Chapter 127: You’re Mine Now
[Short Flashback]
Many years ago...
Jasmine stood in a narrow alley in the poorer district of their neighborhood. Her eyes were fixed on a woman squatting just outside a small, dilapidated home. Stray hairs fell from the messy, low bun on the woman’s head, partially obscuring her face.
But not enough to hide the bruises along her cheek and jaw or that busted lip.
Jasmine slowly balled her hands into tight fists, staring at the pitiful woman who, heartbreakingly, was her mother.
"What did you do this time?" she scoffed, approaching her. Disgust and dismay twisted her expression as her mother looked up at her with weary eyes.
"Oh, you’re here?" the older woman smiled, wiping her hands on her skirt as she rose. "Are you hungry? I can help—"
She reached toward Jasmine’s bag, but Jasmine slapped it away.
"Don’t bother," she sneered, showing no sympathy for the bruises on her mother’s face. "You should take care of yourself first and stop making him angry. Geez! When will you ever learn?"
Rolling her eyes, Jasmine strode through the small entrance of their humble home. "Dad, I’m home!"
Her voice softened as she announced her arrival to her father, a stark contrast to her tone toward her mother. Jasmine, after all, despised her mother from the bottom of her heart.
Why?
Simple. Her mother was embarrassing—content with mediocrity, satisfied as long as they were "healthy" and living with a clear conscience. Jasmine, unlike her mother, could never settle for that.
She was the school belle. Admired by many, with secret admirers and lovers, who could fund everything she wanted and needed. A life of luxury was what she was meant to live, but sadly, she was born into the wrong family, or as she often said, her father had married the wrong woman.
Even at a young age, Jasmine vowed: she might have been born poor, but she would never die poor. Being poor wasn’t her fault, but dying poor would be.
From that age, she often accompanied her father to learn the ways of earning money. It started small, with gambling, and soon escalated to more ambitious ventures.
Years later, already earning well from her activities, Jasmine reconnected with an old friend. Through her, she heard about a reunion party for a club she used to be part of. Initially, she hadn’t planned to attend—until the friend whispered:
"Do you know Lawrence Young?"
Jasmine arched an eyebrow. "Lawrence Young... that pathetic fool?"
"Yes, the one who worked multiple jobs and couldn’t buy a new shirt because you asked him you needed a new phone — that Lawrence Young," the friend emphasized, grinning. "I heard he’s done well. He’s a big shot in the city now."
Jasmine felt a mix of intrigue and surprise. She remembered Lawrence—he had been one of her secret high school lovers. She hadn’t liked him much, but he had worked hard and fulfilled every request she had. In other words, he had been one of her piggy banks.
After all, Lawrence wasn’t the only secret lover she had back then. She had plenty who would give her allowances and things just because they wanted to please her.
Curious, she interrogated her friend, confirming that the once poor and clumsy boy was now a polished man in luxurious attire. The same boy who had walked home because he couldn’t afford a bus now drove a fancy car. The boy who had been mocked for his poverty now commanded respect, with people bowing to him just as he walked.
Jasmine wanted that life,
and so she devised a plan to cross paths with him before the reunion.As expected, Lawrence recognized her immediately. He had once been infatuated with her, but he was no longer the man who would see her as his savior. That day, he was with his wife, whom he introduced to Jasmine.
Loren Albert-Young.
It was the first time Jasmine met a true socialite—beautiful, elegant, graceful, and classy. Loren was nothing like the women Jasmine had known in her life; she was nothing like Jasmine.
For the first time, Jasmine felt deeply inferior.
And if there was a feeling Jasmine hated the most, it was this feeling. This feeling of unfairness for why Loren was born into a rich family, and Jasmine had to work hard and involve herself with miscreants for money. But she didn’t let that discourage her.
In her world, she always got what she wanted — by any means necessary.
She realized Lawrence would not fall for her again. With Loren by his side, Jasmine had to create a different plan.
On the day of the reunion, she attended with a single goal: to change her life.
While everyone celebrated Lawrence’s success, she lingered on the sidelines. As drinks were passed around, she offered to refill them and secretly slipped a drug into Lawrence’s. The second he picked up his glass, Jasmine knew she had already succeeded.
Once the drug took effect, Lawrence didn’t even realize he was being taken to a motel.
Standing beside the bed, Jasmine gazed down at the incapacitated man with a smirk.
"Lawrence Young," she murmured as she began to undress herself. Everything on her body fell to her feet, one after another. Once she stood bare, she crawled onto the bed.
Her face hovered inches from his, eyelids drooping but not enough to hide the dangerous glint in her eyes. She twirled his necktie with her finger, her smirk widening.
"You’re mine now," she whispered. "... and everything you have."
****
[PRESENT TIME]
Jasmine closed her eyes and then reopened them, lifting her chin high. She watched the photo of Lawrence and Loren burn to ash. The corners of her mouth curved into a smirk.
Her plans had faced many hurdles, and things hadn’t gone as smoothly as she had expected. But regardless, she got what she wanted. She replaced Loren and became Mrs. Young, all thanks to her beloved daughter, Melissa.
She sneered. "I succeeded when you were alive, and I will succeed now that you’re dead," she whispered, turning on her heel and walking away.
*
*
*
The next day, Jasmine entered her husband’s office, only to find him turning the study upside down.
"Hon, what’s going on?" she asked innocently, looking around as if a hurricane had passed through. "Are you looking for something?"
Lawrence, on his knees with his palms on the floor beside his desk, smiled. "I was just looking for something... but I found it!" He picked up a random object nearby.
"Oh," Jasmine said, tilting her head before smiling. "Then you should wash up and join us for breakfast."
Lawrence didn’t answer but nodded with a smile. He watched his wife walk away, then sighed, tossing the pen he had picked up. He leaned back against the side of the desk, seated on the carpeted floor.
"Damn, where is it?" he muttered, running his hands over his face, growing dizzy after searching for Loren’s photo all morning. But alas, it was nowhere to be found.
Little did he know, all that was left of it was ash—burned by the woman he called his wife... the same woman who had destroyed his first marriage with her poison.