Two years had etched a new kind of steel into Jasmin, hardening her edges while refining her formidable prowess. In the sleek, modern training area of Find-bodyguard company, she was a blur of focused motion, a dance of controlled violence against the padded dummy. Her bare hands struck with the force of pistons, each punch a testament to countless hours of relentless practice. Her legs, swift and precise, swept low, bringing the artificial adversary crashing down before she executed a perfect backflip, propelling herself upwards. A final, powerful kick connected with the dummy's 'head' with a satisfying thud, sending it rocking on its stand.
A slow clap broke the silence, drawing her attention to the glass-paneled observation deck. Florentin, the company's founder and CEO, leaned against the frame, a genuine smile spread across his face.
"That was too impressive," Florentin said, his voice tinged with admiration as he stepped into the training space.
Jasmin wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, a dry chuckle escaping her lips. "Too impressed by a woman?" she retorted, a sarcastic lilt in her tone, knowing full well he'd appreciate the jest.
He merely shook his head, a thoughtful glint in his eyes. "I'm starting to understand why you remind me so much of Fabienne."
Jasmin's stance relaxed slightly, but her guard remained subtly up. Fabienne was a legend in their field. "So, are you here to interview me, or did you just come to figure out why I'm so fascinating?"
Florentin let out a soft sigh, the sound more of amusement than exasperation. "Never mind, the mystery can wait. I'd like to personally invite you to our grand party tonight. We're celebrating our company's anniversary. I'm incredibly proud to have a strong woman like you working here; your reviews in your profile are nothing short of stellar."
Jasmin blinked, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing her face. Praise, especially from Florentin, was rare and hard-earned. "Is that so?" she murmured, a hint of disbelief in her voice, quickly followed by a surge of quiet pride. "It just proves I can provide great service even without ever stepping into a formal school."
Florentin approached her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "No, Jasmin, you proved it to yourself by not underestimating the strong person you already were. This is a celebration, so please, take a rest. No training session today. Tonight is going to be a big party. I want you to wear something formal. My family is also coming, and they're eager to meet you."
Jasmin nodded, the weight of his words settling over her. "Sure."
The night air carried a crisp chill as Jasmin stood before her closet, a rare moment of indecision. She typically gravitated towards pragmatic black, but tonight called for something different. Her fingers traced the lapels of a rich brown suit, a subtle departure from her usual uniform. She paired it with a crisp white shirt and a neatly tied necktie, a familiar touch of her professional persona in a more elegant ensemble. The mirror reflected a woman who looked sharp, composed, and undeniably powerful, even in formal wear.
Just as she was about to grab her keys, a small, worried voice broke her thoughts. "Mom, where are you going at this hour?" Sidel, her daughter, stood in the doorway, eyes wide with concern.
Jasmin sighed, a familiar irritation bubbling up. Sidel's emotional transparency, though endearing, often grated on her nerves. "What do you think? Prom night? Why do you even need to ask where I go, where I walk? Don't treat me like I don't know what to do; it's utterly annoying!"
Sidel flinched slightly, but her resolve held. "Well, you just got recovered after so many years. I was hoping you'd do what Uncle Walter says. I mean, while you're staying at home, taking care of the twins, you could learn other skills than just dealing with bad people."
Another sigh, heavier this time, escaped Jasmin. "You want me to do the same thing every time you're leaving just to meet your new heartthrob boyfriend, huh?"
"That's not the point, Mom!" Sidel insisted, a blush creeping up her neck. "Anyway, do you have any problems with Marvin at all?"
Jasmin's eyes narrowed slightly. Marvin. Sidel's latest fixation. "It will be a problem if you easily trust him. Even his slightest pick-up line, you would suddenly trust him. Girls shouldn't be naive nowadays; you should be smarter than everyone. Look what happened to Janina. You should be aware around men." The name Janina hung in the air, a ghost of a past tragedy that still haunted Jasmin, shaping her protective instincts.
"Marvin is a gentleman," Sidel countered, her voice firmer. "Don't think of him as a bad person."
Jasmin jabbed a finger at Sidel's shoulder, a mock-comforting gesture that was anything but. "Don't be all coochie-coochie something! Be smart with somebody!"
Without another word, Jasmin snatched her phone and, with practiced ease, tucked a small pocket knife into her inner suit jacket pocket. Her gaze, sharp and distant, swept over Sidel's bewildered face before she turned and strode out, leaving her daughter in a cloud of confusion.
The drive to the Find-bodyguard company was a brief respite, allowing Jasmin to shed the domestic friction and don her professional mantle. She parked her car in front of the brightly lit entrance, the building a beacon of celebration. As she stepped out, a tall figure detached himself from the shadows near the entrance, a familiar face with an unexpectedly piercing gaze. Henrik.
"You're so beautiful, Jasmin, no matter how you look," Henrik said, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it. He paused, then added, "That's why I knew Marvin was deadly in love with Sidel."
Jasmin froze, her earlier irritation with Sidel instantly forgotten, replaced by a jolt of shock. "Say what?!"
Henrik's expression was unreadable. "You don't want Sidel and Marvin getting along together?" he asked, curiosity lacing his tone.
Jasmin ran a hand through her short hair, a sluggish sigh escaping her. "That's the problem nowadays, Henrik. Sidel never learns; she just easily trusts men. Look what happened to Janina."
"Don't generalize on that, Jasmin," Henrik said gently, but with conviction. "I'm making sure that I'm raising Marvin to be a good man."
Before Jasmin could respond, she was already pushing through the grand double doors of the company building. The interior had been transformed. Every employee, from the newest recruit to the most seasoned veteran, was dressed in impeccable formal attire, moving through a space alive with laughter and the soft clinking of glasses. The vibrant hum of camaraderie, the sense of achievement and shared purpose, washed over her. Despite her earlier reservations, Jasmin felt a surprising warmth spread through her. Perhaps, just perhaps, she could actually enjoy this. She found herself an odd, yet comfortable, part of this world, a sense of belonging she hadn't anticipated.
The company's annual celebration was in full swing, a rare moment of levity for the usually stern-faced security detail. Bodyguards, most of them stiff and self-conscious, attempted to gyrate to the generic pop music blasting from the DJ booth. Then Jasmin, a whirlwind of confidence and vibrant energy, sashayed onto the dance floor. Before she could succumb to the rhythm, she made a beeline for the DJ, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Moments later, the bubbly pop faded, replaced by the unmistakable opening beats of "WAP."
Jasmin let out a triumphant whoop, then proceeded to dance with an uninhibited, almost predatory sensuality. Her movements were fluid, provocative, and entirely unsuited for a corporate event. Hips swiveled, hands skimmed her form, and she dropped low with an unapologetic intensity that made half the room gawk and the other half blush.
Among the onlookers, a small cluster of bodyguards observed, their reactions a study in contrasts. Fabienne, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, seemed to physically recoil. Her expression was a mask of utter disgust, a silent testament to her disapproval. Martin, beside her, tried to avert his gaze, finding sudden, intense interest in the decorative lighting overhead. Florentin, however, watched with a dry amusement playing on his lips.
"Next time, tell Jasmin this isn't a nightclub," Florentin sarcastically quipped, a soft chuckle escaping him afterwards. He glanced at Fabienne, expecting a shared moment of judgment, but she merely scoffed, her eyes still narrowed on Jasmin.
"Let her enjoy if she wanted to dance like that," Martin mumbled, his voice tight, though he still refused to look directly at the spectacle. He rubbed the back of his neck, a tell-tale sign of his growing discomfort.
"Is there something wrong, Martin?"
Fabienne's voice, though quiet, was laced with an unbothered edge. She sighed dramatically. "Martin was too broken, being rejected by Jasmin from his engagement proposal."
Martin's head snapped towards Fabienne, a shy, almost wounded glare in his eyes. The revelation hung heavy in the air, instantly drawing Florentin's full attention. A wide, teasing smile spread across Florentin's face. "Oh, it seems that every bodyguard needs a heartbreak, literally a break from heartbreak, get it?"
Fabienne didn't even crack a smile at Florentin's forced pun, dismissing it with a roll of her eyes. Martin, however, felt a sudden flush creep up his neck. Everyone knew. He could feel their phantom gazes, the sudden understanding in the room. His problem, his deepest humiliation, was now out in the open.
"Fabienne, you don't have to say it," Martin said, his voice low and laced with an annoyance that bordered on anger.
Fabienne merely rolled her eyes again. "What now? You don't have to be shy to say it at all."
"You don't have to share it to anybody, okay." Martin let out a long, shuddering sigh, his shoulders slumping. The celebratory atmosphere felt like a cruel joke, and his mood, already fragile, had just shattered completely.
A momentary hush fell near the grand entrance as a pair of massive mahogany doors swung open. A chauffeur, impeccable in gray livery, held the door for the company's most anticipated—and most strategically important—guests.
First to emerge from the shadows and into the blinding brightness of the lobby was the personal assistant, a nervous, precise man who quickly surveyed the route. He was followed by Davina Meyer. She wore an elegant, midnight-blue silk dress that seemed tailored specifically for power, cut high at the neck but flowing with undeniable grace. Next came her husband, Henry, a man whose expensive black suit and shimmering blue necktie couldn't quite conceal the practiced arrogance in his posture. Bringing up the rear was their teenage daughter, Andy, already replicating her mother's formal elegance, but with a restless, judgmental energy flickering in her eyes.
Florentin, the company founder and current CEO, stood waiting, his smile a well-rehearsed mask of genuine warmth. He watched the trio approach, noting the expensive ease in their movements—the movements of people who expected to rule.
"Davina. Henry." Florentin's voice was smooth, carrying just the right level of familial affection to mask the underlying corporate negotiations. He approached them, extending his arms for a formal hug—a brief, stiff embrace that recognized their blood relation while emphasizing the professional distance history had placed between them.
"It was pleasant to meet you after so many years without communication," Florentin said, stepping back just enough to study his sister's cool, assessing gaze.
Henry smiled, a formal, practiced gesture that didn't quite reach his eyes. "We became busy with our personal lives, Florentin. The world keeps turning, and fortunes must be protected. Thank you for inviting us here for your company. I appreciate that soon you wanted Davina to take over this company."
Florentin's smile tightened marginally. Henry was already staking a claim.
Davina stepped forward, her hand resting delicately on Henry's arm—a gesture of ownership. "Of course. I know that my brother trusts me handling a company like this. It is, after all, family legacy."
Florentin nodded, sensing the conversation slipping too quickly into succession planning. He needed to introduce the variable.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Florentin declared, raising his voice slightly. "Jasmin, come here!"
The crowd of executives and guests parted instantly, giving way to a woman who moved through the sophisticated gathering like a predator in a flock of swans.
Jasmin Hoppe was dressed in a dark, impeccably tailored operational suit—not a cocktail dress, not a business skirt, but a garment designed for movement and efficiency. It was starkly different from the surrounding silk and sequins, and it drew the immediate, intense scrutiny of the youngest guest.
Andy, the teenage daughter, blinked, her eyes wide with critical fascination. "Why would she wear like that?" Andy asked, observing Jasmin's suit—the fitted jacket, the practical trousers, and the unmistakable, alert intensity in her posture—as if ready to spring at any moment.
Florentin chuckled softly, watching his niece's observation. It was exactly the reaction he intended.
"I would like you to introduce my top-class bodyguard, Jasmin Hoppe," Florentin announced, gesturing for Davina to come closer.
Davina extended her hand, the gesture polite but condescending. "Davina Meyer."
Jasmin took the hand firmly, her grip stronger than expected, but released it quickly. She bypassed the pleasantries entirely. "Why are you here for?" she asked, her voice low, precise, and entirely devoid of corporate formality.
Davina's eyebrow twitched at the bluntness. Florentin smoothly intercepted the tension before it could escalate.
"Jasmin, they are the special guests for this wonderful party, and I want you to know that from this day forward, you will be working for them as their personal, dedicated bodyguard." Florentin watched Jasmin's expression for any flicker of surprise. There was none. She merely absorbed the instruction.
Henry, however, was not amused. He let out a small, sarcastic giggle that sounded abrasive against the hushed backdrop of the ballroom.
"Wonderful," Henry drawled, adjusting his necktie. "I prefer, however, I would like to hire a male professional bodyguard than this one. Someone... more robust."
Jasmin turned her head slowly toward Henry. Her eyes, the color of wet slate, fixed upon him with an intensity that seemed to peel back the layers of his tailored suit.
"Why?" Jasmin asked, her voice dangerously quiet. "Do you think a woman is weak and I can't protect you?"
Henry scoffed, crossing his arms. "Women are not capable of that kind of role. Not reliably. It requires brute force, not... finesse."
"Well," Jasmin countered, taking a single, slow step closer, forcing Henry to hold his ground purely on ego, "men's ego can't deny when a woman knows how to say no, especially when that 'no' is backed by skill, not just muscle."
Henry sighed loudly, shaking his head with blatant disappointment. "I can't deal with a bodyguard who's a feminist, Florentin. This is unprofessional."
"It's too early to judge on how Jasmin will handle you both," Florentin assured, placing a calming hand on Henry's shoulder while throwing a warning glance at Jasmin. He couldn't afford a scene tonight. "I can assure you that she can protect you at all costs. She is the best, Henry, male or female."
Davina, seeing her opportunity, interrupted the escalating spat. She leaned toward Florentin, lowering her voice conspiratorially, yet loud enough for the newly assigned bodyguard to hear.
"Florentin, you can trust me on this. While you can inspect and check our other business interests, let me handle this company. I can manage this for a while while you're gone. This needs a new direction, and the board is waiting."
Florentin froze. Davina had moved faster than expected—she was already implying his departure, his retirement, his absence.
Jasmin, overhearing the casual seizure of power, finally showed an expression other than cold vigilance. Her lips curled into a thin, predatory smile that was certainly not a promise of protection for the Meyers.
"Heck no," Jasmin declared, her voice cutting through the elegant murmurs of the gala like shattering glass. Every head in the immediate vicinity turned, including every senior executive Florentin had gathered.
Jasmin's glare was leveled not at Henry, but at Davina—a declaration of war between two women staking their claim to a vast empire.
"I dare you, Florentin, that this company belongs to me!" she asserted, the truth of her personal loyalty and hidden role finally laid bare, leaving Davina stunned and utterly bothered by the revelation that the "bodyguard" was, in fact, the actual rival for the throne.
Florentin's jaw worked, but no sound emerged. The sheer audacity of the scene unfolding before him was staggering. He had expected a tense reunion, perhaps some awkward pleasantries, but this... this was a full-blown, impromptu corporate power struggle erupting in his own living room.
His carefully constructed calm shattered, replaced by a disbelieving bewilderment. He glanced between Davina, his sister, rigid with indignation, and Jasmin, whose defiance crackled like static electricity. He needed to regain control, to steer this runaway train back onto a semblance of civility. His gaze landed on Jasmin, and he forced himself to breathe, to marshal his thoughts.
"Jasmin, please," Florentin began, his voice strained, "behave nicely to her. You can't act like that to my sister." He tried to inject a tone of gentle authority, but it was drowned out by the simmering tension.
Jasmin let out a loud, exasperated sigh that felt disproportionately large for the spacious room. Her eyes narrowed, fixed on Davina with an intensity that bordered on theatrical. "I don't care if she wants to be a bratty girl," she declared, her voice carrying a sharp edge, "but owning this company is absolutely trash. Janina deserves to own this. She works hard in this company while you have everything in this fancy life, Meyer."
The accusation landed like a verbal grenade. Davina, who had been steadily losing ground in her battle to maintain composure, found her own fury ignited. Her chin shot up, her eyes flashing. "Huh! This company belongs to my family, not to someone who can mess with it!" she retorted, her voice ringing with a formidable authority that Florentin knew all too well. Henry, ever the silent observer, stood stoically by, his hands clasped behind his back, unable to intervene in his bossy wife's escalating conflict.
Caught in the crossfire, Andy, who had been observing the proceedings with a mixture of confusion and morbid fascination, finally piped up. "Anyway, who's Janina?" he wondered aloud, his question a small ripple in the turbulent waters of the room.
Jasmin's response was immediate and dripping with implication, aimed squarely at Davina. "My best friend!" she declared, as if daring Davina to dispute it. The words hung in the air, a clear declaration of loyalty that simultaneously insulted Davina.
Davina, however, seemed to find the entire situation absurd. A wry, almost mocking smile played on her lips. She tilted her head, her gaze tracing Jasmin's defiant stance. "Huh? Seriously? You think I will trust you to be my bodyguard," she asked, her tone laced with disbelief and a thinly veiled challenge. The idea of Jasmin, who was currently challenging her very right to her inheritance, protecting her seemed utterly preposterous.
Jasmin's challenge was met with a bold, almost reckless proposition. Her chest puffed out slightly, a flicker of fierce determination in her eyes. "Why can't you handle me?" she shot back, the question a direct taunt. "I dare to challenge you. At least a month to be your bodyguard, to show you how good I am. Then, if Florentin is impressed by my performance, and he reads your personal reviews of me, I will give this company to Janina's family. Period!"
The audacious offer hung in the air, a high-stakes gamble. Davina, momentarily stunned by the sheer nerve of Jasmin's proposal, processed the information. A month. A month of being shadowed by this... this upstart. A month to prove herself, to expose Jasmin's incompetence, or perhaps, to be exposed herself.
A slow smile began to spread across Davina's face, a dangerous glint entering her eyes. This was no longer just about a company; this was a personal test of strength, a battle of wills. She straightened her shoulders, her voice laced with a challenging confidence. "Fine," she said, the word delivered with a decisive finality. "A month. Challenging myself won't be easy for you, Jasmin. It's a deal." The words sealed their fate, and Florentin could only watch, his initial disbelief now tinged with a profound sense of unease, wondering just what kind of volatile storm he had invited into his life.
The air in the private dining room, usually hushed with reverence, crackled with a different kind of energy tonight. Not celebratory, but taut, like a violin string stretched to its breaking point. Florentin, ever the orchestrator of appearances, clapped his hands sharply. "Waiter!"
A young man, poised and efficient, materialized at their side, swiftly distributing flutes of chilled champagne. Each glass, sparkling under the soft chandeliers, became a temporary truce in the unspoken war simmering beneath the surface.
Henry, the family's patriarch, raised his glass first, his voice booming with practiced authority, though a tremor of unease was barely perceptible around his eyes. "To our future, our family, and our money."
The clink of crystal echoed through the room as everyone, in unison, clicked their glasses and drank, the effervescence a fleeting distraction from the bitter undertones. Jasmin, however, didn't quite join the collective. She took a deliberate sip, her eyes fixing on Davina across the polished table. A smile, as sharp and cold as the champagne itself, pulled at her lips, but it never quite reached her eyes. Davina, aware of the gaze, returned a strained, brittle smile of her own, the unspoken animosity a palpable hum between them.
Jasmin lowered her glass, the fake smile still plastered on. "Why don't we dance and enjoy this party before I do the work?" Her tone was laced with a sarcasm that stung, implying she alone was capable or burdened.
Davina, her jaw tightening, shook her head almost imperceptibly. "No need, I'm not a good dancer." The refusal was curt, a dismissal.
From the end of the table, Andy, slumped in her chair, pushed a hand through her perfectly styled hair. "Instead of hearing this nonsense family business, is there any good news other than this?" Her voice was laced with an almost profound boredom, a jaded ennui that grated on everyone.
Jasmin's smirk widened, her eyes still locked on Davina. "Ask your little bratty mom."
The words hung in the air, a poisoned dart. Davina gasped, her face flushing crimson, and she pushed back from the table, a furious glint in her eyes as she started to rise, clearly intending to confront Jasmin head-on. But Henry was quicker. He laid a firm, restraining hand on her arm, his grip surprisingly strong.
"I think we should focus on the deal of this business then, that's what she meant," Henry interjected, his voice firm, attempting to reassert control over the spiraling conversation. He shot Jasmin a warning glance, a silent plea to rein in her venom, knowing full well that tonight's fragile peace hinged entirely on the business agreement they were about to discuss, an agreement far too important to be derailed by old family feuds.