Against Devil

11 - Shut me up

The morning sun wasn't kind—it crept through the dusty blinds with the subtlety of a slap, stabbing directly into my eyelids like a personal insult. My head throbbed. My throat was dry. My soul? Somewhere between dead and defiant.

I didn't even remember falling asleep. Just the slow descent to the floor, a storm of pillows beneath me and a scattered graveyard of empty bottles bearing witness to last night's choices. A groan escaped my lips as nausea twisted my insides. Across the hall, I heard Jasmine losing her war with the toilet. At least I wasn't alone in my suffering.

Dragging myself into the bathroom, I knelt beside her. "Do you need anything?"

"Pills," she gasped between retches, and I gave Lizzy a tired look. She got the message without a word, disappearing down the hallway.

I held Jasmine's hair back, brushing it gently as she coughed and cursed her life. The girl could gut a man with a glance but couldn't handle two glasses of champagne. Adorable.

Lizzy returned and passed us water and painkillers. Jasmine thanked her with a look that screamed 'eternal gratitude with a side of shame.'

"You know," I said, slipping onto the cabinet nearby, "as hangovers go, yours is a bit dramatic."

"Shut up, Bella. I don't drink," she grumbled, head still resting on the toilet seat.

"Then consider this a learning experience."

We laughed. Weak, exhausted laughter, but still. For a moment, it felt like the world hadn't spun off its axis.

But reality was waiting. With claws.

Once Lizzy excused herself for a walk, I lingered. My eyes wandered across Jasmine—her hair wet with sweat, her fingers curled into the fabric of the rug. And I thought of him.

Philip.

The Alpha of Black Mountain. Anastasia's father. And Jasmine's secret.

I watched her for a moment longer before speaking. "So," I said, too casually, "you and Philip. Is that still a thing?"

She froze. Didn't look at me. Didn't move.

"I mean, I only ask because it's starting to feel like everyone's secrets are bleeding into my living room."

Jasmine sat up slowly, wiping her mouth. She didn't look angry. Just tired.

"Why now, Bella?" she said quietly.

"Because Anastasia waltzed into the packhouse like she owned the floor Nate stood on. Because she knew things—personal things. And because you're the only one who could've warned us."

"I didn't know she was coming," Jasmine whispered.

"But you knew what she was capable of," I snapped. "You knew what she's done before. To Lizzy. To Nate. And you didn't say a damn thing."

Jasmine finally looked at me, and the emotion behind her eyes wasn't guilt—it was heartbreak.

"I didn't say anything because I didn't want to choose. Between my devotion to Philip... and my loyalty to you two."

I let out a breath. "You shouldn't have had to choose, Jasmine. He's not just some guy. He's the reason his daughter thinks she can humiliate Lizzy and still walk away with her dignity intact."

Her hands were trembling now. "He didn't ask her to do this. I swear it."

"But he didn't stop her either, did he?"

She didn't answer.

I rose from the cabinet, wiping my hands against my thighs like I could scrub off the bitterness.