23

Lashes were peeled off and tossed onto counters. Wigs placed carefully on mannequin heads. Corsets slipped off sweaty skin and were replaced with oversized hoodies and drawstring sweatpants. The smell of sweat, hairspray, and makeup remover hung in the room like burnt incense after ritual sacrifice.

Jasmine sat silently at her old vanity, hoodie pulled low over her damp curls, legs tucked beneath her in grey sweatpants. She wiped under her eyes slowly with a cleansing cloth, melting down her stage persona into the bare-skin truth. Her brown skin gleamed under the fluorescents—clean, clear, and calm. The faded rose sticker still clung to the corner of her mirror, faded but unyielding.

She hadn't peeled it off. Not even when she vanished.

April, rubbing lotion into her shins, glanced up and smirked. "Still got it," she said. "Didn't miss a beat."

Xiomara leaned by the lockers with a protein bar. "Girl came back from the dead and danced like the devil was paying rent on her hips."

Valentina flopped into a nearby swivel chair, grinning. "I thought JK had her locked in a basement or buried under his wine cellar."

"I expected her to walk in bald with one tooth left," Leslie said, snorting as she tried to get a stain out of her bra. "Instead we got a second coming."

Jasmine rubbed gently at her cheek, unmoved. "I moisturized in captivity."

Scattered laughter. The kind that didn't ask questions too loudly.

Then Minnie sat beside her, face quiet, guilt written all over it. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "That night... we didn't fight for you. We didn't say anything. We just let them take you."

Jasmine paused mid-wipe and looked at Minnie through the mirror. "Girl, please. You were crying harder than I was."

Minnie blinked, lips parting.

"If I'd slipped on your tears that night, I'd have died from a concussion before JK even got to me," Jasmine added, tone breezy.

The group chuckled again. The air eased just a little.

But Minnie still looked wrecked.

Leslie, always too curious, leaned forward. "So what's the deal, Jas? You back full-time or what?"

Xiomara's voice cut clean across the room. "Yeah, seriously—what's the real way you 'pay back' a mafia boss?"

A beat of silence.

Jasmine blinked once, internally clicking into Seokjin's script.

She turned in her seat, tone easy. "I'm a private instructor now. They're training a bunch of new girls to work in Bangtan-owned clubs. Jungkook figured—better to put me to use than let all this talent rot."

"Wait—you're teaching stripping?" Leslie asked, brow lifted.

"Confidence, seduction, stage presence." Jasmine shrugged. "RoseBlood Academy. Enrollment's limited."

Valentina whistled. "From hostage to headmistress."

April grinned. "Sounds like tenure to me."

Xiomara didn't buy it. "And he put you back here just to help you pay off your debt faster?"

Jasmine met her gaze evenly. "Apparently four months was long enough to remind him what I'm worth."

But not everyone bought it.

A voice came from the back, sharp and familiar.

"Bullshit."

Kelsey.