Chapter 23
I slammed the door to Mina’s apartment so hard the windows shook. She was sitting there on the couch, sipping red wine like she hadn’t just blown my entire world to pieces.
“What the hell did you tell Jasmine?” My voice echoed like thunder.
Mina didn’t even flinch. She smiled, that smug, venomous curl of her lips I once mistook for charm. “I told her the truth,” she said, crossing her legs. “That she doesn’t belong in your world. That she’s just… a replacement.”
I clenched my jaw. “You think this is a joke?”
“I told her,” she continued, unfazed, “that you still love me. That I’m the one who’s meant to be with you.”
“And that photo?” I hissed.
She stood, walked slowly to the coffee table, and picked up her phone. “Oh, that?” She tapped the screen and held it up to me. The image burned into my mind–a frozen moment of her lips pressed to mine. A stolen second. Twisted. Manipulated.
“You ruined us,” I growled, my fists trembling.
“You kissed me,” she said sweetly.
“No,” I said through gritted teeth. “You kissed me. I didn’t expect it. I didn’t want it. You had someone take that damn photo. You planned this.”
Mina narrowed her eyes. “So what if I did? You’re mine, Rozen. You always have been. She’s just a phase. You’ll get over her.”
I stepped back, disgusted. “I was over you. Jasmine is the only one I’ve ever wanted to stay with.”
“You’re lying,” she said, her voice cracking.
“I did love you once,” I said quietly. “But it was toxic. You broke me. Jasmine healed me. She believed in me even when I didn’t. She’s my wife. She’s carrying my child. And you-” I looked at her like she was a stranger, “you just made the biggest mistake of your life.”
Mina’s eyes turned glassy. “You don’t mean that.”
“If I lose her forever because of you,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “you’ll pay. I swear to God, you’ll pay.”
And I walked out. I didn’t look back. I didn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t.
Jasmine wasn’t replying to any of my messages. She had blocked me. Her bracelet–the one with the tracker I gave her to keep her safe–was left behind. My house was cold. Empty. Quiet. A haunting silence that screamed louder than anything else.
I sat by the stairs, staring at the wall like it would give me the answers. Why didn’t I tell her Mina had returned?
Because I thought I could handle it. I thought I could end things with Mina cleanly, finally–so Jasmine would never have to worry about her again. But that silence had become the wedge
Chapter 23
between us.
God, I was such a fool.
The following days blurred into one. I didn’t eat. Barely slept. I drank–more than I should have. Every bottle emptied, every glass shattered, did nothing to erase the ache of her absence.
I called Alice. Again. And again.
“Please,” I begged her. “I just need to see her.”
“I don’t know where she is,” Alice said, voice clipped.
“You’re lying,” I said. “Please. She’s carrying my child. She needs me.”
“No,” she said. “What she needs is peace. What she needs is someone who won’t break her the way every man before her did.”
Her words pierced deeper than knives. But I didn’t stop.
Every day, I sent flowers to her company. To Alice’s place. To every place she could possibly be. sent letters. Voicemails. Messages through our friends.
I told her how sorry I was. How I should have told her about Mina the second she appeared. That I wasn’t hiding her–I was trying to protect Jasmine from the mess.
But I failed.
And still, I waited.
My staff searched. No one could find her.
I even bought space in every newspaper, magazine, and billboard I could get my hands on with
one message:
Jasmine, please come home.
I posted a reward. I didn’t care how desperate it looked. Let the world mock me. Let them laugh at the billionaire who lost his wife. I’d give away my fortune if it meant I could hold her again.
My mansion was just a house without her.
One evening, I walked into the room that was supposed to be the nursery. I had started preparing it when I found out we were going to be parents. The crib. The soft lights. The mural of stars on the wall. She didn’t even see it.
I broke down. On the floor. On my knees.
I was ready to be a father. But I couldn’t do it without her.
I didn’t want this child to grow up in a broken home–never knowing the warmth of both parents under the same roof. I didn’t want them to inherit the trauma, the pain. I didn’t want to be like my own father–distant, cold, hollow.
I wanted Jasmine.
Then, one night, Alice finally answered my call.
I was trembling. “Please. I’m begging you.”
She sighed. “She doesn’t want to see you, Rozen. She’s scared.”
“I understand. I deserve that. But… please. Let me explain. Let me fix this.”
A long silence stretched between us.
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And then–finally–an address.
I almost collapsed from relief.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Alice’s voice cracked. “Don’t mess this up. She’s barely holding on.”
I didn’t waste a second. I gathered every letter I wrote, every ultrasound photo I had secretly kept copies of, every flower she once said she liked, and I drove.
For the first time in weeks, I saw hope.
I wasn’t going to let her go.
Not now.
Not ever.
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