chapter 8

On the night of the full moon in October, Benjamin Greystone was celebrating his 80th birthday. Practically all of Lunaville's elite had shown up to pay their respects.

The Greystone estate was packed with guests; greetings flew back and forth. But amid all the bustle, Benjamin had yet to see a certain someone.

He tapped his cane sharply, his voice full of irritation. "Where's Quinton?"

No one around dared meet his eyes. After a beat of awkward silence, one of the staff finally braced himself and said, "We'll go find him right away!"

Queena Greystone eventually found her brother near the pond at the back of the estate. He was swaying dangerously, so drunk it looked like he might topple in and drown any second.

She strolled over nonchalantly and gave him a light kick. "Quinton, Grandpa's asking for you."

Quinton didn't respond.

She smirked. "Oh, and I just saw the Gardners' car pulling in. Wanna guess who showed up? Isaac and his wife, or maybe Ethan and his fiancée?

"I'm betting on Ethan. That scandal of his not long ago? This party is the perfect chance to show off how sweet things are with his girl—shut down the gossip with some PDA!"

The wineglass in Quinton's hand shattered as it hit the pond's surface, sending ripples across the water.

Queena watched his staggering back as he left and couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh.

By the time Quinton had changed and made his way to the ballroom, Ethan was already standing next to Jasmine, presenting Benjamin with a birthday gift.

It was a piece of top-grade White Quartz—which looked even more exquisite, resting against Jasmine's snow-pale hand.

Benjamin smiled as he accepted it, but his eyes quickly darted past the couple to land on Quinton. "You still remember to show up?"

Quinton walked over, face void of expression. "Grandpa."

Benjamin's brows immediately pulled tight. "So this is what you've learned in those years abroad? Getting drunk before the party even starts?"

Jasmine's brows furrowed slightly. She didn't understand why Benjamin would scold Quinton like that in front of everyone.

She snuck a glance at him—his expression didn't change. Just that same indifference.

Thankfully, Quinton's father stepped in to smooth things over, giving Jasmine and Ethan an excuse to leave the tense scene.

Once they were out of sight, Ethan returned to his usual boisterous self—fetching cake, pouring drinks, acting like the ultimate doting fiancé. His over-the-top antics drew laughter from the surrounding crowd.

With his arm around Jasmine's waist, he shouted for all to hear, "Next month is my engagement party! I better see all of you there!"

Jasmine listened to his act for a while but eventually pulled away and made her way to the restroom.

Sitting in a stall, rubbing her cheeks sore from forced smiles, she felt the exhaustion creeping in.

In her teens, she hated people who fawned over others just to stay in their good graces. She especially loathed events like this—booze, fake laughs, masks on every face.

Years flew by, and she became like those people.

After a few minutes of peace, she freshened up and was about to leave when she heard her name.

"What do you think Jasmine's playing at? First, she exposes Ethan's cheating in front of everyone, and now she's engaged to him? Is she slapping him in the face or herself?"

Another voice snorted, one that sounded vaguely familiar. "You're missing the point. Making a scene was just to get leverage. Now that he's messed up, she can milk it for all it's worth. Forgiveness and engagement? That's the power move."

"What the hell? She's from the Arkwells, isn't she? How'd she stoop to manipulating a man like this? Gross."

"Please, the Arkwells have gone under. What's she supposed to use to tie Ethan down? Didn't you hear? She's a total dead fish in bed—no wonder he went looking elsewhere. Just wait. Right now, he's still playing the devoted fiancé, but in a few years? He won't even bother looking at her."

Their shrill laughter and the click of high heels faded down the hall. Jasmine stepped out from the stall, stared at her reflection in the mirror, and slowly smiled.

The beauty was real. So was the coldness.

Just then, the bathroom door burst open.

Quinton, visibly drunk, stumbled in and blinked at the elegant decor. "Sorry, wrong ... "

He froze mid-sentence when his eyes landed on her.

Her eyes were captivating, her gaze full of allure.

She hadn't even had time to say hello before he charged at her like a starved beast.

Jasmine was slammed against the cold marble wall, his body pressed flush against hers, one hand gripping her chin and forcing her head up as he kissed her.

It was brutal, hungry—like he wanted to devour her whole. His other hand slid up her back, fingers tracing her spine through the thin fabric of her gown, sending chills up her skin.

"Quin ... Quinton ... Mmm. Let go of me!"

His mouth swallowed her protest, her words lost in the fevered push and pull between them, leaving no space for anything else to emerge.

One second, she was wondering what she'd do if someone walked in and saw this.

The next, he bit her lip hard, and a hand slipped under her skirt, finding the most sensitive spot without hesitation.

She tried to push him away, but he easily caught her wrists in one hand, pinning them back as his other hand kept moving—teasing one moment, fierce the next.

She lost control of her body as waves of sensation hit, finally collapsing against his chest, trembling.

"Quinton ... " she gasped, trying to curse him, but the sound came out soft and breathless.

He stroked her back slowly, almost tenderly, even as his other hand moved to unzip her dress.

Footsteps echoed outside, growing louder. Jasmine's heart skipped.

"Quinton—someone's coming!"

"So what?"

She pounded on him weakly, her fists as light as feathers.

The voices outside were close now. She could clearly hear a woman talking.

"Quinton!"

The heavy restroom door creaked open, and then came a shriek so sharp it rang through Jasmine's skull.