Episode 4: The Unspoken Truth
The air outside the car was cooler than Jasmine expected, brushing against her skin with a sudden sharpness as she stepped out. Her heels clicked softly against the pavement, but the silence between her and Callum was louder than anything.
He didn't say a word. Just walked ahead with measured steps, his shoulders straight, his posture as unshakable as ever.
Jasmine followed, heart racing, unsure of what she was walking into. They were in a part of the city she didn't recognize—quiet, tucked away, the skyline distant behind them. She expected questions. Answers. But all she had was this tense silence and the cryptic message still sitting on her phone.
Callum finally stopped beside a sleek black door built into the side of a gray, modern building. No signs. No logos. Just polished stone and dark glass. He scanned a card, and the door clicked open.
"This way," he said without looking back.
Inside was nothing like the cold exterior. The hallway was softly lit with recessed lights and smelled faintly of leather and expensive cologne. Jasmine's eyes swept over the surroundings—high-end, private. It looked more like a private lounge than an office.
"Where are we?" she asked, her voice low.
Callum turned slightly. "Somewhere no one will interrupt us."
That answer didn't help her nerves.
He pushed open a dark wooden door at the end of the hall and gestured for her to enter. She hesitated before stepping inside.
The room was tastefully furnished. A few velvet armchairs, a glass table, a bar in the corner. No desk. No paperwork. Just a man standing in the middle of the space, staring at her like she was the one being examined.
Jasmine crossed her arms. "Is this some kind of test?"
"No," Callum said. "It's a conversation. One that can't happen in the office."
She blinked, unsure what to make of his tone. It wasn't cold, not exactly—but it wasn't warm either. Somewhere in between. Guarded.
"Alright," she said, steeling herself. "So talk."
Callum walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink, something dark that swirled in the glass as he lifted it to his lips. He didn't offer her one. Instead, he leaned back against the counter and studied her with unsettling intensity.
"You're not like the others," he said after a moment.
Jasmine arched a brow. "The others?"
"My previous assistants," he clarified. "They kept their heads down. Followed orders. Didn't question what they saw."
"And I do?"
"You will."
She let out a breath. "Is this about the messages? Because if you think I'm behind them—"
"I know you're not," he cut in, surprising her. "But you're curious. And curiosity, Miss Hart, is a dangerous thing."
Jasmine took a step forward. "Then maybe you should stop being so mysterious."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face—barely visible, but it was there.
"I brought you here because I need to be clear about something," he said. "This job… working with me, it's not simple. There are things you will see, hear, maybe even get caught up in. Things that don't come with explanations."
Jasmine felt her stomach knot, but she didn't back down. "Then explain now."
Callum set the glass down and walked toward her. He stopped just close enough for her to catch the sharpness in his cologne. His voice dropped.
"You're stepping into a world that isn't black and white. If you stay, you'll have to learn to live in the grey."
The words hung heavy in the air.
She looked up at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "And if I don't stay?"
Callum held her gaze for a long moment before answering. "Then I'll find someone else. But I'd prefer not to."
Jasmine swallowed the lump in her throat. Everything about this was strange. Intense. But for reasons she couldn't quite name, she didn't want to leave. Something about him—his honesty, even when it was shadowed in warning—kept her rooted.
"I'll stay," she said finally. "But only if you stop talking in riddles."
Callum smiled—an actual, real smile. It was brief, almost reluctant. "Fair enough."
He turned, walking back toward the bar, and Jasmine exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm in her chest. That's when she noticed a small picture frame sitting on a shelf in the corner.
It was the only personal item in the entire room.
She moved closer, curiosity getting the better of her. The photo inside showed Callum with a woman—beautiful, elegant, with hauntingly familiar eyes.
Callum's voice came from behind her. "She's dead."
Jasmine turned, startled.
"My sister," he added. "She died five years ago. Wrong place. Wrong time."
There was something raw in his voice now. Something real. She hadn't expected him to share that. He didn't strike her as someone who opened up easily—if at all.
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
Callum nodded once. "So am I."
Silence stretched between them again, but this time, it wasn't cold. Just heavy with things unsaid.
"I'm not trying to scare you away," he said after a moment. "But I need you to understand what this job really is. You're not just my assistant anymore. You're part of something bigger."
"Bigger, how?"
He didn't answer. Just looked at her with that same unreadable expression.
"You'll find out soon enough," he said, echoing his words from earlier.
Jasmine gave a half-laugh, dry and cautious. "You really don't like straightforward answers, do you?"
"I like control," he said simply.
And somehow, that explained everything and nothing at all.
As Callum walked over to the window, his back turned, Jasmine stared at the photo of his sister once more. Something deep inside her told her this job was only the beginning of a story far more complex than she had signed up for.
And as much as she wanted to walk away…
She wasn't sure she could.