Kiefer (POV)
What if she pushes me away?
What if she refuses to even look at me?
The thought stayed with me the entire way.
But one thing didn't change—
No matter what happens…
I'm not leaving her.
Not again.
I reached the island just as the waves brushed quietly against the shore.
Clyden was already there.
Standing still.
Waiting.
"You're finally here, jerk," he said, not even bothering to look at me.
I ignored that.
"Where is Jay?" I asked.
"Asleep," he replied, finally turning toward me.
His expression wasn't welcoming.
It was… guarded.
"I'm not helping you because I want to," he continued bluntly. "I'm on her side. Always."
A pause.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"I only stepped in because you pushed her away."
The words landed harder than expected.
Then he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"…And because I was part of the reason she ended up like this."
Silence stretched between us.
The waves kept moving.
But neither of us did.
"Go bring her back," Clyden said. "I brought her here because she needed space… but only you can bring her back to herself."
A pause.
"And don't lose her."
His voice dropped.
"She can't live without you."
I didn't respond.
"…I'm heading to New York," he added, already turning toward the yacht.
I walked past him without another word.
The island house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Every step felt heavier than it should—
like I already knew…
This wasn't going to be easy.
I reached her door.
My hand paused on the handle.
Just for a second.
Then I pushed it open.
Slowly.
The room was dim.
Soft light slipping through the curtains.
And there she was.
Asleep.
Curled slightly into herself—
like she was trying to disappear.
My chest tightened.
She looked… smaller.
Fragile.
Like if I touched her wrong—
She might break.
I stepped closer.
Careful. Quiet.
I stopped beside the bed, just looking at her for a moment.
Then slowly—
I loosened my collar, exhaling like I hadn't properly breathed in days.
And without thinking anymore…
I lay down beside her.
Close.
But careful.
Like I was asking permission without words.
For a second—
Nothing happened.
Then—
instinct.
Even in her sleep—
She moved.
Softly.
Slowly.
Closer.
Warmth.
Her body shifted toward mine like it already knew where it belonged.
Like it remembered me—
even when everything else hurt.
My breath caught.
She pressed into me, her fingers curling into my shirt.
Seeking warmth.
Seeking me.
And something in my chest broke quietly.
I wrapped my arms around her.
Gently.
Carefully.
Like I was holding something I had almost lost.
She didn't wake.
She just… settled.
Like this was where she felt safe.
I closed my eyes, resting my forehead against her hair.
For the first time in days—
My mind went quiet.
No fear.
No noise.
Just her.
Still here.
Still mine.
The cold breeze from the beach slipped through the room, brushing against us.
Her body shifted again.
Closer.
Colder.
She rubbed her face lightly against my chest, her voice soft… barely there.
"Kiefer… it's cold…"
My chest tightened.
I pulled her closer instantly, wrapping her in my warmth.
But it wasn't just her who needed it.
It was me.
I needed to feel her here.
Warm.
Real.
Not gone.
Not slipping away from me again.
I tightened my hold just a little more, my eyes closing as I buried my face in her hair.
For a moment—
I let myself breathe.
Because for a second…
It felt like I hadn't lost her.
Like I still had a chance.
And this time—
I wasn't going to let her go.
JAY-JAY (POV)
That was the first thing I felt.
Not the bed.
Not the room.
Just… warmth.
Familiar.
Safe.
My fingers curled slightly, gripping onto something soft—
fabric.
Breathing.
Steady.
Close.
Too close.
My brows pulled together slightly as I shifted, my face pressing deeper into it.
A scent.
Faint.
But unmistakable.
My breath stilled.
No.
Slowly—
too slowly—
My eyes opened.
Dark fabric.
A chest.
An arm wrapped around me.
Strong.
Careful.
Like it had been holding me for a long time.
My heartbeat spiked.
No.
No, no—
I froze.
Every part of me went still as realization hit all at once.
Kiefer.
My fingers tightened against his shirt without meaning to.
Why…?
How…?
My breath turned uneven as I slowly lifted my head.
And there he was.
Asleep.
Too close.
Too real.
His face was calmer than I had seen it in days.
No walls.
No distance.
Just… him.
For a second—
just one—
I forgot everything.
The pain.
The words.
The fear.
Because this—
This felt like before.
Like nothing had ever broken between us.
My fingers loosened.
My body almost relaxing back into him—
And then it came back.
All of it.
His words.
The way it felt.
The way it hurt.
My chest tightened sharply.
My hand pushed against him.
Not hard—
but enough.
I pushed him.
Hard.
"Kuya…" I muttered under my breath, frustrated. "I'm going to kill you…"
My chest was still tight.
I had decided—
I would gamble again.
But that didn't mean I was ready.
Not yet.
I tried to move away.
To get distance.
To breathe.
But before I could step back—
Kiefer caught my wrist.
Firm.
Not rough.
Just enough to stop me.
"Don't touch me, Gago…" I snapped, yanking my hand back.
"Jay—"
"No!"
I pushed him again.
This time is harder.
When that didn't work—
I kicked at him, trying to create space.
Trying to push him away.
But he didn't fight back.
Didn't get angry.
Didn't even defend himself.
Like he knew—
He deserved it.
That only made it worse.
"Let me go!" I said, my voice shaking.
I tried to pull away again—
But this time, he moved faster.
Not aggressive.
Just… desperate.
He caught me before I could step back, pulling me toward him.
I struggled immediately.
Pushing at his chest.
Trying to get free.
But then—
His arms were wrapped around me.
Tight.
Unyielding.
And suddenly—
I was in his lap.
Held in place.
My hands are still pushing against him, my breath uneven.
"Let go of me—!"
"I'm sorry."
The words were quiet.
Broken.
Right against my ear.
"I'm sorry, Jay…"
I froze.
Not completely—
but enough.
His hold didn't loosen.
If anything—
It tightened just slightly.
Not to trap me.
But like he was afraid—
if he let go…
I would disappear again.
I cried in his arms and still pushed him.
"Kiefer… let me go."
My voice came out cold this time.
No hesitation.
No softness.
He understood.
Slowly—
His hands loosened.
And then he let go.
I didn't look at him again.
I just walked past him and headed straight to the washroom.
Cold water.
A deep breath.
Another.
I needed space.
Even now—
I wasn't ready to face him.
I avoided him after that.
Everything serious.
Everything emotional.
Anything that felt too heavy.
But hunger doesn't care about emotions.
I opened the fridge—
and blinked.
It was packed.
Completely full.
I exhaled softly.
"Kuya…"
A small smile almost slipped out.
He really spoiled me.
I reached for the fish—
but the moment I brought it closer—
I froze.
My stomach twisted.
A wave of nausea hit instantly.
I pushed it away.
"Nope… not happening."
I frowned slightly.
Morning sickness?
Great.
I grabbed a steak instead.
Better.
Safe.
Except—
I stared at it for a second.
"…I don't know how to cook this."
A pause.
I glanced toward the stairs.
If I ask that jerk—
He'll definitely ask for something in return.
Probably a kiss.
I immediately shook my head.
"No. I'll do it myself."
I pulled out my phone and opened a cooking video.
Okay.
Garlic.
Rosemary.
Pepper.
…Red wine?
"Why is there wine in everything fancy?" I muttered.
Still—
I followed it step by step.
Kind of.
Mostly.
I heated the pan.
Added oil.
Garlic.
It sizzled.
Good sign.
"Okay… I got this."
I flipped the steak.
Maybe too early.
Maybe too late.
I wasn't sure.
"Whatever."
I grabbed the wine bottle and poured a bit into the pan—
just like the video.
Except—
The flame suddenly rose.
"—What?!"
I stepped back instantly.
The fire flared up, licking the edge of the pan.
"Why is it on fire?!"
I looked around, panic hitting fast.
Water.
Water.
I grabbed a glass and poured it—
"Wait—!"
Too late.
The fire hissed violently, splashing oil.
I froze.
"…I think I made it worse."
My heart was racing now.
The flame wasn't huge—
But it was enough to make me panic.
I stared at it—
completely stuck.
"…Kuya would've handled this in two seconds," I muttered.
A beat.
Then under my breath—
"…I might need that jerk."
The flame snapped higher.
Not huge.
But enough to make my heart jump into my throat.
"…Okay. Okay. I can fix this."
I couldn't.
I stood there, staring at the pan like it might solve itself.
It didn't.
The oil crackled.
The fire flickered—
and then—
A shadow moved behind me.
Before I could turn—
A hand reached past me.
Calm.
Steady.
Kiefer.
He grabbed the lid and covered the pan in one smooth motion.
The flame died instantly.
Silence.
Just the faint hiss of heat fading.
My breath was still uneven.
His arm was still caged slightly around me from behind.
Too close.
Too familiar.
Too much.
"…You were about to burn the house down," he said quietly.
Not mocking.
Just… stating it.
I clenched my jaw.
"I had it under control."
A beat.
"…You were pouring water on oil."
I turned sharply. "I said I had it—"
I stopped.
Because he was right there.
Closer than I expected.
His eyes dropped briefly—to my face, my lips—
then back to my eyes.
And for a second—
Neither of us moved.
The air shifted.
Heavy.
Unsaid things pressing between us.
I stepped back first.
Creating distance.
"I didn't ask for your help," I said, colder now.
He didn't react immediately.
Just looked at me.
Like he was measuring something.
Or holding something back.
"I know," he said finally.
A pause.
"But you still needed it."
I looked away.
Annoyed.
Because he was right.
Again.
"I could've handled it," I muttered.
"Like you handled the fire?" he replied, dry.
I shot him a glare.
"…You're annoying."
"And you're stubborn."
Silence.
Not loud.
Not explosive.
Just… tight.
Unresolved.
I turned back to the counter, grabbing the spatula again like I was still in control of something.
"I'll finish it."
A pause behind me.
Then—
"You're cooking it wrong."
I froze.
Slowly—
I looked over my shoulder.
"…Say that again."
He didn't even hesitate.
"You're cooking it wrong."
Something in me snapped.
"Then don't watch."
I turned back, aggressively flipping the steak—
which splashed oil again.
"Jay—"
"I said don't—"
Before I could finish—
He moved.
Stepping in behind me again.
Close.
Too close.
His hand reached over mine, stopping the pan mid-motion.
"Lower the heat," he said quietly.
I stiffened.
"I know how to cook—"
"No, you don't."
"…Excuse me?!"
His other hand adjusted the flame down.
Calm.
Controlled.
Like this was normal.
Like we were normal.
"You're rushing it," he continued. "Let it cook."
His voice was lower now.
Closer.
Right near my ear.
And I hated—
how familiar it felt.
How easy it was to fall into this.
"How would you know what I'm doing?" I muttered.
A pause.
Then—
"Because I've been watching you and I knew my wife."
My breath hitched.
Damn him.
I pulled my hand away from his.
Stepping out of his reach.
"I didn't ask you to."
"No," he said quietly.
"You just let me."
Silence.
That one—
landed.
I swallowed.
Hard.
My chest is tightening again.
I turned away, focusing on the pan just so I wouldn't have to look at him.
"Don't act like nothing happened," I said.
My voice wasn't cold this time.
Just… tired.
"I'm not," he replied.
A pause.
Then softer—
"I'm trying to fix it."
I laughed.
Short.
Bitter.
"By correcting my cooking?"
"By staying," he said.
That shut me up.
I didn't respond.
Couldn't.
Because that word—
staying—
meant more than he probably realized.
Or maybe he did.
The steak sizzled quietly between us.
Neither of us touched it.
Neither of us moved.
Just standing there—
too close.
Too far.
And still—
not done with each other.
"Next time," he said casually, stepping closer again, "ask me if you want something."
I rolled my eyes.
"I didn't ask you now either."
"Yeah," he murmured, reaching past me to adjust the pan, "but I showed up anyway."
Of course you did.
He started guiding me—actually guiding me this time.
Lowering the heat.
Turning the steak at the right moment.
Adding butter like it was some kind of ritual.
"I don't know if you're teaching me…" I muttered under my breath, "or just finding excuses to touch me."
A pause.
Then, right near my ear—
"Both."
My grip tightened on the spatula.
"Hey—focus," he added. "It's not done."
"I am focusing."
"No, you're drowning it."
I frowned. "What?"
"You're pouring too much wine."
"I saw it in the video!"
"Yeah? Did the video also tell you to ruin it?"
I shot him a glare.
"You're annoying."
"And you're impossible."
Silence.
But not the bad kind.
Just… charged.
Too aware.
Too close.
I shifted slightly.
"Stop whispering like that," I muttered. "Move two feet away from me."
"Can't," he said calmly.
"Why?"
"I need to see what you're doing."
"You can see from there!"
"Not when you're about to burn it again."
I turned to argue—
"Jay—fire."
My eyes widened instantly.
"Where?! Where?!"
Without thinking, I turned and grabbed him—
hugging him tight.
For a split second—
Everything froze.
Then—
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
Low. Soft. Right above me.
Realization hit.
Slow.
Painfully.
I pulled back instantly, grabbing the spatula and lightly hitting his arm.
"You asshole! I'm serious!"
"I know," he said, still smiling.
That stupid, soft smile.
The one I wasn't ready for.
The one that made everything harder.
I turned away quickly, focusing back on the pan—
But my heartbeat hadn't calmed down.
Not even a little.
And the worst part?
It wasn't because of the fire.
Don't be weak, Jay… don't give in so easily, I whispered to myself.
We finished cooking in silence.
Not awkward.
Just… careful.
He arranged everything on the dining table like it mattered.
Like this mattered.
I carried the plates over.
"I did this," I said quietly. "Because you helped."
He glanced at the steak, then at me.
"Give me yours," he said. "I like it raw. You take this."
I frowned.
"No. I'll eat this."
Stubborn.
Always.
I took a bite—
and instantly regretted it.
Too raw.
My gums hurt.
I tried not to react—
But of course, he noticed.
He always did.
A second later—
tap.
He flicked my forehead lightly.
"Stubborn," he muttered.
Before I could protest, he switched our plates.
"Kiefer—"
"Eat."
Just one word.
Firm.
I huffed—but I didn't argue.
I was too hungry.
And maybe—
too tired.
I took a bite.
This time—
My eyes paused.
It was good.
No—
too good.
I kept eating quietly.
He watched me for a second.
Then—
"Do you like it?" he asked.
I nodded without thinking.
No hesitation.
"…Yeah."
A small pause.
Then I cut a piece and held it out with my fork.
"You want some?"
He didn't take the fork.
Instead—
His fingers closed gently around my hand.
Not the fork.
My hand.
My breath hitched slightly.
And then—
He leaned in and took the bite.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Still holding my hand.
"It's good," he said.
A pause.
His eyes lifted to mine.
"Feeding from you makes it better."
My heart skipped.
I pulled my hand back quickly.
Too quickly.
"Eat your own," I muttered, looking away.
But my ears were warm.
My chest—
not steady anymore.
And the worst part?
I didn't know if I was pulling away…
or already slipping back.
I kept eating, but my hair kept falling into my face.
Annoying.
I gathered it with one hand, trying to manage both at once—
then—
Kiefer stepped beside me.
Without a word, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a hair tie…
and gently tied my hair back.
Effortless.
Familiar.
Like he'd done it a hundred times.
I blinked, caught off guard.
"Why do you even have that?" I asked.
He didn't hesitate.
"You just never noticed," he said simply. "I always keep one."
A small pause.
"For my wife."
My fingers stilled slightly around the fork.
He continued, voice softer now—
"Because she always has messy hair…"
A beat.
"…and still manages to look beautiful."
My breath caught.
"…and sexy."
I snapped out of it immediately.
"Don't flirt with me," I said, pointing the fork at him. "I will stab you."
He didn't even flinch.
Just a faint smile.
Like he liked this version of me too.
I looked away and kept eating.
Fast.
Focused.
Like the food mattered more than the way my chest felt right now.
When I finished, I stood up quickly.
"I'm going to rest," I said. "Then I'll go for a walk."
I didn't wait for his response.
I just moved.
Because if I stayed—
If he kept being like this—
I might forget everything.
And I couldn't afford that.
Not yet.
Everyone says he had a reason…
My steps slowed slightly.
But how am I supposed to understand…
when he never told me?
My chest tightened.
It wasn't just anger.
It wasn't just hurt.
It was worse.
It was not knowing.
It was the silence.
And it was slowly—
quietly—
breaking me.