Meir nodded.
"Didn't it say the leader killed only a group of family?" He scoffed softly. "That makes me safe around her, then." He muttered softly to himself, but loud enough for Meir to hear.
"I strongly doubt that, Don."
Damon rolled his eyes impatiently, "What else is the to know?"
"Didn't you always have Haider ring?" He asked, and Damon adjusted, bewildered and his brows raised.
"How did you find out about that? I kept that a secret and stayed away from it for years."
"Let's just say I'm very good at my job, and I do a background check on my clients before working with them." His unwavering, calm voice made it hard for Damon to believe.
He pulled a gun out of the drawer and pointed it to Meir's head, "Who are you? Why are you here?"
"Pull the trigger and forget about finding out about your family." He threatened with a smile, relaxing more against the chair.
Letting out a sigh, Damon withdrew his gun.
"What do you know about my family?"
Meir picked up the journal instead, "August 16, 1998. I found out whose family the leaders were supposed to kill......" He continued, but Damon thudded his fist on the table.
His eyes were marred with rage and curiosity, "Tell me, who is my family?"
Again, Meir ignored him and continued reading, "I found out whose family the leaders were supposed to kill, it was the Haider family."
Meir looked at him, Damon's jaw dropped.
"It makes sense now... The Mark… Who killed my parents…. It all makes sense now." He struggled to make his words.
"The reason you couldn't find your family was because the cult was dissolved in 1809 by Elda, the last leader of the cult. And your family......" Damon cut it.
"Enough." His eyes were glistening with tears. "I've heard enough," he said, and exited the gamble house.
~~~~~~~~~
Jasmine was seated in her office, looking out the transparent view but completely lost in thought, she remembered something she had no idea of. Isobel walked into the office.
"Mrs. Forbes?" She called out, but there was no response.
She tapped the table gently, "Mrs. Forbes?"
Jasmine shook out of her thoughts and faked a smile at Isobel.
"Yes, Isobel. What brought you here?"
"You have an appointment with Clear Skin Beauty in 3 hour time." She responded with a worried look.
"Cancel it, I won't be attending."
Isobel's lips part in a round shape, "Why did you come back to work then? You should have rested more at home." She uttered less formally.
Jasmine glared at her, "I'm still your boss."
She nodded and exited the office.
"Am I going nuts?" She questioned herself, smacking her lower lip.
Jasmine grabbed her phone and dialed Damon's number, he picked up on the last ring, which signified that he was busy.
"Hey, Damon," she called in a hushed tone.
"What's it?"
"You left without saying anything this morning, I just wanted to make sure you're fine."
"Well, I'm sure you've confirmed that." He snapped softly, letting out a sigh as he drove into the compound.
"Did something happen?" Her voice was marred with pain and worry.
"We'll talk later," he said, and ended the call.
She lowered the phone, a contemplative look contorted her face, grabbed her bag and exited the office.
"Are you going home, Mrs. Forbes?" Isobel asked as she saw her emerged from the office.
"Yes, cancel all my plans for the week. I'll be back next week," she said briskly and left.
She got into the car, seated in the back while the driver drove her back home. As she stepped out of the car, she saw his car and a soft sigh escaped her lips and she walked into the house.
Damon as seated on the couch with a bottle of beer in his hand, he gulped it and smiled as he saw Jasmine approaching him.
"You...." He pointed at her with a grin at the corner of his lips.
"That's enough, Damon. You're drunk," she said and tried to take the bottle from him.
"No!" He yelled and pushed her away, making her fall to the floor. "Stay away from me, you murderer."
Her eyes glistened, "What are you talking about, Damon? I'm not a murderer, I'm your wife."
He chuckled, tilted his head slightly to stare at her, "Really?" he scoffed.
"You look nothing like Linda," he added, and rose to his feet.
He staggered his way to the bedroom.
Jasmine sat on the couch with her head buried in her hands.
"Did I just escape hell to be in another hell?" she muttered as she looked at the retreating figure.
Tiny tears that lurked around her eyes dropped, and she wiped it with the back of her palm. Laid back on the couch till she dozed off in a sound nap.
She woke up a few hours later with a gasp on her lips.
"Zoey....." she turned toward a door under the stairs and rose to her feet.
She went to the kitchen, the maids were still preparing for dinning.
"Food isn't ready yet?" She yelled at them.
"It will be ready in a few minutes," one muttered almost in a whisper.
"It better be," she snapped and went to the bedroom.
Damon was wasted, laid on the bed, and she went into the bedroom instead. The sound of the rushing waters woke Damon, she walked into the room with a towel robe, but she glared at him and avoided any talk.
"I don't know what I said or did, but I'm sorry." He apologized while she dressed up.
He glanced at the mark again.
"It's fine. It feels good to know you have someone you really love, that makes me believe you're really human." She said, not sparing him a glance.
"That's harsh, Cherub, and what do you mean by that?"
"Linda," she sneered and existed the room before he could respond.
She took a tray of meals from the kitchen, "None of you should step out of the kitchen in 20 minutes," she ordered with a stern look and left.
"I wonder who eats with such rules," another maid lamented.
Fifteen minutes later, Jasmine opened the door under the stairs and emerged from the room, she was startled by Damon was standing at the door.
"What are you doing here?" Her eyes flicker, her face contoured with fear and anxiety.
His eyes fell on the empty tray of dishes, "Who eats in the storeroom, Jasmine?" His voice as icy as his face, like the first time they met.
He took two steps closer to her, fear gripped her heart, "Definitely, you know what you are." He grinned and gripped her by the neck, making the tray slip off her hand and making a deafening clash.
"Die," he cussed, tightening his grip. "I'll put an end to your kind. Die!"