𝔅𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔦𝔢 - Rafe Cameron

①⑤

...

Eden finally returned after half an hour. Topper had left, saying goodbye to Jazmine with a friendly wave. Once they'd finished their meal, Eden kindly offered to walk Jazmine home, which she politely declined, deciding to drive herself instead.

When she arrived at the house, everything was silent; not a light was on, and not a sound disturbed the stillness of the large space. Rafe's car was parked in the driveway, though, so he must already be asleep. Jazmine kicked off her heels by the door, careful not to make any noise, and made her way upstairs.

Reaching her bedroom, she opened the door slowly, letting out a soft sigh before tossing her keys onto the dresser. She quickly slipped out of her clothes and headed straight for the shower.

Meanwhile, Rafe had been waiting up for hours, just to be sure Jazmine got home safely. He had even called Topper to go to the country club tonight—for "security reasons," he'd said.

But Rafe had stayed, seated out on his balcony, watching the driveway. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he knew she was back. When he finally heard the water running in her bathroom, he sighed, letting his shoulders relax.

Rafe knew he didn't want this distance between them. He needed her; she was the only person he genuinely enjoyed being around. He loved life with her and wished for it never to change.

But even as he hoped, Rafe understood that his wishes might be too much to ask for—especially after everything he'd done.

...

After her shower, Jazmine wrapped herself in a towel, slipping on a robe, and headed to the balcony off her room. The night was calm, the moon casting a soft glow over everything. It was nearly 2 a.m. She had her phone in hand and dialed her aunt once more, a familiar mixture of anger and dread in her chest.

"Hey, Auntie, it's Jazmine. This is, what, the 56th time now?" she muttered into the phone. "I suggest you pick up because, as you know, I won't stop calling. So, call me back, alright? I'd hate to have to show up in person. It'd be unpleasant for both of us."

She ended the call, her face set in determination as she hit redial. She despised her aunt, almost as much as she knew her aunt hated her. It was mutual, but that hadn't always been the case.

As a child, Jazmine had loved her aunt and her cousins. She'd always dreamed of having a big family and felt safe, welcomed, and part of something when they were around. But the day she needed them the most, her aunt had abandoned her.

Sure, Imelda had lost a sister, but Jazmine had lost her mother, her father, and her little sister all in one tragic accident.

She'd been left completely alone, watching helplessly as every adult she had once trusted turned away. She could still remember herself as a small girl, sitting alone in their darkened house.

Her mother had always left a candle burning, knowing how afraid Jazmine was of the dark. But after they were gone, Jazmine had no one, nothing. And to make it worse, her aunt had spread rumors about her all over the village: Jazmine, the cursed child, bringing death wherever she went.

She'd promised herself she'd never feel that way again. The walls she'd built over the years were her defense against that memory, that terrible loneliness. They were there to keep her safe from that haunting fear: that everyone she loved might abandon her again.

Lost in thought, she was startled by the buzzing of her phone. She answered immediately.

"Jazmine," her aunt's voice cut through, sharp as ever. "What do you want?"

Jazmine steadied her voice. "Hello, Auntie."

A cold scoff greeted her. "Get to the point, Jazmine. I don't have time for this."

The smirk in her voice was almost automatic. "It's been a while."

"Not long enough," Imelda snapped.

"Yeah, well, I left the island. Figured you'd like that," Jazmine replied, keeping her tone steady.

Imelda's scoff was louder. "People talk; I already know. Why call?"

Jazmine took a breath. "I wanted to ask about someone."

"Who?" Imelda asked, suspicion clear in her tone.

"My father," Jazmine said, feeling an ache. "You told me he left, but I don't even remember his name. Just the initials—'I' for Inez and 'M' for...?"

There was a pause. Then, Imelda let out a reluctant sigh. "If I tell you, will you promise to leave me alone?"

"Yes," Jazmine answered, hardly daring to breathe.

"Fine. His name was Mike."

Jazmine paused, her mind racing to place the name. "Mike?" she whispered, feeling the sadness she'd always tried to ignore.

"After my sister died, he left. Not too far, though. Last I knew, he'd opened a restaurant, remarried, had another daughter." Imelda's tone was laced with bitterness. "He rebuilt his life. Without you."

Jazmine clenched her fists, pushing back the emotions welling up. She'd never known her father had started over, that he had another family. For years, she'd wondered if he even thought of her.

She was caught between the urge to despise him and a longing so fierce it almost hurt. His face had faded from her memory—she couldn't recall his voice, his scent, the color of his hair or his eyes. Even the feel of his hand on her cheek when she stumbled was lost to time.

All she had left was the necklace resting against her skin, a quiet relic from a life that felt almost unreal now. It had been her mother's, a gift from him, with their initials engraved in delicate letters: I for Inez and M—the last trace of who he'd once been to her.

Jazmine held back her feelings and went straight to her point. "I need you to send me the photos Mom left behind."

Imelda's voice turned almost mocking, her posture exuding an air of dominance as she faced her niece's request. "And why would I do that?"

Jazmine steadied herself. "I'll pay. You just send the the photos."

The trunk. Imelda had kept it for years, never willing to let Jazmine have it, despite her pleading.

"Fine. How much?" Imelda finally asked.

"As much as you want," Jazmine replied, weary now. "Just send it."

"Alright."

...