Lachlan was, objectively, a beautiful man. Sharp, sculpted features. Gold-rimmed glasses that gave him the look of a sophisticated older graduate student—the kind of man who could discuss Proust and pour a perfect Scotch in the same breath. That collegiate charm was exactly what had drawn Jasmine in, three years ago, when she'd mistaken his cool reserve for depth and his indifference for mystery.
Now, watching him from across the hospital suite she hadn't yet entered, she realized exactly how naive she'd been. Her brain must have short-circuited. That was the only explanation.
Lachlan took a long drag from his cigarette, then stubbed it out in a crystal ashtray. His brow furrowed slightly, as if he were working through a complex equation.
"Sera came to me," he said, as if that explained everything. "She begged, Jasmine. And the family was unanimous. Grandmother, Mother—everyone agreed it was the right thing to do. I couldn't say no. I didn't tell you beforehand because I knew you'd overreact. You'd make it complicated, and Sera couldn't handle any more stress. She was already showing signs of severe depression. Suicidal ideation. She needed this. All she wanted was a baby—something to live for. And what I gave her? It was nothing. A minor inconvenience. A clinical procedure."
Jasmine stared at him. "A minor inconvenience."
"That's not—" He caught himself, jaw tightening. "You're twisting my words."
"Am I?" Jasmine's voice stayed quiet. Dangerously quiet. "You donated your genetic material to your dead brother's wife without telling your own wife. You let the entire family participate in a conspiracy of silence. And you're calling it a minor inconvenience."
Lachlan's fingers drummed against the armrest. "It's not like I slept with her."
"No. You just fathered her child."
"For God's sake—" He stood abruptly, pacing toward the window. "Alastair's death destroyed Sera. She was a shell. This baby gave her back a reason to exist. Why can't you see that as a good thing?"
Jasmine said nothing. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
She wasn't speechless. She had plenty to say. She could list every betrayal, every lie, every moment she'd been made to feel like an outsider in her own marriage. But if she started now, she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop. And she needed to stay calm. Calculated. Cold.
Lachlan watched her from across the room. She was beautiful in the dim light—delicate features, eyes that held depths he'd never bothered to explore. The quiet devastation in her expression stirred something in his chest. Guilt, maybe. Or irritation. He couldn't tell the difference anymore.
His phone buzzed again. Seraphina.
He answered immediately, his voice softening into something unrecognizable. "Hey. Yeah, I'm still at the house. Be there soon. You need anything?" A pause. "Okay. Get some rest. I'll see you in an hour."
When he hung up, he spoke without looking at Jasmine. "The baby's name is Damien. Grandmother chose it. She wanted to honor Alastair, but using his name directly felt like tempting fate, so she adapted it. Damien Carlisle-Beaumont. It has a nice ring, don't you think?"
Jasmine stood. "You should hurry back. Your brother's widow and your son are waiting for you."
The words hit like a slap. Lachlan's expression darkened. "Stop calling him that."
"Calling him what?"
"My son."
"Isn't he?"
Lachlan's voice rose. "He's Alastair's son. Biologically, yes, I contributed, but that's a technicality. This is about family. About legacy. About doing what's right for people who are suffering. Can you honestly not see the difference?"
Jasmine's smile was thin and bloodless. "I'm just trying to understand the technicalities. For instance—how exactly did you make the donation? Did you go to the clinic? Did a doctor handle the transfer? I'm genuinely curious about the process."
Lachlan's composure slipped. A flicker of something—fear? guilt?—crossed his face before he locked it down. "I told you. I had samples frozen at St. Jude's. Years ago. This is a matter of medical record."
"Of course." Jasmine's voice was smooth as glass. "I wasn't implying anything else."
"You absolutely were."
"Was I?" She tilted her head, eyes wide with mock innocence. "I just asked a question. You're the one who started sweating."
Lachlan raked a hand through his hair. "There is nothing inappropriate between Sera and me. This wasn't an affair. It was a medical procedure to help a grieving widow. If you can't understand that, that's your problem."
"My problem," Jasmine echoed. "Right."
"Three years, Jasmine." His voice dropped, taking on an edge of accusation. "Three years of marriage, and you've never once tried to understand this family. To fit in. To give me a reason to—"
He stopped. The unspoken words were deafening.
To give me a reason to love you.
Jasmine had heard it before. In the silences. In the way Meredith looked at her. In the cold, transactional nature of their marriage. Three years, and her womb had remained empty. Meredith called her a barren hen behind her back. The family whispered about her failure to produce an heir. Jasmine had even gone to a fertility specialist, endured invasive tests, just to prove that her body wasn't the problem.
