Inside, Jasmine's fingers flew to her pendant—a delicate silver piece she always touched when nervous.
She checked her reflection quickly, setting up her hair and adjusting her posture.
"Come in," she called out, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.
She'd been looking forward to seeing Delvin. Despite the warning from her father.
George walked in first. Delvin followed right behind, his eyes immediately finding her.
She looked at George for one or two seconds—politeness required it—then her gaze settled on Delvin.
"Hello, George."
She broke the awkwardness first, giving a dim smile. Her fingers found her pendant again.
George swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "Hello."
Her eyes switched to Delvin almost immediately. He couldn't look away.
When their gazes collided, both felt it—a jolt of electricity, a magnetic pull that made the room shrink.
Jasmine felt like she was being drawn into those eyes, drowning in them.
Heat rushed to her face. She forced herself to look away, her eyes dropping to her laptop.
"How are you, Delvin?"
The words came out hastily, breathless.
Her cheeks flushed pink, then deeper red. Delvin's deadly smile appeared—the one that charmed everyone who saw it.
His voice came out bold, confident.
"I am very well, Jasmine. And how are you?"
The way he said her name—"Jasmine"—sent chills cascading down her spine.
Her heart hammered. She gathered her strength, her fingers pressing against her pendant like an anchor.
She looked back into his eyes, her face illuminated and glowing red.
"I am fine."
To break the spell he'd cast over her, she quickly grabbed the transport money and held it out.
"Is there anything else you guys need?"
The question came out rushed.
'Great! I thought you would never ask.'
Delvin's pulse jumped. He glanced at his watch—a nervous habit—then cleared his throat.
"Well, I'm asking for your number. In case we need anything from you after we're gone."
Jasmine's smile bloomed, genuine and bright. Her mind raced.
'Why did it take you this long? See, it wasn't that hard. I want yours as well. But I won't ask now. I'll wait for your call or text.'
Her pendant pressed into her palm as she squeezed it.
"Sure!"
The confidence in her voice surprised even her.
---
Inside Grandma Beatrice's house, the afternoon sun filtered through lace curtains, casting patterns on the worn wooden floor.
Grandma Beatrice sat comfortably on her maroon leather sofa, her weathered hands adjusting the jade bracelet on her wrist—turning it slowly, methodically, as she always did when deep in thought.
'I must get into Delvin's good books. Marrying Brenda to Delvin is the only way to secure the future of this family.'
She twisted the bracelet again, feeling its smooth surface.
'If the family has someone from ZamCorp, we'll be safe. Strong. Protected.'
The jade caught the light.
'An early bird catches the worm. I hope Brenda can understand my intentions.'
Her fingers found her necklace now—thick gold links. She adjusted them.
'Most importantly, we'll never lack water or money again.'
The plan crystallized in her mind. She called out, voice sharp with urgency.
"Brenda!"
In the back bedroom, Brenda heard the call and immediately frowned. Her stomach sank.
'Ah! Not again. Why now of all times?'
She stared at the ceiling.
'I need a break. I need rest.'
"Brenda!"
Grandma Beatrice's voice increased in volume, anger seeping into every syllable.
Brenda sighed heavily. She answered in a lazy, rousing way.
"Granny, what is it? I'm tired, and I... I need to—" She paused mid-sentence, biting her lip as she decided whether to continue. "I need to rest. Please, just... give me a break?"
That response ignited something in Grandma Beatrice. Fury flashed across her face.
She shouted, her voice shaking the walls. "Don't let me come follow you there, or call again!"
She was fuming, vibrating with rage, her whole body tense.
Her jewelry rattled as she adjusted it again and again—bracelet, necklace, earrings—each movement sharp and angry.
Brenda's heart sank. She knew that tone. Grandma Beatrice was not in a good mood, and pushing her further would be dangerous.
She dragged her body off the bed, every movement reluctant. Her feet felt heavy as lead.
She shuffled to the living room and paused at the threshold. Her eyes met Grandma Beatrice's—curious, sad, already resigned. Grandma Beatrice said nothing.
She simply made a gesture with her right hand, fingers curling inward. 'Come closer.'
Unwillingly, Brenda held her left elbow with her right hand—a defensive posture, a shield.
She dragged her legs across the floor, each step an effort. Her heart beat faster with each inch of distance closed.
She didn't know what had fired the temper in Grandma Beatrice, but she could feel the storm brewing.
She stopped directly in front of her grandmother and stood there, waiting, barely breathing.
Grandma Beatrice adjusted her necklace one more time, the gold links clinking together softly.
"Sit down next to me."