Virgin Dot Com Novel

[Jasmine's POV] I left Asher's penthouse before dawn, pressing a kiss to his forehead while he pretended to sleep. I knew he was awake-his breathing pattern changed when I moved-but he gave me the gift of pretending otherwise. Let me leave without questions or complications or the concern that would have broken me all over again. At my apartment, I showered until the water ran cold, scrubbing away the previous night like I could wash off vulnerability itself. Dressed in clothes that felt like armor-tailored slacks, button-down blouse, blazer that made me look competent and untouchable.

Professional. In control. I arrived at Cadence Records at seven thirty, a full hour before Jackson usually appeared. Prepared everything with meticulous precision-coffee exactly as he specified, files organized with color-coded tabs, his schedule printed and highlighted. Every detail perfect because perfection was the only defense I had left. When he arrived and surveyed the arranged perfection, he smiled. The expression didn't reach his eyes.

"Good girl," he said, and the words felt like slime spreading across my skin, coating me in something I couldn't scrub away no matter how long I stood under scalding water. But then his gaze traveled down my body with deliberate slowness, assessing, and something in his expression shifted to displeasure. "We need to discuss your wardrobe." His voice was conversational, almost friendly. "What you're wearing doesn't suit my aesthetic." My stomach dropped. I'd known this was coming-had felt it hovering at the edges since yesterday-but knowing didn't make it easier when it arrived.

"Too conservative," he continued, circling me like I was livestock he was considering purchasing. "Too covered. Not what I want to see when I look up from my desk." The nausea rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I'd agreed to this. One week in exchange for saving the brothers from losing everything. Three more days. I could survive three more days. "What would you prefer?" I heard myself ask, voice steady despite everything inside me screaming. He smiled wider. "Shorter skirts. Lower necklines. Clothes that give me access whenever I want it." He paused, letting that sink in.

"I'm helping my sons because of you. The least you can do is dress appropriately for the role you're playing." The role I was playing. Secretary. Assistant. Whore in professional clothing. I nodded, because what else could I do? I'd made the deal. I'd walked into this willingly, eyes open, knowing what he was. In the bathroom, I changed into clothes I'd brought in my bag-the backup outfit I'd hoped I wouldn't need. Shorter skirt that ended mid-thigh. Blouse unbuttoned low enough that my cleavage was visible, the curve of my breasts on display.

I looked at my reflection and barely recognized the woman staring back. This was survival. This was the price. This was what I'd agreed to. When I returned to his office, Jackson appraised me with that calculating gaze, and I felt my skin crawl with the weight of his attention. "Much better," he murmured. Then his hand reached out-I'd known it was coming, had braced for it, but knowing didn't make it easier-and stroked my breast through the thin fabric. His fingers found my nipple, circling it with deliberate pressure until it hardened involuntarily. I hated my body for responding.

Hated the biological reality that physical stimulation could trigger reactions regardless of desire or consent. Hated that my nipple betrayed me by responding to touch it didn't want, from a man I despised. His hand slid lower, between my legs, fingers pressing against the fabric of my skirt with proprietary confidence. I squeezed my hands into fists so tight my nails cut crescents into my palms. Breathed through my nose. Counted backwards from one hundred. Survived it because survival was all I had left. The thing is, I'd agreed to this. That was the most fucked up part.

I'd walked into this arrangement knowing what it would cost, what he would take, and I'd said yes anyway because the alternative was watching everything Liam, Asher, and Finn had built burn to ashes. So I stood there and let him touch me. Let him violate the boundaries of my body because I'd traded those boundaries for their future. Let him reduce me to an object he could grab and assess because that was the deal I'd made. He leaned close, his breath hot against my ear, and whispered: "Flow for me the way you flow for my boys." The words made bile rise in my throat.

The intimacy of the phrasing, the knowledge that he'd been watching us, imagining us, reducing what we had to something he could demand access to. Then he removed his hand, brought his fingers to his nose and inhaled deliberately, and dismissed me with a casual wave. "You can go." I walked out calmly. Made it down the hallway with measured steps. Pushed open the bathroom door. Locked myself in a stall. And vomited until there was nothing left. I cried after, great heaving sobs I muffled against my arm so no one would hear.

Tried to wash the feeling of his hands off my skin with soap that couldn't possibly reach deep enough to clean what felt contaminated. This was day two. Three more days. I could do this. I had to do this. At lunch, I was returning from the bathroom-face repaired, armor reconstructed-when Liam appeared in the hallway, blocking my path. "We need to talk," he said, and there was something desperate in his eyes. "Jasmine, please. Whatever you're doing-" "Don't distract my secretary from work, Liam." Jackson's voice cut across the space, sharp and possessive.

He stood in his office doorway, watching us with that calculating smile. "She's busy." The possessive "my" made Liam's hands curl into fists, knuckles going white. I watched him fight the urge to cross the distance and commit violence. Watched him lose the internal war with his control and turn away, walking back toward his own office with rigid shoulders. That evening, alone in my apartment, I texted him: Don't disturb me. I want to fix everything for the first time in my life. Please give me space. His response came immediately: We'll be with you no matter what you're planning.

You're not alone in this. I read it through tears, knowing I was absolutely, completely alone. Because I'd made sure of that. Because this was the only way to protect them from the consequences of loving someone like me. Three more days. Virgin Dot Com