Chapter 1
Jayjay's POV
I woke up three hours earlier than I needed to.
Not because of some sunrise routine or a workout plan. I just... couldn't sleep. Again.
I had only managed three hours of rest, but sleep is a luxury I can't afford when I'm not perfect. And I'm not. Not yet.
After splashing cold water on my face and tying my hair into a messy bun, I sat at my desk, surrounded by open books, color-coded notes, and my half-dead highlighters. My head still throbbed from last night's late-night cram session — but what's a little pain when you're chasing perfection?
What's my worth if I'm not the best?
Lately, Keifer Watson — my academic rival and walking headache — has been getting too close for comfort. Last exam, he scored a 98. I got a 99. One single point between us. One single point that felt more like a scream than a win.
And still, I wasn't satisfied. 99. Not perfect.
Not enough to prove myself to Angelo. Not enough to shut up my relatives. Not enough to feel... safe.
So, I studied. Again. And again.
Because if I'm not the best, what's the point?
Is it even studying if I'm not pulling my hair out by the end of it, or if the ache behind my eyes isn't blurring the pages?
Bianca, my best friend, keeps telling me to chill. That I'm "overdoing it." She thinks I need to breathe, eat, live. Cute advice. But this isn't a slice-of-life movie. I'm not here to "find myself."
I'm here to win.
I'm the future CEO of Mariano Corp. That's not just a goal — it's an expectation.
So no, I don't go to parties.
No, I don't "take breaks."
And no, Bianca, I can't just "relax."
I kept reading until my eyes felt like sandpaper and every word blurred into a mess of ink. When I checked the clock, I had 50 minutes left before class.
I got ready quickly, dabbed concealer under my eyes to hide the fatigue, and tried to look like I wasn't dying inside. Just a regular Tuesday.
(Corporate Strategy 101)
I took my usual seat in the front row, pulled out my neatly organized notes, and got to work — asking, answering, absorbing. Anything to stay ahead.
And then, he walked in.
Keifer Watson. Late. Again.
Waltzing in like he owned the place, with that same irritating smirk on his face — as if life was just one long joke and he was the punchline.
The worst part? Everyone liked him. Even the professors.
He got away with being brilliant and cocky. Like the universe owed him something. Like his entire personality was built around being effortlessly good at everything I was losing sleep over.
Every time I saw him, my blood pressure went up.
His name alone made my teeth clench.
He was the thorn in my academic side. The scratch in a perfect record.
And the way he looked at me? Like he was waiting for me to slip up.
Like he wanted to see me fall.
Not that I cared. I don't care.
(Except I do. But I won't admit that. Not yet.)
At break, I sat in the café with my girls — Bianca, mica and Freya. My lifeline.
They're the only reason I haven't fully spiraled into becoming a caffeine-fueled, overachieving goblin.
Freya passed me a cookie. "You look like you slept in a war zone."
Bianca raised an eyebrow. "How many hours this time?"
"Three," I muttered.
Mica slid her iced coffee across the table toward me. "Take mine. You clearly need it more."
I took a sip. Silence fell for a moment, but not the awkward kind. The comforting kind. The kind that reminded me I wasn't completely alone in this chaos.
And maybe, for now, that was enough.