"Can you believe it? He's engaged! Engaged!" Jasmine flared, turning red.

"How scandalous! That hot steamin' Italian is engaged? Why didn't you wake me up after you escaped him! Information like this can't wait!" Sammy exclaims in displeasure.

Jasmine aggressively pushed aside a hanging evening dress.

It was the next day after her little run-in with Cristiano in the elevator. They were in the penthouse. The hanging clothing rail of designer ready-to-wear dresses arrived that morning for her try on. One of the boutiques stylists stood on the other side of the rack trying to put together different dresses for her to try on. Between looking for a sweeping, couture look for the dinner party of a world famous chef she was planning to attend in two days, Jasmine filled Sammy in on the details of the night.

Jasmine shook her head in disappointment. "Yes, after everything I just said to you about Zayn, Cristiano's sister and supposed pregnancy, you only heard he's engaged!"

Sammy could only shrug. "Girl, I mean, that's scandal and all but that hot ass Italian has my undivided attention and any gossip about him is juicer."

"To top it all off he insisted I forgive him! Can you believe it? Me, forgive someone like him," Jasmine snaps her fingers, "Just forgive and forget all the dirt that came out of his mouth and how he made me feel like. . .like. . . Oh I can't even find a word that best describes how he made me feel!" She says in exasperation.

After she left Cristiano standing in the elevator she was fuming with so much anger she couldn't sleep and ended up at the hotel gym punching a heavy weight bag until her arms ached. Unfortunately letting off the pent off steam didn't help much. She was still pissed.

It was quiet except for the television running softly in the background.

She stops rummaging through the rack and glances over her shoulder. Sammy lounged with a robe, a towel wrapped around his head, face mask and a magazine in his hands looking throughly at home in the living room of the penthouse suite. Dresses were draped over chairs and shoes were sprawled on the floor. It looked like a storm of clothes and shoes exploded all around them and she still didn't find anything she liked.

"Like a low class slut?" Sammy offered.

Jasmine yearned to rip off his ridiculous looking turban towel off his head and choke him with it.

"Listen, girl. Forgetting and forgiving isn't for people like us. It's reserved for Jesus."

"What do you mean?"

Sammy sets the magazine on his crossed legs and his face surfaced covered in a green goop he called his 'bitch mix'–a secret recipe he used for beautiful, glowing skin. Jasmine didn't even want to know what the ingredients involved. The color itself made her want to vomit not to mention the smell. The stench reminded her of rotting fruit.

He reaches for his drink beside the table, without looking, and takes a sip.

"What kind of weak ass martini is this?" He asked, coughing and scrunching his face in disgust placing the glass back on the table and pushing it away with a finger as far as it would go as though it were poison.

"It's water, Sammy." She points out, shaking her head.

"Sweet Jesus! Water?" He had the audacity to shudder. "I asked for a martini. Not water."

"It's morning. No martinis for you." She scolded.

Monica, the stylist, gives her an odd look and resumes setting up a row of dresses.

After composing himself he turned his attention back to her. "Anyway back to the subject. I mean people like us that give a damn too much. We give so many fucks that we prostitutes of feelings. So we don't F.F.–forgive and forget, we R.I.P."

Jasmine felt lost and confused.

"R.I.P. . . ?" She asked.

Her head was such a jumbled mess she couldn't keep up with what he was saying. Sammy worked on a different wavelength than all the rest of human kind.

"Yes, B." He replies, shortening the word Bitch, with B.

Jasmine held back the urge to grab a nearby shoe and throw it at him.

"REVENGE IS POWER. We get back at Gaston by making him jealous. We're going to show him that you know you're worth it, girlfriend. That you are a once in a lifetime kind of woman. After we're done, he's gonna want you so bad, that you'll be the only thing keeping him alive."

For the first time that day, a smirk marred her perfectly shaped lips. Especially liking the label he gave Cristiano–Gaston, the villain in Beauty and the Beast.

"So why Gaston? Why not Aladdin?" She asks, referring to the Disney movie since her name matched Princess Jasmine's.

Sammy looked at her as if she were crazy.

"He ain't no pauper!" He remarked. "He's too hot and besides Gaston is a sick, stuck up motherfücker. Fits the description, if you ask me. So why are you searching for a dress again?"

"To be honest, I don't want to attend–not my type of party, the host is a world renowned chef I know personally who I think is trying to gain more business and popularity. I usually attend these things with Zayn but he's been so busy lately with the new project. It's uncomfortable to go alone surrounded by new people. But I must, or offend a lot of business acquaintances."

"Sounds booooring!" Sammy sings, snatching the magazine again.

"Tell me about it." She says, brushing a stray stand from her face.

Monica approaches her with a black sequin gown and pressed it against her body. Jasmine turns fully to face the full length mirror that was moved from her bedroom and inspected the dress against her body when she suddenly got an idea. "Why don't you come with me instead?" She suggests, watching him in the reflection of the mirror. "The food is guaranteed to be unforgettable, you know."

"Moi?" He asks lowering the magazine, a look of surprise worked its way across Sammy's face. "Uh-uh honey, I don't do little dinners." A sour expression overrides his surprise. "I like real parties, where everybody's dancing on tables and stripping like hoe's with a full working bar with a hot as sin man shakin' up martinis for me all night long."

"Would you please reconsider? I would hate going alone." Jasmine pleaded, walking to the dressing screen and stripping down to try the first of many gowns. "Besides you haven't left the hotel since the little incident in Hyde Park, the scenery will do you some good."

"Girl, that day scarred me for life. Besides, with Princess Coco keeping me company, I have enough to deal with potting training her little butt." Sammy lets out a loud whistle, summoning his new Chiwawa.

The small white dog barks and comes strutting into the living room, waging its little cute tail. With a diamond collar and quirky energetic personality she looked like royalty itself dressed in a pink faux fur dress. Obediently she rushes to Sammy's side, sits and waits with bright eyes as he places a dish of doggie treats at her feet.

"Aren't you the prettiest thing." He coos, patting her head as she attacks one of her treats.

"You can't live in the hotel forever, you know." Jasmine remarked, peeking over the screen and watching the dog with narrowed eyes.

Sammy gifted himself with an early birthday present–the Chiwawa. She made her debut just a few short days ago perched like royalty in her own little doggie stroller. The dog was cute but a handful. Princess Coco loved attacking her pink fluffy slippers and practically adopted the pair as a chewing toy much to Jasmine's irritation.

Sammy's phone blasts through the air. Jasmine pulls the sleeves of the dress over her shoulders as Monica stands behind her zipping her up. Expecting him to answer he lets the music of his ring tone continue on until the call ends and goes to voicemail. She recognizes the song–My humps, by The Black Eyed Peas.

Whatcha gonna do with all that junk

All that junk inside your trunk

I'ma get get get you drunk

Get you love drunk off my hump

My hump my hump my hump my hump my hump

My hump my hump my hump my lovely little lumps

Check it out...

Jasmine steps out from behind the screen.

"Don't ya just love the ringtone? I changed it after I met that little shrimp-in-training." Sammy reaches for his phone.

"Humphrey?" She guessed, smoothing out the length over her thighs and standing in front of the mirror. "You need to stop harassing him. He's been avoiding this entire floor. I've seen less and less of him because of you when he needs to complete tasks that I ask of him. The way you stare him down and call him Hump all the time–"

"He asks for it." Sammy interrupts, never looking up from scrolling through his phone. "Just listen to his name! What the hell kind of parents name their kid Hump? I mean please people, we're in the twenty-first century!"

"The boy is kind and does his best. You shouldn't judge him because of his name, Sammy. No child has the option to choose their parents. Give him a break and learn to be kind."

"If period cramps came in human form, they'd look like my man, Hump."

"You are such a bully!" She reprimanded.

"His face is the reason they put directions on condom wrappers." He muttered behind the magazine, but Jasmine heard him all too well and so did Monica who let out a giggle. She gave her a slicing look which instantly quieted the woman.

Jasmine happens to glance at the television, the three o'clock news had just started.

"Sammy would you raise the volume?" She asks with a nod of her head in the direction of the 70 inch flat screen held against the wall flanked by bookcases. "The news just started."

"Ugggh, I hate watching the news." He complained but obliged with her request, reaching for the remote on the coffee table.

"Good afternoon. We have breaking news. The serial killer known as the Casanova Killer has struck again. . . ."

Monica laid a gown she was carrying over her arm and stopped to listen to the newscaster. "Have you heard of the killings happening in London?"

Jasmine frowned and stopped beside her watching the screen with mounting interest. "No, I haven't. What killings?" She had been so wrapped up in her dilemma, she had little to no time to think or do anything else.

"A murderer is on the loose around town killing innocent women in the dark and it looks like he struck again." Indicating the latest story.

The news story even caught Sammy's attention who laid down the magazine he was reading over his legs, turning his head to listen.

". . . He's killed a total of three woman occurring within the last three months. The latest victim was 29 year old Elizabeth Williams who was last seen Wednesday night. According to police, several employees claimed she waited for a supposed man who she met on a dating site. After the ladies realize they'd been stood up, they leave the restaurant where the killer strikes, luring these woman to their deaths, stabbing them multiple times with a knife and sexually assaulting their corpses. Authorities have learned his patterns of making arrangements to meet his victims at a restaurant and failing to make an appearance.

The investigation into the deaths is ongoing. Autopsy results are not yet complete and when autopsy results will be complete is not known at this time. Investigators remain committed to finding answers. The motives behind these murders are still unknown.

A pattern has been found that all the victims share similar profiles– light brown hair, fair skin, tall, and slender. Several witnesses have come forward providing police with a vague description of a man hovering around the restaurants just before the murders occurred. He was described as a slim middle-aged male with light hair. It's believed he wore sunglasses, black gloves, dressed entirely in black and matching dark hat to conceal his identity. A vague sketch of the man has been released. Authorities warn the public to be on high alert. If anyone has any information concerning these horrendous crimes, you are urged to call police."

"How horrible." Jamsine said after the news anchor moved on to another story.

"Sick freak!" Sammy exclaimed. "Who in their right ass mind would screw a dead corpse?"

"The killer is targeting a certain type of woman." Monica shivered.

"Good thing you have the blackest hair I've ever seen on a girl. Now you know he won't be slicing you to itty bitty bits." Sammy consoled returning to his magazine.

Jasmine shook her head at him. "Seriously Sammy have you no conscious? How can you be insensitive?"

"I ain't being insensitive! Who in hell would meet another person on a blind date just like that?" He says snapping his fingers. "Hell, I count my money when it come out of the ATM. Does that answer your question?"

Despite their bickering, the tragedy of the murders, and what they learned from the news anchor sends all three into a deafening silence until the doorbell of the penthouse rings. Jasmine, Sammy and Monica startle slightly and stiffen. They look at each other uneasily.

"That's why I don't watch the news." Sammy declares breaking the silence. "Makes me paranoid as fück."

Princess Coco barks lifting her head from her treats, ears perked up.

Jasmine leapt to her feet and answers the door. It was Reginald and Humphrey.

"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, Ma'am." Reginald says. "But we're here to make a delivery." He holds the door open and steps to the side. "Humphrey. . . "

Humphrey enters, bashfully, his cheeks coloring, clearing his throat. "Where would you like the flowers placed, Miss?"

Jasmine's heat stopped and the color in her cheeks ebbed. Before her was a large bouquet of red roses with the same white stationery nestled between the rich blooms. They pierced Jasmine, pinning her to the spot as they seemed to see straight into her soul. She felt so chilled to the bone, she actually shivered violently as her arm dropped limply to her side.

"Motherfücker!" Sammy exclaims from somewhere behind her. He slams the magazine on the floor and stands.

Jasmine vaguely heard Coco bark in the background as she stood there immobile merely staring at the blood red bouquet. She tried, but she couldn't break eye contact. Not a single muscle in her body could make her body move out of the way and let Humphrey pass as he blurred out of her vision.

"Jazzy!" Sammy called out to her, his footsteps quickly approaching. He grabbed Jasmine before she hit the floor. He shook her body like a rag doll. "Snap out of it!"

Jasmine blinked several times to break the trance. Her grey eyes snapped into focus again, the world lurching back into frightening focus. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until the pressure in her lungs from the build up of CO2 became increasingly painful. A harsh exhale rushed passed her pale lips as Sammy spun her around to face him.

He grabbed hold of her face and held it within his grasp. "Breathe." He told her. "Just breathe."

She gulped down another harsh breath and let it out in a hitching sob, tears spranging to her eyes. Her hand trembled as she wiped away the single tear that had slid down her cheek. The wall of resolve and determination she placed cracked down the middle.

"Place the flowers on the table, Hump." Sammy orders, gripping Jasmine by the hand and leading her like a lost child to the sofa. She allowed herself to be pulled away by him simply because she didn't know what else to do. "Monica, get her a glass of whisky! She's gonna need it." Monica obeys quickly, rushing to the crystal decanter filled with the light brown liquid and poured a splash of whisky in a small glass.

"Miss Jasmine? Whatever is the problem?" Reginald asks in concern. Coco stands erect in front of him and Humphrey as if she were ready to attack in a defensive stand barking ruff, ruff over and over again. "Should I call for a physician? Are you ill?"

"I got it from here Reggie. I'm all the doctor she needs." Sammy reassures him. "Oh, and before you go would you mind fetching me a martini?"

Reggie frowned slightly but gives a curt nod reluctantly leaving the room. Humphrey made a hasty retreat backwards no thanks to Princess Coco repeatedly barking at him and nipping his legs.

"Princess hates the smell of Windex, don't take it personally, Hump. Coco, get your cute little ass over here!" Sammy orders.

Humphrey glances in concern one last time at his employer before shutting the door softly.

"Get them away from me!" She shouted needing to get as far away from the flowers as possible. "I want them out of here, now!"

"Chill out. Let's see the message this fücker left first and than I'll get rid of them." Sammy insists, turning around once she settled and reached for the card.

Her hands were shaking, her heat pounding loudly in her ears, and her throat was so dry she could barely swallow. Monica guides the glass into her cold hands, hovering beside her in worry.

"What's wrong with her?" Monica asks Sammy as if Jasmine wasn't in earshot. The little bell on Princess Coco's collar rang with her steps. The dog nudges her nose against Jasmine's leg trying to help gain her attention.

"She has an obsessed psycho Italian after her fine ass, that's what's wrong with her." He explained focusing on the card and reading what was written.

Jasmine didn't want to hear the contents, biting her lower lip. It wasn't bad enough he materialized wherever she went but the messages and the flowers were much more traumatizing than seeing him in person. She was completely thrown off balance once again and it took an incredible amount of energy to stay strong. She put on this act as though he didn't effect her but she would be lying to herself. She was always so fearless. Now it took some flowers to intimidate her. She felt pathetic.

Just four short months ago, she had been perfectly happy twenty-three year old girl. Now she was being stalked by a man who altered her perfect secure life. Sure, she craved change, something different, a life that consisted more than just work but not this, not this big, not him. More than just taunting her with flowers, messages and spontaneous meetings was going to happen, and he was going to be the cause of it.

"Near or far, time will reveal all."

Sammy looked up and blinked as he took in Jasmine's frantic expression. She helplessly stared at him. She wanted to hide, to leave the country, ripe her hair out, scream, break something as the weight of helplessness crushing her chest.

She hated feeling this way.

He was chipping away her resolve to bits and pieces. In some corner of her mind a tiny voice had reassured he'd grow bored of his games. The part of her mind still functioning on a rational level knew not to hope. But nonetheless she hoped and now that little light of hope extinguished just as easily as a candle.