JASMINE
The drive home from Stella's house felt far longer than it should have.
My hands gripped the steering wheel firmly, my knuckles pale against the dark material.
Every small bump in the road sent a dull throb through the bruises left behind from earlier conflicts, yet even that ache was nothing compared to the growing weight inside me, a distress rooted in memories that were not entirely mine, yet felt sharply real.
The original Jasmine's pain kept surfacing without warning. Sharp, jagged fragments cut deeper with every mile.
I remembered Henry's cold threats in darkened corners, spoken in a low voice that never needed to rise to be terrifying. His promises to expose her vulnerable episodes to the media, to Stephan, and to the whole world if she ever dared to turn against him filled her with deep dread. He planted fear so firmly inside her that she began to believe silence was her only shield.
