Chapter 2: The Morning After
The scent of burnt toast mingled unpleasantly with the rich aroma of coffee as Jasmin padded barefoot towards the kitchen. Morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting Auckland harbor in dazzling blues and golds, a stark contrast to the tension thickening the air inside Rhys’ sleek penthouse. She paused in the arched doorway, unseen for a moment.
Rhys leaned against the gleaming black marble countertop, nursing a steaming mug. Opposite him, perched on a chrome stool like a bird of prey on a wire, sat a woman Jasmin hadn’t met. Serena. Her dark, impeccably tailored suit screamed expensive boardroom, her posture unnervingly perfect. One manicured finger tapped a staccato rhythm on the countertop. Her voice, sharp and clipped, cut through the quiet hum of the refrigerator.
"...utterly baffling, Rhys. Truly. Collecting strays again? After last time?" Serena’s gaze was fixed on Rhys, coldly analytical. "What possible use could she be?"
Jasmin’s breath hitched. Stray. The word landed like a physical blow, echoing the raw vulnerability she’d felt last night in that smoky bar, clutching her useless reservation slip. Heat flooded her cheeks. She instinctively took a step back, her bare heel scuffing softly on the polished concrete floor.
Both heads snapped towards the sound. Serena’s icy glare shifted instantly, transforming into something predatory, calculating. A slow, unnerving smile curved her lips as her eyes raked over Jasmin’s borrowed oversized t-shirt, her sleep-tousled hair, her bare legs. Serena uncrossed her own legs, encased in sheer black stockings ending in lethal-looking stilettos. The pointed toe of one shoe traced a deliberate, slow line up Rhys’ denim-clad calf beneath the breakfast bar.
"Well, well," Serena purred, the earlier sharpness replaced by a honeyed venom. Her gaze lingered on Jasmin’s face. "You didn’t mention she was this pretty, Rhys. Is that the ‘use’?" The implication hung heavy and ugly in the air.
Rhys didn’t flinch from Serena’s touch, but his knuckles whitened around his mug. His gaze, however, locked onto Jasmin. There was a flicker in those usually guarded eyes – anger? Protectiveness? It was gone before she could decipher it. He straightened, pushing off the counter. The movement was deliberate, commanding attention.
"Enough, Serena." His voice was low, a rumble that vibrated in the spacious kitchen. It wasn't loud, but it carried absolute authority. He didn't shout. He didn't need to.
Serena’s smirk faltered slightly. Her foot stopped its insidious path. "Oh? Defending your new pet already?"
Rhys took a single step forward, placing himself slightly between Jasmin and Serena. His gaze never left Serena’s face, but his words were clearly for Jasmin’s benefit too. "Her name is Jasmin. And she’s not a stray. She’s a guest." He paused, letting the distinction sink in. "A guest who needed a place to stay when her reservation vanished into thin air. Something," he added, his tone hardening, "that happens far too conveniently around this city sometimes."
Serena arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Convenient for whom, Rhys? For her? Or for you?"
RHYS DEFENDS JASMIN.
He didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he looked Serena dead in the eye, his expression granite. "Her circumstances are none of your business, Serena. What is your business is the Henderson account report sitting on your desk, overdue since yesterday. Focus on that." He gestured towards the elevator lobby with his chin, a clear dismissal. "Your coffee’s getting cold. And you’re late."
The air crackled. Serena’s carefully constructed composure fractured for a split second, revealing pure, unadulterated fury beneath the polished surface. Her gaze darted from Rhys’ implacable face to Jasmin, standing frozen in the doorway, feeling utterly exposed. The predatory interest in Serena’s eyes hardened into something colder, more dangerous.
"Late?" Serena hissed, pushing herself off the stool with sudden, jerky force. Her stiletto heels clicked sharply on the floor as she snatched her designer handbag from the counter. "Fine. Play your little games, Rhys. But remember," she paused at the kitchen entrance, turning back just enough to fix Jasmin with a look that promised nothing good. "Remember what happens to pretty little guests who overstay their welcome." She didn't wait for a reply. The sharp click-clack of her heels faded rapidly towards the elevator.
Silence descended, thick and suffocating. The harbor view suddenly felt less dazzling, more exposing. Jasmin wrapped her arms around herself, the borrowed t-shirt suddenly feeling flimsy armor against Serena’s poisonous words. Rhys let out a slow breath, running a hand through his tousled dark hair. He turned towards Jasmin, the granite mask softening slightly, replaced by a weary tension around his eyes.
"You okay?" His voice was rough, quieter now.
Jasmin swallowed, her throat dry. "Who was that?" Her own voice sounded small, shaky.
"Serena. Works with me." He poured a fresh mug of coffee and slid it across the counter towards her. "Ignore her. She enjoys stirring pots. Especially mine."
"Ignore her?" Jasmin echoed, disbelief coloring her tone. She stepped fully into the kitchen, drawn towards the offered coffee like a lifeline. The warmth seeped into her cold fingers. "She called me a stray. She implied…" She couldn't finish the sentence, the ugly insinuation choking her.
Rhys leaned back against the counter, watching her. That hint of sadness she’d glimpsed last night was more pronounced in the morning light. "I know what she implied. And I shut it down." He met her gaze directly. "You heard me. You’re a guest. End of story."
But it wasn’t. Not really. Serena’s words echoed: "Collecting strays again? After last time?" What last time? What happened to the other 'stray'? Jasmin clutched the warm mug tighter, studying Rhys’ face – the rugged handsomeness, the sharp intelligence, the undeniable magnetism, and the deep, unsettling shadows lurking beneath. The penthouse felt less like sanctuary and more like a gilded cage, its sleek modern lines suddenly holding secrets she wasn't sure she wanted to know. The harbor glittered mockingly outside, a vast, beautiful unknown. Just like the man standing before her.
The harbor light caught the steam rising from Jasmin’s mug, painting fleeting ghosts in the air between them. Rhys’ jaw tightened almost imperceptibly at her unspoken questions about ‘last time’. He pushed off the counter, the movement fluid but carrying a sudden weight. "Hungry? I make a decent omelette. Better than the hotel bar peanuts, anyway." His attempt at lightness felt forced, a thin veneer over the tension Serena left behind.
Jasmin managed a weak smile, gripping the warm ceramic. "Starving, actually. Everything feels… surreal." She watched him move to the vast stainless-steel fridge, its hum suddenly loud in the quiet. The borrowed t-shirt slipped off one shoulder. "Who was she, really? Besides your colleague who apparently hates unexpected houseguests." She kept her tone deliberately casual, leaning her hips against the cool marble counter, mirroring his earlier stance.
Rhys pulled out eggs, cheese, a vibrant red pepper. "Serena? Runs strategic partnerships. Sharp as hell, ruthless when she needs to be." He cracked eggs into a bowl with practiced efficiency. "Thinks she knows what’s best for everyone. Especially me." He shot her a look, that magnetic intensity momentarily displacing the shadow in his eyes. "Don’t let her get under your skin. Her hobby is finding pressure points."
"Collecting strays," Jasmin murmured, unable to let it go. The phrase scraped at her newfound sense of tentative safety. She picked at a crumb on the counter. "Had a lot of… unexpected guests, then?" The question hung there, fragile.
He stopped whisking. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant cry of a gull outside the panoramic window. He turned, leaning back against the sink, arms crossed. The morning light highlighted the faint lines around his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw. "Once," he said, the word clipped. "A long time ago. It didn’t end well. Serena has a long memory for mistakes, perceived or real." His gaze held hers, unflinching. "That’s not you. This isn’t that."
His certainty should have been comforting. But the ‘end well’ echoed ominously. What constituted not ending well? A fight? Disappearance? Something darker hinted at by Serena’s predatory gaze and Rhys’ palpable tension? Jasmin took a sip of coffee, the rich bitterness grounding her. "Right. Just a misplaced reservation and a kind offer." She tried to inject her old lightness, the bubbly facade she’d worn arriving in this new country. It felt brittle.
"Exactly." Rhys poured the egg mixture into a sizzling pan. The smell was instantly comforting, domestic. "Consider the 'conditions' simple house rules. Don’t flood the bathroom. Don’t feed Mogwai after midnight." A genuine ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Standard stuff."
Jasmin laughed, the sound surprising even her. "No Gremlins? Promise." She felt herself relax slightly, drawn in by his dry humour, the normalcy of breakfast. "Though, if you have a Mogwai hidden somewhere, I definitely want to see it."
"Tragically, no. Just me and the harbour view." He deftly flipped the omelette. "So, Jasmin Kapoor, fresh start in Auckland. What’s step one? Besides finding a place that doesn’t mysteriously lose bookings."
"Job hunt," she sighed, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the counter. "Something in event planning, hopefully. Used to organize corporate junkets in London. Soul-destroying, but paid the rent." She watched him sprinkle cheese. "Though waking up to this view… hard to beat as a temporary office."
"Temporary," Rhys echoed softly, almost to himself. He slid the golden omelette onto a plate, added a slice of crusty bread. "Here. Fuel for the hunt." He placed it before her. As she reached for the fork, his fingers briefly brushed hers. A spark, warm and unexpected. He pulled his hand back quickly, turning to grab his own mug.
The moment shattered as the sleek apartment intercom buzzed, sharp and intrusive. Rhys frowned, walking towards the panel near the elevator. He pressed a button. "Yes?"
Serena’s voice, tinny but dripping with false sweetness, filled the kitchen. "Rhys, darling. Left my favourite Montblanc pen on your counter. The black lacquer one? Be a love and send it down?" A pause. "Unless your guest needs it for job applications already?"
Rhys’ expression darkened. "It’s not here, Serena." His voice was ice.
"Oh, it must be. Check properly. Near the fruit bowl?" Her insistence was pointed, grating. "I’ll wait. Wouldn’t want to interrupt… breakfast." The implied sneer was audible even through the speaker.
Jaw clenched, Rhys slammed the disconnect button without another word. The silence that followed was charged. He looked at Jasmin, frustration warring with something else – weariness, perhaps. "Her pen isn’t here," he stated flatly. "She knows it."
Jasmin pushed her appetite aside, the omelette suddenly unappealing. "She just wanted to… what? Check if I was still here? Remind me she exists?"
"Something like that." Rhys ran a hand over his face. "Stay. Eat. I’ll be right back." He strode towards the entrance, his shoulders rigid. "I’ll make sure she’s gone. For good, this time." The heavy front door clicked shut behind him with unnerving finality.
Alone, the penthouse felt vast and silent again. Too silent. The harbour view, magnificent moments ago, now felt isolating. Jasmin picked at the omelette, Serena’s poisonous words replaying: ‘Collecting strays… after last time… what happens to pretty little guests…’ She needed air. She needed to escape the lingering scent of Serena’s expensive perfume mixed with coffee and burnt toast.
Padding towards the expansive living area, drawn by the view she suddenly distrusted, she passed a low credenza. A sleek, black lacquer Montblanc pen lay exactly where Serena said it would be, nestled beside a polished green apple in a bowl. Jasmin froze. It hadn’t been there earlier.
Before she could react, the soft whoosh of the elevator doors opening made her spin around. Serena stood there, not in the lobby below, but right inside the penthouse foyer. She must have used a code or a key. Her smile was a razor blade.
"Surprise," Serena breathed, stepping silently onto the plush rug, her stilettos making no sound now. Her eyes locked onto the pen, then lifted to Jasmin’s horrified face. "Found it." She took a slow, predatory step closer. "Rhys always underestimates how… persistent I can be. Especially when I see history about to repeat itself."
Jasmin instinctively stepped back, her hip bumping the credenza. "He just went down to find you."
Serena chuckled, a low, unpleasant sound. "Oh, I know. Takes him ages to get down fifty floors. Gives us time for a little chat." She picked up the pen, twirling it between her fingers. "He likes them young, lost, beautiful. Just like Elara." Her gaze sharpened, watching for recognition that wasn't there. "Elara Thorne. Ring a bell? No? She wouldn't. He keeps his strays carefully compartmentalized."
Jasmin’s blood ran cold. "Who was she?"
Serena leaned in conspiratorially, her expensive perfume suddenly cloying. "Another pretty little thing who showed up needing a knight. Rhys played the part perfectly. Gave her refuge in this very penthouse." Serena’s eyes hardened, glinting with malice. "Then she vanished. Six weeks later, her passport turned up washed ashore near Raglan. Police called it misadventure. An accident." She paused, letting the horrific image sink in. "Convenient, wouldn't you say? Just like your vanished hotel reservation? Rhys Davies doesn't just collect strays, darling. He collects tragedies."