somehow comforting in its normalcy.
Nobody was looking at me. Nobody stopped, nobody pointed, and nobody recognized my face from the newspaper photo. The realization settled some of the panic in my chest, made my shoulders drop slightly from where they'd been hunched near my ears.
Maybe it would be okay. Maybe most people didn't read physical newspapers anymore, or maybe they didn't care enough to memorize the face of some unknown singer.
I took a few steps away from the building, testing my freedom, feeling the sidewalk solid under my feet.
“Excuse me?” The voice came from my left, female and professional.
The woman approaching me was sleek in a way that spoke of money and power. Her suit was charcoal gray, tailored so precisely it might have been painted on, and her dark hair was pulled back in a style that probably had a French name I didn't know.
She smiled as she stopped in front of me. “Jasmine, right? I thought that was you.”
My throat tightened. She knew my name. “I—yes. Who are you?”
“Vanessa Ryan.” She extended a hand; her manicured nails painted a deep red that looked almost black in the morning light. “I'm a senior executive at Apex Records.”
I didn't take her hand. Just stood there, my own hands pushed deep into my coat pockets, fingers finding the phone and gripping it.
Vanessa's smile didn't falter. She lowered her hand, reached into her jacket pocket, and produced a business card. Cream-colored, with embossed lettering that caught the light. She held it toward me.
“We've been watching you,” she said, her voice dropping to something more intimate, like we were sharing a secret. “Your voice is remarkable. Truly special.”
The compliment should have felt good, but something about the way she said it, the calculation behind her eyes, made my skin crawl. I took a step back, putting more distance between us.
“Killion Records is wasting you,” Vanessa continued, moving forward to close the gap I'd created.
She was taller than me, and in those heels, she loomed, her presence taking up more space than her physical body required.
“Small label, limited distribution, Kade's more interested in his artistic integrity than actual success. We can offer you so much more.”
“I'm not interested.” My voice came out smaller than I wanted, barely loud enough to carry over the street noise.
“We can offer double what they're paying you.” She stepped closer again, and now I could smell her perfume, something floral and expensive that made my nose itch. “You will have full creative control, top producers, and a marketing budget that would make Kade Killion weep.”
I shook my head, tried to move around her, but she shifted her position, blocking my path without making it obvious.
Someone passing by wouldn't see anything wrong, just two women having a conversation on a public sidewalk.
But I felt trapped, cornered, with the building at my back and this predatory woman in front of me.
“You deserve better than being some Alpha's pet project,” Vanessa said, and her voice hardened slightly, the professional veneer cracking to reveal something sharper underneath. “Is that what you are? His latest acquisition? How much is he paying you to sing and smile and look grateful?”
Heat flooded my face. “That's not—I'm not—”
“Of course not.” Her smile was razor thin now, all teeth and no warmth. “You're special. Different. That's what they all say, isn't it? Right before they use you up and move on to the next shiny thing.”
My breathing had gone shallow again, rapid inhales that didn't bring enough oxygen. The street tilted slightly, or maybe I was swaying on my feet; I couldn't tell which. I needed to leave, needed to get away from this woman and her aggressive pitch.
“I have to go,” I managed, trying to step around her again.
Her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my wrist before I could pull away.
The contact sent electricity through my nervous system, every alarm bell my body possessed suddenly screaming at once.
Her grip wasn't tight, wasn't painful, but it was firm, and I was being held against my will by an Alpha.
.. no, not an Alpha, my brain tried to correct, she doesn't smell like an Alpha, but my body didn't care about the distinction.
“Just look at the card,” Vanessa said, trying to press the business card into my palm with her free hand. “Take it, think it over. Call me when you realize what a real opportunity looks like.”
The street was spinning now; the buildings tilting at angles that defied physics. My vision narrowed, dark spots creeping in from the edges, and I could hear my pulse hammering in my ears like a drum, loud and insistent, drowning out everything else.
My pulse raced as my heart thumped through my chest as though it wanted to burst out at any second.
Face heated, hands clammy, I couldn't breathe.
Couldn't get enough air past the lump in my throat.
My free hand went to my chest, pressing against my sternum, trying to remember how lungs were supposed to work.
Bane had grabbed me like this once. His fingers around my arm, yanking me backward when I'd tried to leave the pack house. The memory overlaid the present moment, and suddenly I couldn't tell which was real and which was past.
“Let me go,” I whispered, the words barely audible, more breath than voice.
Vanessa's grip didn't loosen. “Just take the card—”
“Let me go.” Louder now, but still weak, still powerless, still trapped on a public sidewalk where anyone could grab me, where my visibility in that newspaper photo had painted a target on my back.
The morning air that had tasted like freedom minutes ago now felt thick, like trying to inhale water. My vision continued to narrow, tunnel-like, until all I could see was Vanessa's manicured hand on my wrist and the street beneath my feet.
My knees wanted to buckle. I was going to pass out.
Or throw up. Or both. And this woman wouldn't let go, wouldn't stop talking, didn't understand that I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except stand here trapped while my body remembered every other time someone had held me against my will.
“Please,” I whispered again, hating how broken my voice sounded, hated that after everything I'd survived, I could still be reduced to this by a simple touch.