Chapter 56 Patience
Henry understood and then leaned back in his seat with a chuckle. "Get in. Don't make me ask a third time."
Jasmine's fingers were almost raw from nervous picking. She looked down at her clothes to make sure they were clean before carefully opening the rear car door.
"Sit in front," Henry motioned.
After a pause, Jasmine decided to sit in the passenger seat.
Henry said nothing as he drove Jasmine to the mall.
"Get out," Henry instructed.
Jasmine stayed seated, unmoving.
After a long moment, she finally spoke. "I...I want to go back."
"You think signing on with me for three years means being a nanny or a housekeeper?" Henry couldn't help but feel amused.
Jasmine still said nothing.
"Get out. Whether I go for the paternity test or not depends on your cooperation," he resorted to a threat, now the only tactic that seemed to work against her stubbornness.
Reluctantly leaving the car, Jasmine followed Henry.
Taking her into an elevator, Jasmine instinctively retreated to the furthest corner, facing away from Henry and staring at the elevator walls.
When they stopped on the first floor of the mall, a crowd started to enter.
Henry reached out, pulling Jasmine in front of him with a slight frown.
Jasmine stood rigid amid the crowd, a flicker of terror across her features.
Crowded places had always unnerved her...
During her years behind bars, Jasmine suffered severe psychological trauma. A person, hit with such crushing blows, would inevitably fall prey to stress reactions.
She was claustrophobic and anxious in crowds, afraid of being squeezed among strangers. Her breaths became labored, and sweat began to bead on her forehead.
Henry glanced down at Jasmine. Towering over the others, his head and shoulders were easily spotted, while Jasmine could be easily swallowed up by the sea of people.
"Let's go."
Jasmine had become much more compliant than she was five years ago. Following Henry like a soulless marionette, she trailed behind him without protest.
Henry paused mid-stride, an epiphany striking him about how Jasmine had changed. Once, her eyes sparkled with life; now, they were hollow, as if her spirit had been siphoned away, leaving only an empty shell.
Regret unexpectedly washed over Henry as his fingers clenched involuntarily. Five years ago, he'd had the means to assist Jasmine, but he hadn't. Part of him... part of him even wanted to see her stripped of all her pride.
"Get a cell phone plan with your ID and have it sent to IF," Henry instructed his assistant on the phone before leading Jasmine into a store filled with expensive smartphones. Jasmine lowered her head, daring not to glance at the prices.
Henry wasn’t one to indulge in shopping, rarely stepping out to buy anything himself. Yet, somehow, Jasmine always proved to be his exception.
"Do you know how to use this one?" Henry's voice was soft.
From a distance, Jasmine looked up at him but remained silent.
"Come here," he said, taking a deep breath.
Jasmine, fearful of provoking Henry, edged closer. Five years out of touch with smartphones meant she was likely unfamiliar with their advanced functions—she felt disconnected from society.
"No... I don't," Jasmine admitted with a shake of her head, pointing instead to a simple, more affordable model marketed to seniors. "I can use... that one."
Henry chuckled—an infrequent occurrence, but Jasmine had always been the exception.
"Don't embarrass me; I'll teach you," he said, picking up the smartphone and gently pulling Jasmine by the wrist as they left.
Jasmine wanted to resist.
"Aren't you going to get used to it?" Henry asked, facing her.
Jasmine fell silent again.
Then a voice called out, "Hey! Isn't that... Mr. Patrick?"
Henry ushered Jasmine into a swanky boutique where the fashion displays were as opulent as they come. The attendant, spotting Henry, broke into a blossom of a smile. "Mr. Patrick, where's Melissa today?"
Melissa Kimberly, a former small-time starlet lavishly kept by Henry in her early years, was a well-known figure in their circles.
She had the air of the innocent, a ballerina, who after three years with Henry, strutted about with her nose in the air, making little of everyone else.
Henry's expression darkened momentarily, and he glanced instinctively at Jasmine.
She met his gaze and swiftly withdrew her wrist from his grasp.
She needed to keep her wits about her; men of his ilk were all the same.
Without exception.
To them, a woman was nothing more than a temporary trinket, a fleeting fancy.
The mortified attendant clapped a hand over her mouth. "Mr. Patrick, this is..."
"Just take her," Henry said, visibly irritated as he massaged his temples and settled on a couch, casually flipping through a magazine.
"What's the story with this country girl Mr. Patrick brought in today? He never escorts anyone here himself, and he was even holding her hand," whispered an onlooker.
Another chimed in, "She looks so out of place, like she just rolled in from the sticks. Is Mr. Patrick tired of those proud, swan-like creatures?"
While Jasmine was changing in the fitting room, the women outside gossiped on.
The tailor, measuring Jasmine's frame, inquired in a hushed tone, "What's your relationship with Mr. Patrick?"
Jasmine stayed silent.
"You're quite stunning; stand tall and confident," the tailor encouraged with a smile. "Mr. Patrick is drawn to girls with grace; the ones who've danced since they were young."
Jasmine paused, lost for words.
"Melissa was with Mr. Patrick for three years, and he's dropped that haughty princess for a maid?" The chatter from the other girls outside continued.
Jasmine remained quiet. She wasn't bothered about others looking down on her. What concerned her was whether her presence would cause someone else trouble.
As she emerged from the dressing room in a white dress the attendant had chosen, Jasmine caught Henry's attention. He was silent for a while, not uttering a word.
Honestly, the difference in Jasmine was remarkable.
The radiance she once held was gone, irrevocably lost.
Jasmine quickly lowered her gaze from her reflection, not daring to look.
She didn't recognize the person staring back at her.
It was unfamiliar and frightening.
"Okay," Henry finally nodded.
The attendant scurried off to gather more outfits for Jasmine and gestured for her to take a seat and wait
“Melissa... Who's that?” Jasmine inquired, her gaze lifting curiously.
The name caught her off guard. If Melissa was Henry's girlfriend, then she couldn't possibly entertain his request.
She wasn't the type to be a homewrecker.
"Do you care?" Henry's eyes met Jasmine's searchingly.
She shook her head, no longer playing into the curiosity. "I don't care. But if you have a girlfriend, I'm not going to be the other woman."
"The other woman?" A chuckle escaped Henry's lips. "You sure think highly of yourself, don't you?"
Jasmine's eyes dropped to the floor, and she fell silent again.
"I don't have a girlfriend," Henry felt compelled to clarify.
Sure, Melissa was in the picture, but she was hardly a girlfriend—more like a peacock kept around solely for show.
Jasmine remained quiet.
“Mr. Patrick, your SIM card.” His assistant burst into the dress shop and handed the card to Henry.
Henry popped the SIM card into the newly bought phone and powered it on to set it up for Jasmine.
"Come over here. I'll show you how it works," Henry said, patting the spot next to him.
Jasmine hesitated for a fraction of a second before sitting down.
His assistant looked over at Jasmine, his eyes wide with astonishment. Wasn't this the girl from the club's reception desk? She hooked up with Mr. Patrick?
Impressive.
"Nowadays, you use facial recognition." Henry patiently guided Jasmine.
She watched the phone intently. Once her face was recognized and access was granted, she looked up at Henry—her expression a mix of awe and subtle alarm. Phones these days were something else.
Henry caught her gaze and for a moment, he found himself entranced. There was a flicker, a spark in her eyes.
"To make calls and send messages, everything is right here. Let me help you set up an account," he continued, undisturbed by the slight flutter in his chest.
Jasmine listened earnestly.
Henry’s assistant stood by, still reeling in his own brand of shock.
“Mr. Patrick...” After a long hesitation, his assistant decided it was time to discuss more pressing matters.
Taking advantage of the moment, Jasmine stepped away to try on some clothes. Henry frowned and prompted, “Speak.”
“The CEO of Stellar Enterprises from Silverlight City, Mr. Ethan, is coming to Boston earlier than planned. Says he needs your help with a personal matter—to find someone,” his assistant rushed to explain.
“Find someone? Who might that be?” Henry was genuinely intrigued. Who could possibly be of such importance that the stoic Ethan would personally get involved?
“A woman.”
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