ᕙ༼Keifer's༽ᕗPOV
The trophy sat on the passenger seat, but it wasn't alone. Beside it sat hers. We had both won. The Watson-Mariano merger was the crowning achievement of the decade, and Jay Jay—my Jay—had been the brilliant architect behind half of it. She deserved to be standing on that stage in the marble lobby of the Watson Headquarters, the glass monolith reflecting her own brilliance.
Instead, she had been a ghost in the crowd, and I had been the one to haunt her.
As I drove through the London rain, the "victory" felt like ash in my mouth. I looked at her trophy—the physical proof of her genius—and I felt a wave of nausea. This was the woman I had called a "distraction." This was the partner I had treated like a saboteur.
I remembered the moment I snapped.
I remembered the venom in my voice when I snatched the laptop from her hands. I could still see the way she flinched, her eyes widening in that pure, cold terror. She hadn't been trying to steal my secrets; she was trying to save my life. For fourteen days, while I was drowning in the pressure of the deal, she had been my anchor. She was the one who quietly placed meals on my desk when I forgot to eat.
She was the one whose cool fingers massaged the tension from my temples until I could breathe again.
And I had repaid her with a blade. I had stood in the center of the empire we built together and made her feel like she didn't belong.
When I reached the mansion, the silence screamed her name. The empty space in the closet, the cold side of the bed—it was a vacuum that pulled the air right out of my lungs. I was the King of London, sitting on a throne of glass, and I had never been more pathetic.
I didn't wait. I drove to Fernandez's house, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I didn't deserve the front door, so I climbed through the window, my expensive suit catching on the sill as I stepped onto her carpet.
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The room smelled of vanilla and her floral bath oil. Seeing her there, curled under the silk duvet, looking so small and drained, destroyed me. I sank onto the edge of the mattress, my head bowed.
"Thank you," I whispered into the dark, my voice cracking. "Thank you for seeing me when I couldn't even see myself."
I leaned down, desperate for her warmth, and kissed her. It was a plea, a prayer. And when her lips parted to kiss me back in her sleep—unconscious, instinctive love—it felt like a brand on my soul.
When she finally blinked her eyes open, red and puffy from the tears I'd caused, she didn't scream. She didn't fight. She just looked at me with a bone-deep weariness that hurt worse than a slap.
"I can't process this right now, Keifer," she murmured, her voice like velvet and heartbreak. "I just want to sleep."
"I know," I breathed, resting my forehead against the mattress. "I won't make you talk. I just couldn't be in that house without you."
I stayed on my knees all night, watching the woman who was my equal in every way, finally realizing that her trophy wasn't the prize—she was.
I stayed on the floor, my head resting against the mattress, watching her drift back into the dark. I didn't care about the empire or the trophy in my car. I just stayed on my knees, finally understanding that my greatest achievement wasn't a company—it was the heart I had almost extinguished.
Author POV
The room was silent, save for the soft rhythm of their breathing. Hours passed until the first hint of pre-dawn light filtered through the window. Jay Jay stirred, the deep pull of sleep finally loosening its grip. She sat up slowly, her eyes landing on Keifer. He had finally collapsed into sleep, his head resting awkwardly against the side of the mattress, his body still slumped on the cold floor in his expensive suit.
She didn't feel the anger anymore—just a heavy, aching pity. She saw the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face, the way his brow was still furrowed even in sleep. He looked like he hadn't truly rested in weeks.
Moving with the grace of a ghost, she slid out from under the duvet. She didn't reach for her clothes; she simply pulled on a soft oversized top that fell to her mid-thighs, the fabric cool against her skin. She stepped onto the carpet and sat down on the floor right beside him.
Carefully, she reached out and eased his head off the edge of the bed, guiding him down until he was resting in her lap.
Even in the depths of his exhaustion, Keifer felt the shift. His subconscious chased the warmth he had been craving. Without waking, he turned his face inward, pressing his cheek against the soft curve of her ribcage. His large hands moved instinctively, finding her waist and pulling her closer, anchoring himself to her as if she were the only solid thing in a world of shadows.
Jay Jay didn't pull away. She leaned her back against the bed frame and began to run her fingers through his hair. Her touch was light, a rhythmic, soothing massage that untangled the knots of stress he had carried for the last fourteen days.
"You're such a Gago, Keifer," she whispered into the dark, her heart softening with every breath he took against her.
As she worked the tension from his scalp, the weight of the last forty-eight hours finally caught up to her again. Her movements slowed, her head lolled back against the mattress, and she too drifted off. They stayed there on the floor, the "Titan" of London and the woman who held his world together, finally at peace in the quiet before the sun rose over his empire.
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[Her love for him is so profound that she'd forgive any mistake without a second thought.]🙃