Chapter 5 - The Velvet Cage
Jasmine accepted the position. She wasn't a fool; she knew that refusing a man like Jackson Ford after he had laid out his terms was more dangerous than accepting. By that evening, her meager belongings were packed into two suitcases and moved into a luxurious, sunlit suite on the east wing of the estate.
The first few weeks were a strange, beautiful dream. Jasmine spent her days playing with Harper in the estate's massive gardens, reading her stories in the library, and sitting with her during the long, stormy nights when the thunder threatened to trigger her terrors. With Jasmine beside her, Harper’s nightmares began to fade. The little girl laughed more, her pale cheeks finding a healthy, vibrant rosiness.
But Jasmine quickly realized that the estate was less of a home and more of a golden fortress under siege.
Every window was made of reinforced ballistic glass. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter with attack dogs every hour. And Jackson was a phantom, appearing only in the dead of night, his face grim, his clothes often smelling of ozone and copper.
One midnight, unable to sleep, Jasmine walked down to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. As she passed Jackson’s private study, she saw the door was cracked open.
Inside, Jackson stood before a massive whiteboard covered in names, photographs, and financial structures. He was shirtless, and for the first time, Jasmine saw the full extent of the scars that marked his body—long, jagged lines from knife wounds, and three distinct, circular burn marks near his shoulder blade. He was holding an ice pack against his ribs, his face twisted in a silent grimace of pain.
Jasmine hesitated before knocking softly against the dark wood.
Jackson spun around instantly, his hand moving to a silver pistol resting on the desk before he recognized her. He relaxed slightly, though his gray eyes remained guarded. "You should be asleep, Jasmine."
"You're bleeding," she said, stepping into the room, her eyes fixing on a dark crimson stain seeping through the white bandage wrapped around his torso.
"An occupational hazard," Jackson muttered, wincing as he sat down in his leather chair. "A minor disagreement with a shipping contractor at the port."
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"Let me help," Jasmine said, her maternal instincts taking over. Before he could object, she walked over, knelt beside his chair, and gently reached for the edge of the bloodied bandage.
