Every empire is built on silence. And every silence has a mother.
The moon watched them all as it cast its rays over the city of New York. She sat on her bed, thinking of everything, her whole life crumbling at her feet, she was thinking of life. Just then, Jasmine received a text just after midnight.
From Amira:
Lunch. Tomorrow. Discretion required.
Here, there's no "please." No warmth and no 'but'. Just the kind of message you obey without question.
The next day, Jasmine entered the private dining room of Amira De Fernandez's board suite, dressed in her normal casual office clothes. She looked sharp, because of Amira, it was a room reserved only for global meetings and silent power plays. Amira was already seated, waiting for her arrival. Her back was straight. Her hands were folded. Her face was unreadable. "Sit," she sharply said, her tone was bold and bossy "I don't like wasting time." Amira didn't offer Jasmine food. Just the truth. "I knew your mother before either of us had daughters. Before either of us had empires."
"Daughter?" Jasmine muttered and nodded her head, "She was… radiant. Smart. But dangerous." Jasmine frowned. "Dangerous how, my mom isn't dangerous?" Amira sipped her water, "That's what you think, darling." She paused, "We were interns together. In Milan. Both of us had dreams. Beautiful and wild dreams, we planned to collaborate in the future on the same company brand. Both of us had men, money and inherited power. I had your father first, Jasmine. Before she took him." Jasmine's breath caught.
"That's not true", she added, "Your mother stole more than my man. She stole a deal I built from the ground up. Sold it to a rival firm for money she didn't even need. I almost lost everything." She leaned closer. "And now she's using you to get back in." "You think my mother's controlling me?"
"I don't think, dear Jasmine, I know it." Amira's voice dropped. "Your mother plays the long game, Jasmine. And she plays to win. And gain all the glory." After some while, they ended their meeting with a sly smile at 1:30 pm. She got home that same evening, and Natasha was waiting in Jasmine's apartment. 'She wondered how she got in?' She didn't ask for permission. She was dressed in black silk, soft and severe. Jasmine walked in, tense and pale. "You talked to Amira." Natasha asked, "Yes," Jasmine said, pouring her daughter a glass of wine. "And I imagine she told you her version." Jasmine didn't take the glass. Natasha sighed before sitting down. "She wanted your father, Jasmine. But he didn't want her. Not the way she wanted." "She said you stole him."
"I saved him."
There was a pause. Then Natasha stood up and stared at her for a while. "But that wasn't the worst of it." She opened her purse and pulled out a small box, aged, velvet-lined. Inside: a gold ring with the initials A.D.F. engraved inside. "He gave this to her. As an engagement ring. Then gave it to me. She's never forgiven either of us."
Jasmine stared at the ring, horrified. "Why are you showing me this now?" "Because you need to understand," Natasha said softly. "This family you're marrying into, it was never built for you. Amira is trying to use you the same way she used Brown. And the same way she tried to use me." "You think she loved him?" Jasmine asked. Natasha smiled bitterly. "No. She wanted to own him." Later that night, Jasmine stood in front of the mirror, holding the ring.
She doesn't know whether to classify her life as a lie or the truth, or neither of them.
It was:
Two stories. Two mothers. Two women who would both swear on their graves that they were the one who had been wronged. "Who's lying?" she whispered. And somewhere inside, a voice answered:
'Both of them.'
She placed the ring down and picked up her phone.
Drafting a text:
To Julian (in Brown's body)
"We need to talk. About everything."
She didn't send it yet. She stared at the message and took in a sharp breath, and tapped the send button. And she was no longer sure who she was supposed to protect.