Chapter 1
The first time Jasmine disrespected me in my own house, I stayed quiet because Lena squeezed my hand under the table.
The second time, I stayed quiet because Lena whispered, “Please, don’t start tonight.”
By the tenth time, I was standing in my own kitchen while her best friend laughed with my coffee mug in her hand and told me I was lucky Lena had not found a real man yet.
My name is Daniel Carter.
The house was mine.
Not fancy.
Not huge.
But mine.
My father built the porch before he died. My mother planted the roses by the fence. I paid the mortgage, fixed the broken sink, patched the roof, and worked double shifts until the place finally felt safe.
Then Lena moved in.
And somehow Jasmine started acting like I was the guest.
That Friday night, I came home from work to find Jasmine stretched across my couch with her shoes on the cushions, eating takeout from the coffee table my father made by hand.
Lena stood in the kitchen washing dishes.
Again.
Jasmine looked at me and smiled without warmth.
“Oh, look,” she said. “The landlord is home.”
I stopped in the doorway.
“My name is Daniel.”
“I know your name.”
She picked up a fry and dipped it in sauce.
“I just think landlord fits better.”
Lena’s shoulders stiffened at the sink.
I looked at her.
She would not look at me.
“Jasmine,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, “can you take your shoes off the couch?”
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s a couch, Daniel. Not a museum.”
“My dad made that table. My mom picked that couch.”
Jasmine laughed.
“There it is. The dead parent card.”
The room went silent.
Lena dropped a plate into the sink.
It cracked.
My chest went cold.
“What did you just say?”
Jasmine sat up slowly, still smiling.
“I said you use grief to control everything. The couch. The table. The way Lena breathes.”
Lena turned around.
“Jasmine, stop.”
But her voice was soft.
Too soft.
Jasmine pointed at her.
“See? She’s scared to even speak in her own home.”
“My home,” I said.
The words came out before I could soften them.
Lena flinched.
Jasmine’s smile widened like she had been waiting for me to say it.
“Exactly.”
She stood and walked toward Lena.
“That’s the truth, isn’t it? His house. His rules. His dead parents. His sad little kingdom.”
My hands curled into fists.
I had never touched Jasmine.
I had never raised a hand to any woman in my life.
But she spoke like she wanted me to become the monster she had already described to Lena.
Lena stepped between us.
“Daniel, don’t.”
I stared at her.
“Don’t what?”
She did not answer.
Jasmine crossed her arms.
“Don’t scare her.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because if I did not laugh, something in me would break.
“I came home and asked you to take your shoes off my couch.”
“And now you’re yelling.”
“I’m not yelling.”
“You’re angry.”
“Yes,” I said. “I am.”
Lena’s eyes filled with tears.
That made my anger turn to pain.
Because somehow, again, I was the one hurting her.
Not Jasmine.
Me.
Jasmine picked up her purse.
“Come on, Lena. You can stay at my place tonight.”
Lena looked at me.
I waited for her to say no.
I waited for her to say, “This is my home too, and you don’t get to insult the man I love.”
She did not.
She wiped her hands on a towel and whispered, “Maybe I should go for a few hours.”
My throat tightened.
“Lena.”
“I just need space.”
“You need space from me?”
She looked at Jasmine.
That was my answer.
Jasmine walked past me toward the front door.
Then she stopped beside the hallway table.
On it was a framed picture of my mother.
Jasmine picked it up.
“Honestly,” she said, looking at the photo, “maybe Lena would feel more comfortable if this place didn’t look like a shrine to a woman she never met.”
I stepped forward.
“Put that down.”
She tilted her head.
“Or what?”
Lena gasped.
“Jasmine.”
The frame slipped from Jasmine’s fingers.
It hit the floor.
Glass cracked across my mother’s face.
For one second, nobody moved.
Then I knelt.
My hands shook as I picked up the frame.
A piece of glass cut my thumb, but I barely felt it.
My mother smiled up at me through the broken line.
The last picture I had of her in this house.
I stood slowly.
Jasmine’s face had changed.
Not sorry.
Careful.
Like she had finally realized she had gone too far but was already planning how to turn it around.
Lena covered her mouth.
“Daniel, I’m—”
“No,” I said.
My voice was quiet.
Too quiet.
I looked at Jasmine.
“Get out.”
Jasmine lifted her chin.
“Gladly.”
I turned to Lena.
“And if you leave with her after that, don’t come back tonight.”
Lena’s face crumpled.
“Daniel.”
I hated the hurt in her voice.
I hated that I still wanted to comfort her.
But I looked at my mother’s broken picture in my hand.
Then at the woman I loved standing beside the woman who broke it.
“I mean it.”
Jasmine grabbed Lena’s wrist.
“See? This is who he is.”
Lena pulled her wrist free.
For the first time all night, her voice sharpened.
“Stop talking.”
Jasmine froze.
Lena looked at the broken frame.
Then at me.
Then at Jasmine.
“What did you do?”
Jasmine scoffed.
“It was an accident.”
“No,” Lena whispered. “You dropped it after he told you not to touch it.”
The room changed.
Jasmine saw it too.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Oh, now you believe him?”
Lena stepped back from her.
“I saw it.”
Before Jasmine could answer, the front door opened.
Lena’s younger brother, Noah, stepped inside carrying a backpack.
He stopped when he saw us.
Then his face went pale.
“Jasmine,” he said.
Her whole body went still.
I looked at him.
“Noah?”
He swallowed.
“I need to tell you both something.”
Jasmine shook her head once.
“Noah, don’t.”
He ignored her.
May you like
His eyes moved to Lena.
“She’s been lying to you.”
