Chapter 27
Jasmine looked absolutely fucking stunning in that red dress. I’d spent an embarrassing amount of time picking it out, standing in some overpriced boutique like a man possessed, imagining how the deep crimson would look against her skin.
Turns out my imagination was shit compared to reality.
The way it hugged her curves made it seem like it had been designed specifically for her body, like some cosmic joke about how perfect she was and how completely unworthy I felt of having her in my life.
As the press conference began, I barely registered the usual chaos—clicking cameras, murmured conversations, the shuffle of papers that always accompanied these corporate dog-and-pony shows.
My attention was laser-focused on her, watching her command that room like she was born for it.
This was her moment to shine, and Christ, she was absolutely radiant.
Then everything went to hell with one sharp, calculated question from some asshole in the crowd.
“Is it true that all three Blackwood men have been seduced by you?”
The photos that followed weren’t explicit. Nothing that crossed legal lines or could get us arrested. But the truth was written in every frame like a fucking billboard: these weren’t professional moments.
They were personal. Intimate. The kind of interactions that told a story no amount of corporate spin could explain away.
I froze completely, my heart pounding so hard I was sure the microphones would pick it up and broadcast my cardiac arrest to the entire industry.
Around me, I could hear Asher’s sharp intake of breath, feel his rage building like a storm about to level everything in its path. Finn was already moving, probably trying to keep Asher from doing something that would make this disaster even worse.
But when I looked for Jasmine, she was gone.
Just fucking gone.
Her headset lay abandoned on the stage floor like evidence at a crime scene. Her clipboard had been dropped beside the podium.
The room erupted into the kind of chaos that tabloid journalists dream about—shouting questions, cameras flashing like strobe lights, the electric buzz of excitement that comes from witnessing a scandal unfold in real time.
But all I could think about was finding Jasmine and making sure she was okay.
Without hesitation, I stepped up to the microphone and cut through the noise with the kind of authority that comes from years of cleaning up other people’s messes.
“This press conference is over,” I said, my voice carrying across the room with deadly calm. “These photos were taken without consent and represent a gross violation of privacy. We will be pursuing immediate legal action against everyone involved in this ambush.”
Then I walked off that stage, not giving a single fuck about damage control or the questions that would follow us for weeks. I only cared about finding Jasmine.
I tore through the building like a man on fire, checking every room, every corridor, every possible hiding place.
She hadn’t used the main exit—security confirmed that much. Panic was starting to claw at my chest when I passed a partially open bathroom door and heard a familiar voice inside.
Adelyn. Fucking laughing.
“Oh, you should have seen her face when those photos came up,” she was saying, voice dripping with the kind of cruel satisfaction that made my skin crawl. “She just crumbled completely. It was beautiful.”
I froze outside that door, listening to her gleeful recounting of Jasmine’s humiliation like it was the goddamn Super Bowl highlights.
“The photographer got exactly what we needed,” she continued. “And that journalist you recommended asked the perfect question. Your commission will be transferred by tomorrow.”
Commission. This had been planned. Orchestrated. And Adelyn had been the architect of our destruction.
Rage overwhelmed me—pure, white-hot fury that made my vision blur at the edges and my hands shake with the need to destroy something.
When Adelyn finally emerged from the bathroom looking pleased with herself and completely unrepentant, I was waiting.
“ID,” I demanded coldly, my voice barely controlled.
“Excuse me?” She blinked at me in confusion, clearly not expecting to be confronted by someone who’d just figured out her game.
“Your company ID. Hand it over. Now.”
“I don’t understand why—”
I snatched the badge from around her neck and snapped it cleanly in half, the plastic cracking with a sound that seemed to echo through the hallway like a gunshot.
“You’re fired,” I said, each word precise and final. “Effective immediately. You’re done here, and you’re never allowed near Jasmine again. If I see you anywhere near this building or any of our events, I’ll have you arrested for harassment.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock. “You can’t just—”
“I can and I have.” I stepped closer, letting her see exactly how serious I was about ending her existence in our world. “Security will escort you out. Don’t test me on this.”
When she hesitated, clearly about to argue, Asher appeared at my shoulder like some kind of avenging angel. His presence was dark and menacing, those steel-gray eyes promising consequences that would make my threats look like gentle suggestions.
That was enough to get her moving.
She gathered what remained of her dignity and hurried toward the exit, but not before shooting us both a look of pure venom that told me this war was far from over.
I continued my search, hope and desperation warring in my chest as I made my way to our office. Maybe she’d gone there to collect her things, or to leave a message, or to wait for us to find her and explain how we were going to fix this clusterfuck.
When I opened the door, my heart didn’t just sink—it fucking plummeted through the floor and into the earth’s core.
She had been there. But not for the reasons I’d hoped.
The red dress I’d chosen for her was folded neatly on the conference table, the silk still holding the faint scent of her perfume like a ghost.
Beside it sat the elegant bag Asher had given her, pristine and untouched. Finn’s velvet box containing the diamond earrings completed the devastating display.
Even her phone was there, powered off and silent on the desk like a tombstone marking the death of everything we’d built together.
She had taken nothing. Nothing.
There was no note, no message, no explanation. Just absence—the kind of complete erasure that spoke louder than any words could have.
I picked up that red dress with trembling hands, remembering the way her face had lit up when she’d first put it on. The way she’d reached for all our hands simultaneously outside the villa, like she finally believed she belonged with us.
The confidence that had radiated from her as she’d taken the stage today, looking like she could conquer the fucking world.
Now she had left it all behind, folded with the same care she brought to everything she did, but abandoned nonetheless.
I sank into the nearest chair, still holding her dress, and felt something inside me break with an almost audible snap.
How do you live with the knowledge that you failed to protect the one person who mattered most?
