Chapter 104: Bruce addresses his wives
The clatter of silverware against fine porcelain ceased. Bruce’s voice, usually warm and commanding, held an unfamiliar edge that silenced the sun-drenched breakfast terrace. Ocean breeze ruffled the white linen, carrying the sweet scent of frangipani, but the air between the wives crackled with something else entirely.
"Listen," Bruce began, his swirling hazel eyes – currently a turbulent mix of deep blue and flecks of gold – scanning each face around the low Balinese table laden with tropical fruit and fresh pastries. "I can see there’s some tension building. Specifically," his gaze landed on Jasmine, who sat rigidly, her stunning face a mask of carefully controlled fury, those green eyes fixed with laser intensity on Lena across the table. Lena shrunk slightly, pushing a piece of papaya around her plate, her usually vibrant energy subdued. "Jaz," Bruce continued, his tone softening fractionally, "Lena didn’t say anything to me. But it’s clear you spoke to her. And the vibes… they’re thick enough to cut with a knife."
Jasmine didn’t flinch. Her sculpted jaw tightened. She was magnificent, even in her anger, her dark skin glowing in the morning light, that legendary ass perched defiantly on the edge of her chair. Lena kept her eyes down, the flush creeping up her neck visible beneath her tan.
Bruce leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table. "I’m not gonna apologize for wanting Lena near me." The statement hung, blunt and uncompromising. "I love her. I love her company. She’s interested in things I am – the market fluctuations this morning, the specs on the new yacht tender, the intricacies of the deal I’m neck-deep in." He looked around, meeting Mystique’s thoughtful gaze, Erika’s cool blue eyes wide with concern, Ketut’s dark, perceptive stare already analyzing the colors shifting in his own, Camille’s calm, assessing look. Sophia, the newest, watched silently, her athletic frame tense, absorbing the family dynamic like a sponge. "It doesn’t, in any fucking way, diminish how I feel about anyone else here. Not one bit."
He gestured towards Jasmine and Mystique. "I did that sunrise yoga class with you two last week on the north deck. You know I fucking hate downward dog, Mystique. My hamstrings screamed for days. But I did it. Because I wanted to spend that time with you both." His gaze swept back to Jasmine. "I’m buried in one huge deal right now, Jaz. If it lands…" He paused, letting the implication hang – freedom, security, a life beyond constant work. "If it works, I’ll never have to do shit again. But right now, it eats every ounce of focus I have. Sometimes, Lena just… fits into that space without demanding I shift gears completely. That’s all."
Bruce’s words hung in the humid air, met only by the distant crash of surf and the frantic chirping of unseen birds in the jungle canopy. Jasmine’s knuckles were white where she gripped her coffee cup, her green eyes still smoldering coals fixed on Lena, who kept her own gaze locked on the intricate grain of the teak table. Mystique traced the rim of her juice glass, her expression unreadable. Ketut watched Bruce’s eyes intently, a slight frown pinching her brow as if deciphering a complex code. Erika fidgeted, her pale skin flushed. Sophia looked like she wanted to vanish into her chair. Only Camille seemed composed, leaning back, her dark eyes observing it all with unnerving calm.
"Let me finish, please," Bruce said, the quiet command cutting through the silence like a knife. He took a slow breath, the weight of his next words settling onto his broad shoulders. "If this deal goes through…" He paused, letting the immense possibility resonate. "We’ll have 'fuck you' money. Forever. Never worry again. Never compromise." He looked around, seeing the flicker of interest, the slight easing in Jasmine's rigid posture. "So, what I’m proposing… is dates." He spread his hands. "I know it’s difficult. Sometimes I feel stretched incredibly fucking thin, like I’m trying to hold up the sky with bare hands. I’m doing my best, believe me. I don’t want anyone – anyone – to be upset. Ever."
He leaned forward again, his intense hazel eyes sweeping over each wife, lingering on Jasmine’s stony face, then Lena’s apprehensive one, then holding Mystique’s thoughtful gaze, Erika’s wide blue eyes, Ketut’s watchful stare, Sophia’s nervous tension, and finally resting on Camille’s serene strength. "I think I’ve proved to all of you, individually, over and over, that I’d do anything for any of you." His voice was thick with raw sincerity. He scanned their faces, challenging, seeking a denial, a scoff, anything. No one spoke. Lena’s breath hitched. "Well," Bruce murmured, a flicker of relief softening his features, "Good. At least you guys still know that."
He pushed his plate aside, the china scraping softly. "So, what I’d like to do is spend dedicated time. One-on-one. Real time. We can do whatever you want. Anything. Lay in bed all day watching trash TV. Shop till you drop in Seminyak. Charter the boat, just us. Go out and eat somewhere ridiculously expensive. Hike the volcano. Anything." His gaze landed on Jasmine again, direct. "And if anyone ever feels neglected by me… in any way, whatsoever… please, I’m begging you, come to me." The plea was stark in his voice. "You know I listen. You know I hear you. It eats me the fuck up inside if any one of you is upset… especially with me."
He paused, the silence deepening. His stare fixed purposefully on Jasmine, then shifted to include the others, finally resting protectively on Lena. "But don’t blame Lena. Please. Don't make her the target." His voice hardened fractionally. "Come talk to me. I don’t want you to resent her… or for her to feel uncomfortable, ever, spending time with me. That’s not fair. That’s not us." He exhaled, the tension draining slightly from his powerful frame. "Well," he said, his tone shifting back towards openness, though the undercurrent of unresolved friction remained palpable, "That’s my proposal. Any thoughts? Ideas?"
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the frantic chirping of unseen birds and the distant, rhythmic crash of waves against the cliffs far below. Jasmine’s knuckles remained bone-white around her coffee cup. Lena kept her eyes glued to the teak grain, her shoulders tense. Mystique finally cleared her throat, the sound sharp in the stillness.
"Sounds… fair," Mystique offered, her voice low and measured. Her dark eyes flickered between Jasmine’s rigid form and Bruce’s earnest face. "Dates. One-on-one. Makes sense." She shrugged a shoulder, the movement elegant. "We all need that connection. Undiluted."
Erika nodded vigorously, her pale blonde hair catching the sunlight. "Yes! Absolutely. A hike, Bruce? Up Mount Batur? Just us? The sunrise…" Her startling blue eyes shone with sudden enthusiasm, momentarily displacing the tension.
Ketut tilted her head, studying Bruce’s eyes intently. "The gold is fading," she murmured, almost to herself. "Blue deepening… like the ocean before a storm calms." She offered a small, knowing smile. "Your proposal… it carries weight. It feels true."
Sophia shifted nervously. "Whatever… whatever you think is best, Bruce," she stammered, her sculpted arms crossed protectively over her chest. "I’m still… learning the rhythms here."
Camille remained silent, her calm gaze sweeping the table. She took a slow sip of her tea, her expression unreadable. Bruce watched Jasmine, waiting. The air crackled.
Jasmine finally released her death grip on the cup. It clattered slightly against the saucer. She didn’t look at Bruce. Her burning green eyes remained locked on Lena. "Fine," she spat, the single word dripping with barely contained venom. "Dates. Whatever." She pushed her chair back abruptly, the legs scraping harshly on the stone terrace. "Excuse me." She stood, her movements sharp and angry, her incredible ass swaying with furious purpose as she strode away from the table, disappearing through the wide glass doors into the cool interior of the villa.
Bruce sighed, a heavy sound laden with frustration and fatigue. He rubbed a hand over his face. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath. Lena flinched. Mystique reached over, placing a reassuring hand briefly on Bruce’s forearm. "Give her space, Bruce. She’ll cool down."
Lena stood up suddenly, her chair rocking. "I… I need to find her," she whispered, her voice thick. "I need to…" She didn't finish, just hurried after Jasmine, her own steps quick and anxious.
Bruce watched her go, his swirling eyes clouded with worry. "I hate this," he said, his voice rough. "I fucking hate tension between you all."
Camille finally spoke, her voice low and steady. "You laid it out clearly, mi vida. The ball’s in her court now." She stood gracefully. "Come on, Mystique. Sophia mentioned wanting pointers on the new Pilates reformer. Let’s see if we can distract ourselves." Mystique nodded, rising with Camille. Erika and Ketut followed suit, leaving Bruce alone at the table with the remnants of breakfast and the echoing silence.
The villa gym was a cathedral of sweat and effort, floor-to-ceiling glass offering panoramic views of the turquoise sea meeting the impossibly green jungle. Sophia was guiding Ketut through a complex core sequence on a mat, their movements synchronized. Camille and Mystique were adjusting weights on a machine near the back. The air hummed with focused energy, the scent of rubber mats and exertion mingling with the faint salt breeze.
Jasmine was attacking the heavy bag. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Each punch landed with brutal force, her gloves impacting the leather with sharp, percussive cracks. Sweat plastered her dark skin, gleaming on her shoulders and back, soaking the thin tank top clinging to her incredible curves. Her green eyes were narrowed slits of pure fury, her breath coming in harsh grunts. Thwack. Thwack. She moved with lethal grace, a predator working out its rage.
Lena hovered near the entrance, watching. She’d changed into tight leggings and a sports bra, showcasing her famed booty and thick legs, but her posture was hesitant. She took a tentative step forward. "Jaz?" Her voice was small against the rhythmic pounding.
Jasmine didn’t stop. Thwack. Thwack. "What?" she snarled, delivering a vicious cross that made the bag shudder on its chain.
"I… I wanted to talk," Lena ventured, moving closer. "About breakfast. About Bruce."
Thwack. Thwack. THWACK. Jasmine spun, delivering a final, thunderous roundhouse kick that sent the bag swinging wildly. She braced herself against it, chest heaving, sweat dripping from her chin onto the mat. She finally turned her head, those furious green eyes pinning Lena. "Talk?" she spat. "What’s there to talk about? He made himself perfectly fucking clear. You’re his fucking shadow. His little market-watching, yacht-tender-spec-loving shadow." The bitterness dripped from every word.
"It’s not like that," Lena protested, her voice rising slightly. "I just… I’m interested in his world! The deals, the pressure…"
"And the rest of us aren’t?" Jasmine pushed off the bag, stalking towards Lena. Her presence was intimidating, radiating heat and anger. "We’re just… what? Arm candy? Cunts for him to share with big black dicks?" She stopped inches from Lena, towering over her slightly. "He did yoga with me and Mystique? Big fucking deal! He hated it! He spent the whole time grimacing! But you? You get his undivided attention whenever he fucking breathes!"
Lena flinched but held her ground. "He loves you, Jaz! He loves all of us! He’s buried in that deal…"
"Don’t!" Jasmine hissed, jabbing a gloved finger towards Lena’s chest. "Don’t fucking make excuses for him to me! You lap it up! You bask in it! His special fucking Lena." Her gaze raked over Lena’s body, lingering on the curves Bruce adored. "His ‘best booty’." The title sounded like an insult.
Lena’s own temper flared, the wildness beneath her submissive exterior sparking. "And what? You’re jealous? Of me? You have everything, Jasmine! That body… that ass… Bruce worships it! Men fucking drool over it!"
"Jealous?" Jasmine let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "Of you clinging to him like a fucking remora? No." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, thick with sweat and fury. "I’m pissed off. Pissed off that he lets you. Pissed off that you take. And take. And fucking take." Her gloved hand shot out, not to strike, but to grip Lena’s hip, fingers digging into the flesh above her leggings. "You think you’re so fucking special?"
The gym air crackled with Jasmine’s fury. Her gloved hand dug into Lena’s hip, possessive and punishing. "You think you’re so fucking special?" she hissed, sweat dripping onto Lena’s tank top.
Lena flinched, the grip bruising, but defiance sparked in her dark eyes. She shoved Jasmine’s hand away, hard. "No, Jaz, I don’t!" Lena’s voice cracked, raw and loud enough to momentarily drown out Sophia’s instructions to Ketut across the room. "I just love him! And I fucking love you!" Her chest heaved, tears welling but not falling. "If you want to hate me? Fine! I can’t change your goddamn mind!"
Jasmine recoiled slightly, stunned by the vehemence. Lena pressed on, her words tumbling out fast and desperate. "When we spoke the other day? Alone? By the infinity pool? I thought we hashed this out! I apologized for being selfish! For hogging his time!" Lena’s voice trembled, thick with hurt and frustration. "And I was working on it, Jaz! Trying! But you didn’t even give me a fucking chance! You just… froze me out!"
Lena took a ragged breath, her famous booty taut with tension beneath her leggings. She stared straight into Jasmine’s furious green eyes. "So hate me if you want. But don’t pretend I didn’t try." With a final, wounded glare, Lena spun on her heel. Her footsteps echoed sharply on the gym floor as she marched out, past Camille and Mystique who’d stopped adjusting weights to watch, leaving Jasmine standing alone by the shuddering heavy bag.
Silence descended, heavy and thick. The rhythmic thud of Sophia guiding Ketut through a plank sequence seemed suddenly distant. Jasmine stood frozen, gloved hands hanging limp at her sides, her breath still coming in harsh rasps. Lena’s words echoed in the cavernous space: I apologized… I was working on it… you didn’t give me a chance. The raw pain in Lena’s voice cut deeper than Jasmine’s anger expected.
She looked down at her own gloved fists, the leather damp with sweat. The image of Lena shrinking at breakfast flashed in her mind, followed by the fierce, tearful defiance just now. Jasmine’s gaze drifted towards the doorway Lena had vanished through. A slow, sickening realization seeped in, cooling the white-hot rage. Had she been so blinded by her own resentment that she’d missed Lena’s genuine effort? The heavy bag swayed gently on its chain, a silent counterpoint to the storm inside Jasmine’s head. She didn't move, rooted to the spot, staring at the empty doorway as the implications of Lena’s accusation settled like dust.