At the Gayle mansion, everyone wore black — the color of mourning. Their eyes were tense, their nerves frayed by the uncertainty of what lay ahead. Whispers filled the halls, each one carrying quiet fear about the unknown future.
The car pulled into the gate, and Jays stepped out hurriedly, weaving through the crowd toward the mourning hall, where her father lay — ready to be taken to the church for his final prayer before being laid to rest.
The heavy doors of the mourning hall stood open, but to Jays, it felt like crossing a threshold into a world she wasn't ready to face.
Her steps slowed. The murmur of voices around her faded, swallowed by the deafening thud of her heartbeat. Her fingers trembled at her sides, clenched tight as if holding herself together by force.
And then she saw him.
There, surrounded by flowers and silence, her father lay — too still, too quiet.
Her knees felt weak, but she didn't fall. She couldn't. Too many eyes were watching. Too many people needed her to be strong — again.
But inside, she was breaking.
She stood there frozen, the storm locked inside her chest.
After what felt like ages staring at her now peacefully sleeping father, Papa stepped beside her. Russel Rodriguez had once been a man feared by all—strong, commanding, larger than life. But through everything, he had remained by Jay's side, guiding her, teaching her, never faltering. He had been there through every up and down of her life.
But time had taken its toll. Age had worn him down, leaving him fragile, his once-powerful frame now confined to a wheelchair.
Jays "Your dad had a cardiac arrest this morning. It— it happened so fast. He was gone in five minutes…"
For a moment, Jay said nothing. Her eyes welled up, but she didn't cry. Instead, she let out a soft, shaky breath—a sigh of relief.
"At least he didn't suffer," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Russel didn't know what to say at this point. The words just wouldn't come. His heart was a storm—grief crashing into despair, despair giving way to anger, and anger folding back into the ache of loss.
But as he looked at Jays—still standing, still trying to be brave—he knew he couldn't fall apart. Not now.
She needed him to be strong.
So he took a slow breath and said the only thing he could manage:
"We'll get through this. Together."
The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and Victor stepped inside, his presence as steady and grounded as ever. Dressed in his usual dark suit, he moved with quiet purpose, his eyes scanning the room before settling on Jays.
He had been by her side for the last seven years—first as her assistant, then gradually becoming her protector, her shield, especially after Papa began to fall ill. With Russel growing more fragile by the day, it was Victor who stepped in, taking on the weight of responsibilities.
The priest just called, he said everything's been arranged. They're waiting for us at the church whenever you're ready.
Jays looked at her father one last time, his face calm in rest, and reached for Russel's hand.
"We should go," she whispered.
Russel gave a slow nod, swallowing hard.