"I Love You"
1360 Words
THE crisp December air was laced with the scent of pine and the faint sound of carolers in the distance. Jasmine drove down the road, her gloved hands clutching a small bag of gifts she had picked up on her way home for her daughter. Twinkling Christmas lights adorned every house along the street, and the occasional laughter of children playing echoed through the neighborhood, but Jasmine's heart was far from merry.
There was a coffee shop at the last junction she turns at, she got there and swiftly turned, the tyres making a screeching sound on the tarmac. Just then, she caught sight of a familiar figure seated behind the coffee shop, it was a transparent wall and so she could see through. It was her husband. He was seated on a seat, smiling and talking with the beautiful woman with long, wavy hair seated across. They were laughing together, the woman holding a steaming cup of coffee while Collins leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Jasmine froze as she slowed down her car.
The festive lights and cheerful atmosphere around her once again faded into a dull hum. Her stomach churned, the sight of them together brought a cruel echo of the betrayal she thought she had moved past, it felt like reopening an already healed wound. Jasmine’s grip tightened on the steering in her hands as she heaved a sigh of relief and then zoomed off, the jingling sound of a nearby sleigh bell mocking her as she retreated.
No. Not here. Not now.
When she got home, the warm glow of Christmas lights welcomed her. Jasmine paused at the door, composing herself before stepping inside.
“Mommy!” Karissa’s excited voice rang out as the little girl darted toward her, her pink pajamas covered in snowflake patterns. She wore a Santa hat that was slightly askew, her face lit up with pure joy.
“Hi, my love!” Jasmine greeted, setting the bag on the side table and scooping Karissa into her arms. She kissed her cheek, holding her tightly for a moment as if her daughter’s warmth could mend the ache in her heart.
Just then, a maid walked up to them.
“Welcome ma'am,” she genuflected as she stooped low to take her bag. Jasmine nodded in response.
“Just keep that in my room,” she instructed.
“Okay ma'am,” she replied disappearing into the hallway.
“Guess what, Mommy?” Karissa squeaked, “we finished decorating the Christmas tree! Daddy said he would help, but he wasn’t home, so I did it with Grandma on the phone!” Karissa said proudly, pointing to the corner of the living room.
Jasmine followed her gaze to the tree, its branches adorned with twinkling lights, shiny baubles, and the homemade ornaments Karissa had made in school. A gold star sat crookedly at the top, adding a charming, childlike touch.
“It looks beautiful,” Jasmine said, her smile soft.
“Thank you! Oh, and Mommy, guess what we did at school today!” Karissa said, bouncing on her toes.
“What did you do?” Jasmine asked, leading her daughter to the couch and sitting down.
“We made Christmas cards!” Karissa exclaimed, running off to grab her backpack. She returned moments later, holding a brightly decorated card covered in glitter.
“This one is for you and Daddy. Look!”
Jasmine opened the card, her heart constricting as she read Karissa’s scrawled handwriting: **Merry Christmas, Mommy and Daddy. I love you so much!**
“It is wonderful, sweetie,” Jasmine said, pulling Karissa into a hug.
Karissa beamed.
“Is Daddy coming home soon? He promised we would make gingerbread houses together. I waited, but he didn’t come back.”
Jasmine’s throat tightened, but she kept her voice steady.
“He is busy, my love, but we can make gingerbread houses together. How about that?”
“Okay! But I still want to wait for Daddy to see my card. You think he will like it?”
Jasmine forced a smile.
“Of course, he will.”
As Karissa darted to the kitchen, excitedly talking about the gingerbread houses they would make, Jasmine sat back on the couch. The Christmas lights from the tree reflected in her eyes, their glow failing to chase away the shadows in her heart.
Outside, the faint sound of carolers drifted through the window, their voices singing, *Silent night, holy night...*
***
The silence in Jared Baltimore’s boardroom was deafening. The kind of silence that weighed heavily on the chest, born of power, fear, and control. Seated at the head of the table, Jared tapped his index finger against the edge of his crystal tumbler, the faint clinking sound echoing through the massive room.
The board of directors sat around the long mahogany table, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, their eyes darting between their reports and Jared's impassive face. He hadn’t spoken in over five minutes, but his presence alone was oppressive.
“This,” he finally said, his voice low and deliberate, “is incompetence.”
The CFO, a seasoned executive with decades of experience, flinched as Jared slid a financial report across the table.
“You promised me growth. Instead, I see stagnation.”
“I... I can explain, Mr. Baltimore—”
“I don’t need explanations,” Jared cut him off, his sharp gray eyes pinning the man in place. “I need results.”
The room fell silent again. Jared leaned back in his chair, his tailored suit emphasizing the strength and precision in every movement. He didn’t shout or raise his voice; he didn’t need to. The raw intensity in his gaze was enough to unnerve even the boldest among them.
One of the younger directors, evidently trying to prove himself, cleared his throat.
“With all due respect, Mr. Baltimore, the market conditions have been volatile—”
Jared’s expression didn’t change, but the slight tilt of his head was enough to stop the man mid-sentence.
“Volatile markets are not an excuse,” Jared said coolly. “They are an opportunity. If you can’t adapt, you don’t belong here.”
The man swallowed hard, his confidence evaporating under Jared’s scrutiny.
Jared stood, signaling the meeting was over. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The directors quickly gathered their things and filed out, their relief palpable.
When the room was empty, Jared let out a slow breath. The city lights twinkled far below, a sprawling reminder of the empire he had built. His phone buzzed on the table, interrupting his thoughts.
“Mr. Baltimore,” Ben’s voice came through. “Another invitation from the Wainwrights. They are hosting a gala tomorrow night.”
Jared smirked faintly, picking up the phone.
“They are still trying to marry off their daughter, aren’t they?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Decline. Politely.”
“Understood.”
Jared ended the call, tossing the phone onto the table. His gaze lingered on the cityscape, his reflection staring back at him from the glass. He thought of the endless parade of people who sought his favor, women who wanted his name, men who wanted his influence. But they were all the same, driven by greed and ulterior motives.
A knock at the door broke his reverie. Ben stepped in, holding a sleek black folder.
“The files you requested on Larkspur Industries.”
Jared took the folder, flipping through the pages with practiced efficiency.
“Good. Prepare a takeover offer by morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ben hesitated for a moment, then added, “And, sir, about the woman from earlier, she has been removed from the building.”
“Good,” Jared said without looking up.
As Ben left, Jared closed the folder and leaned back against the window. He was a fortress, impenetrable, untouchable, and cold. Everything he had was built on his own terms, and he intended to keep it that way.
The world could keep sending its distractions, its temptations. Jared Baltimore had no need for them.
- Writer
