Chapter 5

Jasmine POV

The next day, Grace predictably set her sights on my study.

At the breakfast table, she cradled her oat milk and said casually, "Oliver, my therapist said I'm under a lot of stress lately. She suggested I paint to help. But the guest room lighting is too dim. I noticed Jasmine's study faces south. The natural light is perfect..."

She didn't finish, just looked at Oliver with those dewy eyes.

Oliver set down his coffee cup and glanced at me. "Jasmine, you threw out most of your books anyway. The study's empty. Why not let Grace use it as a studio?"

I was drinking coffee. My hand paused at his words.

I'd designed that study myself.

Ergonomic chair, shadowless lamp-every shelf height was calibrated for me to easily access reference materials and write papers.

It was my last territory in this house.

"That's my study," I said, looking at him.

"You don't work anymore. What do you need a study for?" Oliver said matter-of-factly. "Grace wants to paint for her health. It'll help her condition. Can you stop being so selfish?"

"Selfish?"

I laughed, the smile not reaching my eyes. "Oliver, when we bought this house, I paid half. I decorated that study. I moved every single book in there myself. And now you want to give it to Grace?"

Oliver slammed his knife down on the table with a bang.

"Jasmine, do you really have to settle accounts with me so clearly? Grace's health is poor. What's wrong with you accommodating her? Besides, if it weren't for you, would Grace's health be this bad?"

Here we go again.

The fire was his trump card. Every time he brought it up, I had to shut my mouth.

"That day of the fire, if you hadn't insisted on running back in to save that dog, your hand wouldn't be broken!" Oliver pointed at my nose, his face full of disappointment. "You were stupid and ruined your own hand. Now you're taking it out on Grace?"

Grace lowered her head, her shoulders shaking. "Oliver, stop. I won't paint. I shouldn't have asked..."

I watched them play this duet and suddenly felt it was all so absurd.

That day of the fire, I did run back in.

But not to save a dog.

I went back to save the engineering blueprints and confidential data drive Oliver kept in the safe in his study.

It was for the multi-billion dollar project he was leading. If it burned, years of his hard work would be gone. He might even face massive compensation claims and jail time.

I charged into the flames, found that fireproof box, and held it tightly.

When the beam came down, I instinctively raised my right hand to block it.

My hand broke. The hard drive was saved.

And Oliver?

He was outside, holding Grace's cat, frantic and spinning in circles, shouting Grace's name.

Later, when they rescued me, before I passed out from the pain, I shoved that scorching-hot hard drive into his arms.

But he was only concerned with checking if Grace was hurt. He didn't even notice what I'd given him.

That project later landed him on the cover of Forbes. He still thought I'd run in to save a dog that wasn't even trapped inside.

"So that's what you think," I said quietly, looking at him.

"Isn't it?" Oliver countered. "Losing a hand over a dog. Jasmine, that's the stupidest thing you've ever done."

I didn't explain.

What would be the point?

Tell him the truth so he'd feel guilty?

The Oliver of today didn't deserve my truth.

I stood up and walked to the study door, pushing it open.

Half of it was already empty. What remained were rare medical texts I hadn't had time to deal with yet.

I walked over and picked up a first-edition microsurgical atlas-a gift from Matthew.

"Fine." I turned around and, right in front of them, threw the book into the recycling box.

"You're right. I really don't need it anymore."

I picked up another book. Threw it.

One after another.

Heavy volumes thudded into the box with dull sounds.

Oliver watched me, frowning deeper and deeper. He seemed about to say something but ultimately just snorted. "You should've done this earlier. No need to make everything ugly."

Grace ran over happily, hugging Oliver's arm. "Thank you, Oliver! Jasmine's so nice!"

I threw the last book in and brushed the dust off my hands.

"It's cleared out. You two can use it however you want."

In this house, the space that belonged to me was shrinking.

Good. That way, when I left, there'd be nothing to miss.