KEIFER POV — THE DECISION THAT STOPPED FEELING LIKE FEAR
I wasn't in my office.
Not when Jay walked in.
I was three floors up, standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows of an unused conference cabin, phone pressed to my ear, pulse louder than the city below.
This call mattered more than any deal I'd ever closed.
"Keifer," Jashfer's voice came through first—warm, sharp, familiar in the way only parents who choose you can be. "You sound serious. Talk."
I swallowed.
"I am," I said. "This isn't business."
There was a pause.
Then Percy. Calm. Grounded. The kind of man who listened before judging.
"And this is about Jay."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," I replied quietly. "It's about marrying her."
Silence.
Not shock.
Weight.
I stared out at the skyline, six years of distance pressing against my ribs. Six years of wrong timing, wrong decisions, silence disguised as protection.
"I know I don't deserve easy permission," I continued. "I know I hurt her. I know I almost lost her. But I love her. Not recklessly. Not temporarily. I want her for life."
Another pause.
Then her dad exhaled.
"She told us everything," he said. "Every ugly part. Every good part too."
My grip tightened on the phone.
"She told us how you broke," Percy added. "And how you rebuilt yourself without asking her to carry it."
I closed my eyes.
"I would never hurt her again," I said. "Not knowingly. Not carelessly. If I do—"
"You won't get a second chance," Percy cut in evenly.
I didn't flinch. "I know."
Jashfer's voice softened—but sharpened with steel underneath.
"If you make her cry the way she cried before, I won't care how powerful you are, Keifer Watson."
I almost smiled.
"That's fair," I said.
Then Percy spoke again.
"You have our permission. But understand this—you don't marry Jay to complete her. You marry her because you're strong enough to walk beside her without trying to control the direction."
"I am," I said without hesitation. "And I will."
Reycee laughed quietly.
"She's going to destroy you in the best way."
"I'm counting on it."
The call ended.
I stayed there for a moment longer, phone still in my hand, chest tight—but not from fear.
From certainty.
For the first time in six years, the universe felt like it had stopped pulling us apart.
I turned and headed back toward my office.
Toward her.
The hallway was quiet.
Too quiet.
Something in my chest shifted before I even reached the door.
I opened it—
—and froze.
Jay was standing near my desk.
Tears streaked her face.
My drawer was closed.
Perfectly.
But I knew.
I knew she'd seen it.
The photos.
The diary.
The parts of me I never meant for her to carry.
She turned when she heard me.
Her eyes met mine.
No accusation.
No fear.
Just devastation threaded with understanding.
"Jay—" I started.
She crossed the room in three steps and wrapped her arms around me like she was afraid I'd disappear if she didn't hold on tight enough.
I stood there, stunned, before instinct kicked in and I held her back—harder than I ever had.
Her face pressed into my chest.
"I'm here," she whispered. "You don't get to be alone anymore."
My breath shattered.
I rested my forehead against her hair, eyes burning.
"I never wanted you to see that," I said hoarsely. "I never wanted you to know how bad it got."
She pulled back just enough to look at me.
"And I never wanted you to think you had to survive without me," she replied softly.
I laughed once—broken, disbelieving.
"I thought loving you meant carrying it myself."
"No," she said, touching my face gently. "Loving me means letting me stay."
I closed my eyes.
Everything I'd ever been afraid of—exposure, weakness, losing control—fell apart right there.
Not because she saw my worst.
But because she stayed anyway.
I held her tighter.
Not like I was afraid of losing her.
But like I finally believed I wouldn't.
And standing there, with her heartbeat steady against mine, the decision I'd made minutes ago stopped feeling like a risk.
It felt inevitable.
The universe had already taken six years from us.
I wasn't letting it take another second.
I didn't say it out loud yet.
But I knew.
I was going to marry her.
Not because love saved us.
But because we chose to survive long enough to find each other again....
A few days passed.
Not loud ones. Not dramatic ones.
Just the kind of days that settle into your bones quietly—meetings that ended on time, messages that didn't need decoding, mornings where I woke up without bracing myself for loss.
The kind of days that happen when something finally clicks into place.
Grace's message came in the middle of one of those calm afternoons.
Come over tonight. Bring Jay. Section E will be here.
Jay agreed before I could even ask her properly.
Of course she did.
Grace's house had always been that place—warm, lived-in, safe. The kind of place where laughter wasn't cautious and affection didn't ask permission.
When we arrived, Grazel was already halfway down the hallway, barreling toward Jay with the reckless confidence only children had.
"TITA JAY!"
Jay dropped immediately to her knees.
No hesitation. No performance.
Just instinct.
She caught Grazel mid-run, laughing as the child wrapped her arms around Jay's neck like she belonged there.
Something in my chest tightened.
Jay lifted her, spun once, laughing softly as Grazel squealed, tiny hands tangled in Jay's hair.
I leaned against the doorway without realizing I'd stopped walking.
Section E noticed.
Of course they did.
Felix nudged Cin. Cin smirked. Mayo whispered something that made Rory snort.
"She's got you bad," Kit murmured under his breath.
I didn't respond.
Because my attention was locked somewhere else entirely.
Jay sat cross-legged on the floor with Grazel tucked against her side, letting the child show her toys with serious concentration. She nodded along, asked questions like the answers mattered, kissed Grazel's forehead when she got excited.
Soft.
Unforced.
Like this version of her had always existed—just waiting for the right space to breathe.
And without warning, the future hit me.
Not abstract.
Not distant.
Clear.
Jay in a kitchen that wasn't borrowed. Jay barefoot on mornings that didn't rush. Jay laughing like this while a child tugged at her sleeve, demanding attention.
Our child.
The thought didn't scare me.
It grounded me.
For the first time in my life, the idea of permanence didn't feel like a cage.
It felt like home.
Grace caught my expression from across the room.
She smiled.
Not teasing.
Knowing.
Section E, predictably, ruined the moment within seconds.
"OHHH," Felix said loudly. "Look at Watson. Man's already naming the kids."
Jay looked up. "What?"
"Nothing," I said calmly. "Felix talks too much."
She narrowed her eyes but smiled anyway, reaching out to tug my sleeve when I passed.
"You're being weird," she murmured.
I bent down just enough to kiss her temple. "I'm being patient."
She laughed softly, unaware of how close she was to the truth.
Later, when everyone started filtering out—loud goodbyes, Grazel already half-asleep on Grace's shoulder—I walked Jay back to the car.
The night air was cool. Quiet. Comfortable.
When we reached her place, she unbuckled and opened the door, one foot already on the pavement.
"Jay," I said.
She paused. Turned back toward me.
"Yes?"
"We're going somewhere tomorrow."
Her eyebrow lifted. "Where?"
I shook my head. "Pack a bag. One day. Be ready."
She studied me for a long second, searching my face like she always did when she sensed something beneath the surface.
"You're plotting," she said.
"I always am."
She smiled slowly. "Okay."
As she stepped fully out of the car, I leaned forward, caught her wrist gently, and pulled her back just enough to kiss her.
Not rushed.
Not hidden.
A promise.
Her hand came to my jaw instinctively, thumb brushing my cheek like she was grounding herself.
"Tomorrow," she murmured.
"Tomorrow," I agreed.
She walked inside without looking back.
I stayed there for a moment longer, engine still off, hands resting on the steering wheel.
My pulse wasn't racing.
It was steady.
Certain.
The ring was already waiting.
Custom-made. London. Six years ago.
White gold. Simple. Intentional.
Her name engraved inside—small enough to be just ours.
I'd carried it across continents. Through silence. Through regret. Through becoming someone worthy of it.
Tomorrow, I'd ask her the only question that mattered.
And this time—
I wasn't afraid of her answer.
Because the universe had already tried to keep us apart.
And failed.
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Hey Readersss...
I hope you all have a great day....
I have an announcement....
The thing is that my biggest exam which will help me in my admission is on Thursday so I'm taking some time off and I'll post on Friday...
Pray for me okayy..... It will really mean alot....
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