The early morning sun, a shy sliver peeking over the horizon, signaled the start of another day for Jasmin. She padded into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee a welcome companion. A simple sandwich, its contents unmemorable, was her breakfast. Excitement buzzed beneath her skin, a vibrant current that had been building since Davina had offered her the job. The thrill of working for Davina, a woman of immense influence and an even more immense enigma, was palpable. Yet, as she buttered her toast, a shadow fell across her cheerful disposition. Martin.
He was there, a familiar, unwelcome presence. Jasmin's brow furrowed. "Did Martin stay here all night?" she asked, her voice tinged with a weariness she couldn't quite mask.
Walter, the ever-present guardian, nodded his affirmation. "He stayed here until you talked to him properly," he stated calmly, his gaze steady.
A sigh escaped Jasmin's lips, a soft exhalation of annoyance. "Sad boy era again," she muttered under her breath, the phrase tasting like ash.
"He's good for you," Walter countered gently. "Is there something wrong with him? You two can be a great couple."
Jasmin scoffed, the sound sharp and laced with sarcasm. "Seriously, Walter? I don't care about his hopeless romantic phase. He's Janina's husband. He should be at her mother's place, not wasting his time being a sad boy."
"Could you stop saying that, please?" Martin's voice cut through the tension, surprisingly steady. He emerged from the doorway, joining them at the breakfast table. Judith, her wheelchair a quiet extension of herself, followed closely behind, Walter's hand instinctively reaching for hers as she maneuvered closer. She offered Walter a quick, warm kiss before turning her attention to Jasmin.
"Look," Jasmin continued, ignoring Martin's plea, her voice rising slightly. "You're worrying about Davina. I'm looking forward to seeing her now. And look at Walter, so happy with Judith. They used to be a couple, you know." She gestured towards Walter and Judith, a pointed jab at Martin's perceived emotional state.
Martin sighed, a low, frustrated sound.
"She has a name, Jasmin. Call her Judith," Walter said, his tone firm but not unkind. Judith offered Jasmin a polite, formal greeting, their eyes meeting briefly, a silent assessment passing between them.
"Alright, alright. I'll call her whatever she wants to be called then," Jasmin conceded, taking a large gulp of water. The sweetness of the morning had evaporated, replaced by a lingering bitterness.
"Don't forget to be a good mom to these children now because they need you," Walter said, his gaze shifting to Jasmin. "Don't focus too much on bodyguard stuff."
Jasmin smirked, a glint of defiance in her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You're not my mother to remind me of that. Right now, I have a lot of things to do. I'll be busy starting right now."
Sidel, who had been quietly observing the scene, nodded in understanding. He knew Jasmin's work schedule was about to become a whirlwind. "So, can I stay with Marvin later?" he asked, a hopeful note in his voice.
"Fine," Jasmin replied, already pushing her chair back. "But call Walter or me if needed. I have work to do." She was finished eating, the sandwich a distant memory. The car keys were already in her hand. With a final, dismissive glance at Martin, she turned and walked out of the house, the engine of her car a low growl as it awakened. Davina's place awaited, and with it, a whirlwind of duties that were far more engaging than the lingering melancholic aura of a certain sad boy.
The gravel crunched under the tires of Jasmin's SUV, a satisfying sound that usually signaled the end of a long drive. But today, it was the opening note to an entirely new symphony. She parked neatly in front of the Meyer's mansion, her eyes sweeping over the grand estate. This wasn't the staid, old-money edifice she'd pictured. The stone facade gleamed with a fresh, almost startling whiteness, the windows sparkled with pristine glass, and the landscaping looked as if it had been meticulously redesigned just weeks ago. A faint, clean scent of fresh paint and polished wood seemed to hang in the crisp autumn air. Jasmin arched a brow slightly. Recently renovated, indeed. More like entirely reinvented. Her deal with Davina was about to begin, and already, things felt different than she'd anticipated.
She stepped out of the vehicle, retrieving her small, professional bag from the passenger seat. The heavy oak doors, freshly stained and imposing, swung open before she could reach them. A stern-faced butler, his expression as stiff as his starched collar, gave her a curt nod and gestured her inside.
The interior mirrored the exterior's unexpected modernity. High ceilings soared above a vast open-plan living space, minimalist art adorned walls that were either stark white or deep charcoal, and designer furniture in muted tones offered stark comfort. It felt less like a family home and more like a high-end gallery. Jasmin took it all in, her gaze analytical, already mapping out potential sightlines and escape routes.
Davina Meyer emerged from a doorway to the left, her presence immediately filling the expansive room. She was a woman of sharp angles and even sharper intellect, dressed in an impeccably tailored business suit that looked both powerful and effortless. Her dark eyes, however, lacked any warmth. A flicker of impatience, perhaps even disappointment, crossed her features as she spotted Jasmin. Davina wasn't impressed, not with the mansion, not with Jasmin, not with anything, it seemed.
"You're alone," Davina stated, her voice cool and precise, devoid of preamble. "Where's the other bodyguard? He was called Martin!"
Jasmin managed a wry, almost imperceptible smile. "Yeah, he's going through a bit of a sad-boy phase right now." The words were barely out of her mouth before a second set of crunching gravel announced Martin's arrival outside. He strode in moments later, his usually immaculate suit slightly askew, a faint flush on his cheeks suggesting he'd rushed. Davina's glare intensified, fixing on him like a laser beam.
"Hey, I don't care if you're dealing with someone, Martin, do your job even better!" Davina snapped, her voice still low but edged with definite disapproval.
Martin's posture stiffened immediately. He ran a hand over his tie, his gaze meeting Davina's with a determined professionalism. "I truly apologize for that, Davina. We're both new here, and you may tell us at least some important rules that we need to know." His tone was formal, conciliatory, an attempt to reset the tone and establish a fresh start.
Davina's gaze swept between them, lingering on Martin for a beat. "Alright. The main rules here are to work for me with respect and unwavering loyalty. I don't want you to work with someone else, or double-cross me in any way. Can you both do that?"
Jasmin and Martin both nodded. Jasmin's head dipped subtly, her eyes still scanning the periphery, absorbing the layout of the grand, new space. Every corner, every doorway, every plush rug was mentally cataloged. This wasn't just a job; it was a new territory to master.
"Also, I mean it when I say that you should prioritize my family's safety," Davina continued, her voice gaining a harder edge. "Especially Andy. She has a lot of enemies in school who are jealous of her, and you need to make sure she's safe all the time. Don't focus on Henry and me; we're almost always busy with our work. But be attentive when I need both of you. Do what real bodyguards do." She crossed her arms, a gesture that spoke of unshakeable authority.
Jasmin's nod this time was less about agreement and more about a sardonic acknowledgement of the obvious. "Yeah, yeah... I know you set the rules now because Florentin will be gone for now. But that doesn't mean you can't play unfair with us!" The words slipped out, a familiar, challenging spark in her eyes. It was a test, a push against the boundaries Davina was so deliberately establishing.
"Jasmin, please," Martin interjected quickly, a low warning in his voice. He shifted subtly, positioning himself almost as a buffer between the two women.
Davina, however, didn't rise to the bait in anger. Instead, a slight, almost chilling giggle escaped her lips. "I know how to play fair, even with my own employees, Jasmin. If you have a problem with me or with my family, inform me about it directly. I don't want to hear any complaints. Not from either of you." Her calmness was more unnerving than any outburst. It conveyed absolute control.
Davina then moved to a large, framed chart displayed prominently on a nearby wall. It was a meticulously organized schedule, detailing the family's movements, school hours, and various appointments. She discussed the family rules in detail, emphasizing how Jasmin and Martin should manage their time, especially regarding Andy's protection during school hours. The complexity of it was considerable, almost a military-grade operation. Jasmin, ever pragmatic, pulled out her phone and discreetly snapped a photo of the entire chart, ensuring she'd have all the details at her fingertips.
The deal had truly begun, she thought, tucking her phone away. And it was going to be anything but simple. Davina was a force, the mansion was a puzzle, and Andy Meyer, it seemed, was the fulcrum of their new, high-stakes assignment. Jasmin felt a familiar thrill, a sense of challenge that tightened her muscles and sharpened her mind. This wasn't just a job; it was a new game, and Davina Meyer had just laid out the rules. Jasmin intended to play very, very carefully.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawns of the Meyer residence. Jasmin, her gaze sharp and alert, surveyed the perimeter with a practiced eye. Her shift, alongside Martin, had been uneventful, a testament to their diligence. They'd kept watch over the sprawling estate for hours, content with the quiet hum of suburban normalcy. The job, as far as the Meyer's place was concerned, was done, and it was nearly noon when they'd packed up their gear.
But Jasmin's responsibility didn't end with the property line. Davina Meyer, her client and a woman of impeccable foresight, had instilled in Jasmin the importance of vigilance extending beyond the physical boundaries of their home. Jasmin knew, with a certainty that felt like a second skin, that Andy, Davina's teenage daughter, was also under her watchful eye.
As the dinner hour approached, a sleek car pulled into the driveway. Andy, a whirlwind of youthful energy and a textbook display of adolescent angst, emerged from the vehicle. Jasmin's internal radar pinged. Andy was home, safe, for now. But her duty was to ensure that safety wasn't a fleeting concept. With a quiet sigh, Jasmin followed Andy's trajectory towards the house, her footsteps light but her presence undeniable.
Andy, perhaps sensing the shadowed observer trailing her every move, stopped abruptly and spun around. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes narrowing with a familiar irritation. "Are you seriously following me?" she demanded, her voice laced with annoyance.
Jasmin leaned against the doorframe, a subtle smirk playing on her lips. "Am I looking an idiot just to follow you around?" she retorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Of course I'm doing my duty. Davina told me so, even if I don't want to." The last part was a deliberate jab, a calculated amplification of Andy's obvious feelings.
Andy let out a frustrated sigh, the sound a familiar melody of teenage exasperation. "Oh please, I never wanted such a bodyguard who was following me."
"That's not my problem," Jasmin stated flatly, her gaze unwavering. "It's your problem."
Andy huffed, turning on her heel and making a beeline for her room, presumably seeking refuge. But her sanctuary was short-lived. The click of the door opening echoed, and Jasmin was inside, her presence an unwelcome intrusion.
"Stop following me!" Andy's voice cracked with irritation, her hands now balled into fists at her sides.
Jasmin ignored the outburst, her eyes scanning the room, cataloging potential threats. "How's school? Tell me something about it." Her voice was deceptively casual, but the underlying seriousness was unmistakable.
"It's fine," Andy mumbled, avoiding Jasmin's direct gaze. "There's nothing to worry about."
"I want to make sure you do well on your school," Jasmin pressed, her voice hardening slightly. "I don't care about your damn school grades, your friends, or what, your crush, being a hopeless romantic." She paused, her gaze sharpening. "I want to know if there are some enemies who threatened you or get jealous with something."
Andy finally met Jasmin's eyes, a flicker of defiance in her own. "Hey, do your job as a bodyguard, not being a stalker."
The words hung in the air, a challenge. Andy, intending to slump into her computer chair, made a move. But Jasmin was quicker. With a fluid, unexpected motion, she flipped the chair, the wheels spinning uselessly on the polished floor. Before Andy could react, Jasmin's hand was on her arm, twisting it with practiced efficiency.
"Ouch!" Andy cried out, her face contorted in pain. "Are you trying to kill me!" She struggled, trying to wrench her arm free, but Jasmin's grip was like steel. She couldn't dislodge the surprisingly strong hold.
"Don't try to act so privileged," Jasmin's voice was a low growl, laced with a frustration that mirrored Andy's own, yet stemmed from a different source. "Because you're so lucky you have a bodyguard who is so concerned about you and was asking nicely because your mother told me so!"
With a firm push, Jasmin released Andy's arm, sending her stumbling backward. The teenager regained her balance, her eyes blazing with a mixture of pain and renewed fury. Jasmin, in turn, felt a surge of annoyance as she watched Andy's hostile reaction. The dance of their forced proximity, a ballet of protection and resentment, was far from over.
The grand façade of the mansion, usually a beacon of quiet opulence, felt particularly charged this evening. Dinner was moments away, a ritual as rigid as the antique grandfather clock in the foyer, and Henry Blackwood, master of the house, was cutting it exceptionally close. Just as the first crystal clink from the dining room signaled the imminent start, Jasmin, slender and shadow-like, slipped past a heavy velvet curtain. She was driven by an almost primal curiosity, a gut feeling that something was amiss.
From the safety of a slightly ajar window, looking out onto the manicured gravel drive, Jasmin saw him. Henry, tall and imposing even in the fading light, was not alone. A woman, her figure slight and shrouded in a worn, dark coat, stood before him, her hands clasped in a desperate plea. Jasmin frowned, a flicker of suspicion sparking behind her keen eyes. The woman was begging, her posture one of utter subservience, and Henry's response was anything but gentle.
"Leave me alone, Davina was here!" Henry's voice, usually a smooth rumble, was laced with an uncharacteristic snarl that carried even through the thick windowpane. But the woman was relentless, her whispered entreaties continuous, a persistent hum against Henry's rising ire.
"Do me a favor and leave me alone!" Henry snapped, his hand gesturing dismissively towards Martin, the stoic head butler who materialized from the shadows of the portico. Martin, ever efficient, began to move towards the woman, a silent escort.
"For the sake of our future!" the woman cried out, her voice cracking, a final, desperate appeal that hung in the twilight air.
Henry's head snapped up, his gaze sweeping across the mansion's façade, a sudden paranoia in his eyes. Jasmin ducked back just in time, her heart thudding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She pressed herself against the cold stone wall, waiting for what felt like an eternity before slipping back inside, her mind already dissecting the strange encounter. Henry, she knew, cultivated an image of unblemished respectability. This desperate interaction, this strange woman begging for "their future," didn't fit that carefully constructed narrative. It was deeply, intrinsically suspicious.
By the time Jasmin reached the dining room, Henry was already seated at the head of the polished mahogany table, a picture of serene composure. He dabbed at his lips with a linen napkin, accepting a plate of his favorite steak from a hovering maid as if he'd spent the last ten minutes discussing market trends, not dismissing a distraught stranger. Jasmin slid into her own chair, across from Henry, and pretended to fuss with her silverware, all the while observing him with a cool, assessing gaze. His placid expression was a mask she was determined to peel away.
The uneasy silence of the room was shattered by the indignant storm that was Andy. Henry's daughter, a whirlwind of adolescent angst, slammed into a chair opposite Jasmin. Her face was flushed, her expensive silk dress slightly askew.
"Dad, I'm begging you this once, I don't want this bodyguard stalking and walking around this house!" Andy whined, pushing her plate away with an impatient clatter. "It's suffocating!"
Jasmin stifled a smirk. Andy's complaints were as predictable as the mansion's sunrise. She glanced at the teen brat, a slight tilt to her lips. It was then that Henry's eyes, sharp and suddenly cold, fastened on Jasmin. His placid facade dissolved, replaced by a cutting glare.
"Jasmin, what is this? What are you doing with Andy right now?" His tone was accusatory, as if her mere presence was a transgression.
"What am I doing?" Jasmin's voice was smooth, edged with a dangerous sarcasm. "We're eating, of course, idiot."
A vein throbbed in Henry's temple. He pounded the table with his right hand, the silver cutlery jumping with the force. Martin, standing by the sideboard, flinched, a worried frown creasing his brow. But Jasmin remained utterly fearless, her chin slightly raised, her gaze unwavering.
"Do you think I'm making a joke right now! You even make fun of Andy right now!" Henry roared, his voice echoing in the cavernous room.
"She meant it with good intention, sir," Martin interjected quickly, his voice a soothing balm in the sudden storm, attempting to quell Henry's rage.
"Good intention? By making fun of my daughter??" Henry's eyes narrowed, shifting between Martin and Jasmin.
"Really? I thought you were so desperate on having a son, finally you could speak up for her." Jasmin's smirk was slow, deliberate, a challenge in itself. She enjoyed watching the color drain from Henry's face. Martin, however, was staring at her with wide, almost fearful eyes, a silent plea for her to stop.
"Stop it, Jasmin," Martin muttered, his voice barely a whisper, but Jasmin, sensing weakness, was unstoppable. She pushed back her chair, the legs scraping loudly against the polished floor, and stood.
"I've enjoyed watching you with the other woman begging on who she was," Jasmin said, her voice clear and carrying, her eyes fixed on Henry. "It was interesting. Davina should spend more time with you than talking to other women, if you want to, doing that as a hobby, huh?"
Henry held her gaze, a strange calmness washing over him. He was aware. She had caught him. The non-chalant expression he adopted was almost masterful, but Jasmin knew better.
Andy, however, was completely lost. "What is she talking about, dad?" she asked, her voice small, her petulance momentarily forgotten.
Henry looked at Jasmin, his disappointment a palpable thing. It was a familiar look, one she knew well. "Look, Andy, she has made enough fun of you. And I will tell Davina how unprofessional you are. Stop making this a competition for this bodyguard company if you keep behaving like this." He was deflecting, trying to shift the blame, to turn the tables.
"Then explain her about the other woman, I assume," Jasmin countered, a triumphant glint in her eyes.
Henry's composure finally snapped. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping violently backwards, and quickly strode towards Jasmin. His hand clamped around her arm, pulling her with surprising force towards the kitchen. Andy, left alone at the table, remained too confused to react, her mouth slightly agape. Martin simply watched them go, a silent, grim understanding settling over his features. The heavy kitchen door swung shut, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake, the clatter of silver suddenly muted, and the secrets of the mansion still very much alive.
Andy's voice, tight with indignation, cut through the hushed elegance of the dining room. "Don't tell me you're like one of the bodyguards too?" The question hung in the air, a mix of frustration and a dawning unease. He was referring to Jasmin, whose earlier overzealous protection of his family had clearly ruffled his feathers.
Martin, a man who seemed to carry the weight of unspoken apologies, offered a placating smile. "No, Ms. Meyer, I'm not. And I also apologize if she was being so protective to your family. She was trying to understand the strict rules here."
Andy chuckled, a brittle, sarcastic sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Apologize? If she didn't mean it, she should learn to respect me and my family. Tell her that!" The demand was sharp, laced with a possessiveness that suggested he wasn't accustomed to being challenged.
Martin, ever the diplomat, responded with a practiced assurance. "Don't worry, Ms. Meyer, that won't happen again."
But Andy wasn't easily placated. His gaze narrowed, a steely glint appearing. "Prove it that it won't, or else Jasmin will ever do her bodyguard service for free. Understand?" The threat, delivered with chilling calm, made Martin's carefully constructed composure falter.
He reacted, a flush of concern rising to his cheeks. "You can't do that. She has to provide for her family; she has children. She was under pressure thinking about them." The words tumbled out, a desperate plea against the harshness of Andy's pronouncement.
Andy's expression remained impassive, a wall against any appeal. "Then she shouldn't be an idiot disrespecting me and my family. Now, you leave me alone!" The dismissal was absolute, final.
Martin, defeated, could only retreat. He left Andy alone in the opulent dining area, the silence now heavy with unspoken tensions. As he walked away, Martin's mind was a whirl of conflicting loyalties and growing concern. He understood Andy's need for order, for respect, but he also knew Jasmin's situation. He couldn't, in good conscience, stand by and let her be punished so severely for a misunderstanding. The wheels of Andy's plans were turning, and Martin, despite his best efforts, felt powerless to stop Jasmin from working under her own increasingly precarious circumstances. He could only hope that Jasmin, with her fierce determination, had a plan of her own that could somehow navigate the treacherous waters they found themselves in.