The London social season was a glittering, cold battlefield, and
Mark Keifer Watson was its most ruthless commander. Since the takeover of her firm, Jay-jay had been stripped of her legal title and demoted to a "Personal Strategic Assistant"—a glorified term for a secretary who had to follow Keifer's every whim.
Tonight was the Mayfair Charity Gala. The ballroom was filled with the scent of lilies and old money. Jay-jay stood two steps behind Keifer, dressed in a sleek, high-neck black gown that was professional yet undeniably elegant. She held his tablet and a glass of sparkling water, her face a perfect, porcelain mask of indifference.
"Adjust my cufflink, Ms. Mariano," Keifer commanded without looking back at her.
Jay-jay stepped forward, her fingers brushing against his wrist. For a split second, the heat from his skin sent a jolt through her, but she didn't flinch. She finished the task and stepped back into the shadows.
As the night progressed, Keifer made sure Jay-jay saw exactly what she had "given up." He was surrounded by the elite daughters of European billionaires.
Lady Isabella, a blonde socialite with a penchant for dramatic laughs, leaned into Keifer's space, her hand resting boldly on his chest. "I heard the Watson King was cold, but you seem quite... approachable tonight, Keifer."
Keifer let out a low, smooth chuckle—a sound he used to reserve only for Jay-jay. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned down, whispering something into Isabella's ear that made her giggle and blush.
From behind him, Jay-jay felt a physical ache in her chest, like a hot iron was being pressed against her heart. He's doing this on purpose. He wants to see me break. He wants me to scream that I still love him.
" Ms. Mariano," Keifer called out, his eyes finally meeting hers, cold and mocking. "Isabella finds my schedule a bit... restrictive. Remind me to clear my Friday night for a private dinner at The Shard. Mark it as 'High Priority.'"
Jay-jay tapped the tablet with steady fingers. "Friday night, 8 PM. High Priority. Shall I book the violinist, or will your presence be enough entertainment, Mr. Watson?"
Keifer's smile faltered for a micro-second. Her lack of emotion was infuriating him. He wanted the Mutya—the girl who would throw a shoe at him or pull him away in a jealous fit. But all he saw was a stone-faced secretary.
"You're very efficient tonight," Keifer hissed, stepping closer to her, ignoring Isabella for a moment. "Tell me, Jay-jay... does it bother you? Or did you truly leave your heart at the airport in Manila?"
Jay-jay looked him straight in the eye. The "Kevlar" wasn't just on her suit anymore; it was around her soul. She knew the Grandfather's spies were likely in this very room, reporting her every reaction. One crack, one tear, and her parents in Cavite would pay the price.
"My job is to manage your schedule, not your ego, Mr. Watson," she replied coolly. "If you're finished with Lady Isabella, the CEO of Barclays is waiting for a word."
Keifer's jaw tightened. He reached out, his hand gripping her arm with a possessive force that belied his calm exterior. "You're a good liar, Jay. But I can feel your pulse. It's racing."
"That's just the caffeine, Sir," she lied, her voice like ice.
Inside, Jay-jay was screaming. She wanted to slap Isabella, she wanted to kiss Keifer until he remembered who she was, and she wanted to burn the Grandfather's Manor to the ground. But she stood there, silent and still, the ultimate "Personal Secretary."
As Isabella draped herself over Keifer's arm again, Jay-jay turned away to "check a notification." For a brief moment, her eyes blurred with unshed tears, but she blinked them back before anyone could See