Jay's POV – Night
The sky had long turned dark, the kind that wrapped around the world and made everything feel quieter… heavier.
I sat on the small sofa near the balcony doors of my room, legs pulled to my chest, the blanket draped loosely around me. My mind was loud—too loud.
Every word he'd said replayed again and again, like a wound being pressed over and over.
His mother.His father.The inheritance.
Me.
His brothers.The choices.The pain.The breaking.
All of it.
And still—beneath the chaos—there was him.
Keifer.
On his knees.
Crying.
I pressed the heel of my hand to my chest, trying to quiet the ache that hadn't stopped since the moment he looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him alive.
I'd held him earlier.
But now…
Now I didn't even know how to breathe.
Hours passed.
Or maybe minutes.
Time blurred into something useless.
I stood to close the balcony curtains, thinking maybe if I shut out the night, my thoughts would settle—
But I froze.
Because down on the beach…
Under the dim gold glow of the villa lights spilling onto the sand…
I saw him.
Keifer.
His figure was unmistakable—broad shoulders, slow steps, the way his hair fell messily over his forehead.
He wasn't wearing a jacket.
Just a white shirt and black pants, both wrinkled like he'd been running his hands through them too many times.
His left hand hung by his side.
His right hand…
Held a bottle.
A wine bottle.
I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.
"Keifer…" I whispered even though he couldn't hear me.
He walked along the shoreline, the waves brushing over his shoes.
He wasn't drunk—at least not yet.
His steps were too controlled, too deliberate.
But he wasn't okay either.
His posture said everything—
Head lowered.
Shoulders heavy.
A man carrying his own ghosts so deep they were bending his spine.
And the bottle…
He kept lifting it, staring at it like it was both a friend and a threat.
My breath hitched when he swayed slightly.
Not even a fall—just the kind of half-step someone takes when their emotions hit too hard.
But to me, it felt like watching him collapse all over again.
Before I knew it, my hand was gripping the balcony railing.
Tight.
Too tight.
"Don't…" I whispered, voice trembling, "Don't do something stupid."
He reached the large rock formation near the water and stopped.
Just stood there.
Alone.
Barefoot in the ocean foam.
Staring at the bottle like he wanted to throw it…
Or drink until it erased him.
A sharp, terrifying panic shot through me.
"No—no—no—" I breathed as my knees went weak.
I stepped back too fast.
My ankle twisted.
I almost fell, grabbing the doorframe at the last second.
The blanket slipped off my shoulders and pooled on the floor.
My heart hammered so violently I felt sick.
I didn't think.
I didn't breathe.
I just moved.
Ran out of my room.
Barefoot.
Shaking.
Holding onto the railing so I wouldn't collapse again.
Because whatever was happening to him out there—
I couldn't let him drown in it.
Not tonight.
Not after everything he'd confessed.
Not after he'd broken down at my feet.
Not after he'd looked at me like I was the only thing he had left.
And definitely not with a bottle in his hand.
Something inside me snapped into place.
Fear.
Anger.
Worry.
All tangled into one sharp, urgent instinct.
Go to him.
Before he shattered in a way no one could put back together.
Before he slipped too far under the weight he'd carried alone for too long.
Before he made himself disappear in the only way he knew how—quietly, painfully, without asking for help.
I bolted down the stairs.
Toward him.
Toward the beach.
Toward the boy who had finally broken…
And who I wasn't sure I could watch break again.
Cold sand met my feet the second I stepped off the wooden deck.
I didn't stop.
Didn't slow down.
The ocean wind slapped against my face, sharp and salty, but it only made the panic sharper. Every step felt heavier, like the air was trying to hold me back.
Keifer was still there—
Standing by the rock, the waves hitting his shins, the bottle dangling from his fingers like he didn't even know he was holding it anymore.
"Keifer!"
My voice caught in my throat, coming out softer, shakier than I wanted.
He didn't turn.
I got closer, breathing hard—half from running, half from fear.
"Keifer," I said again, louder this time.
He stiffened.
Just slightly.
But it was enough.
Slowly, painfully slow, he turned his head toward me.
His eyes were dark even in the low light.
Not angry.
Not drunk.
Just… lost.
So heartbreakingly lost.
"Jay?"
His voice was rough—raw in a way that sliced right through me.
I swallowed. "What are you doing out here?"
He blinked at me like the question didn't make sense.
Then he looked at the bottle in his hand as if seeing it for the first time.
"Oh."
His tone was flat, empty.
"I… I don't know."
That scared me more than anything.
I reached him fully, close enough to see the redness around his eyes, the slight tremble in his jaw.
"Give me the bottle," I said quietly.
He didn't move.
His gaze stayed on the waves, like they were whispering something he didn't want to hear.
"I'm not drunk," he murmured.
"That's not the point."
He swallowed hard and finally looked at me.
God.
I almost stepped back because the pain in his eyes was so naked it felt like staring at a wound.
"I wasn't going to drink it," he whispered.
"I just… didn't want to be inside anymore."
The wind blew his hair across his forehead.
He looked tired.
Not physically.
Soul-tired.
"Keifer," I breathed, softer now, "come back inside."
He shook his head immediately.
"I can't."
"Why?"
His chest rose, fell—too sharp, too uneven.
"Because if I walk back into that house knowing you're upstairs… and not knowing whether you hate me or not… I'll go insane."
My stomach twisted.
He ran a hand through his hair, gripping the strands like he needed the pain.
"I don't know what to do," he said, voice cracking.
"I don't know how to fix what I broke. I don't know how to look at you without feeling—"
He stopped.
The bottle slipped from his fingers.
It hit the sand with a muted thud.
I flinched at the sound.
He didn't.
His hands trembled at his sides, fingers curling helplessly.
"I don't know how to be what you need," he whispered.
"I don't know how to undo the peace, the love,I stole from you. I don't—"
"Keifer."
I took a step toward him.
He took a step back.
My heart dropped.
"Don't," he whispered, shaking his head.
"I can't—Jay, if you touch me right now I'll break again."
His voice wavered on the last word.
I stared at him—
At the boy who used to be unshakeable.
Untouchable.
Cold.
Sharp.
In control.
Now he looked like someone standing on the edge of something dark.
He rubbed his face with shaky hands.
"Everything hurts. Everything I said… everything I did… it's all crashing down and I don't know where to put it."
A wave hit his legs, soaking his pants.
He didn't react.
I stepped closer, ignoring the cold water seeping into my own clothes.
"Keifer," I murmured softly, "look at me."
Slowly
slowly
slowly
he did.
His eyes shimmered in the moonlight, red and glassy.
And I felt my breath hitch.
He looked destroyed.
Not angry.
Not guilty.
Not defensive.
Destroyed.
"I didn't come out here to disappear," he whispered.
"I came out here because I'm terrified of facing you."
Everything in me softened and broke at the same time.
I lifted my hand, hesitated for half a second, then gently touched his face.
He inhaled sharply.
Like the contact burned.
But he didn't pull away.
He leaned into it.
Just an inch.
But enough.
"Come inside," I whispered.
"You're freezing."
He closed his eyes for a moment—like he was trying to keep himself together.
When he opened them, his voice was barely audible.
"Will you stay? Just… tonight. Not to forgive me. Not to forget. Just… so I'm not alone with this."
I swallowed hard.
My throat felt tight.
My heart felt bruised.
My hands were shaking.
But I nodded.
"I'm not going anywhere."
His breath stuttered.
Not a sob.
Not a cry.
Just… relief.
Small.
Quiet.
Frighteningly fragile.
He reached down, picked up the bottle, and set it upright in the sand—almost like he didn't want to abandon it, but didn't want to use it either.
Then—
Very carefully—
Like approaching a wounded animal—
He took my hand.
His palm was cold.
His fingers trembling.
But he held on.
And together,Slowly, silently—
We walked back toward the villa...
Jay's POV – CONTINUATION
The room was dim, lit only by the soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp.
The curtains were half-open, letting the moon spill silver light across the sheets.
Keifer walked in first—slow, unsteady, like every step was heavier than the last.
I followed behind him, my hand still wrapped in his until he let go at the edge of the bed.
He didn't look at me while sitting down.
Just lowered himself onto the mattress like his bones were made of exhaustion.
He laid back, staring at the ceiling, chest rising and falling too fast.
I stepped forward and gently touched his shoulder.
"Lie down properly," I whispered. "You're exhausted."
He swallowed and shifted until he was settled, head sinking into the pillow.
His lashes looked too long, too soft against the skin that was still blotchy from earlier tears.
I pulled the blanket up slightly.
Then I straightened, taking a step back.
"I'll let you sleep," I murmured.
I turned toward the door—
"Jay."
The word wasn't loud.
Wasn't commanding.
Wasn't anything like the Keifer Watson everyone else knew.
It was small.
Fragile.
Almost… broken.
I froze.
His eyes were open, looking at me like he was terrified I'd disappear if he blinked.
"Stay."
One word.
Soft.
Bare.
Stripped of pride and ego and walls.
I swallowed.
"Keifer—"
"Just tonight," he whispered, sitting up on his elbows slightly.
"I'm not… asking for anything else. I just… I can't—"
His voice cracked.
"I don't want to be alone with everything I told you."
His fingers twisted in the blanket, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
"I won't touch you," he added quickly, shaking his head.
"I won't do anything stupid. I just—"
He inhaled sharply, chest trembling.
"I need you here. Even if you're on the other side of the bed. Even if you don't say a word."
My heart clenched.
He looked so… human like this.
Not the brooding, unshakeable Watson heir.
But a boy who lost his mother.
A boy who was forced to choose.
A boy who thought choosing wrong meant losing me forever.
I stepped back toward the bed.
His shoulders eased—barely—but I saw it.
I sat on the far edge, by the foot, putting distance between us.
His breathing softened.
A long moment passed.
Then he whispered, voice barely audible—
"Thank you."
I didn't answer.
I just stayed.
The room was quiet—Except for the waves outside and Keifer's slow, uneven breaths
finally beginning to settle.
And even though I stayed on the far end of the mattress—
I didn't leave.Not tonight.
And somehow… That was enough for him and somehow it made me feel I don't at peace?...