JAY JAY POV
We finally reached our room, and my shoulders were basically screaming for a vacation. Dragging a billionaire is a workout I never signed up for. I'm pretty sure I burned more calories in the last ten minutes than I did during my whole week
"Keifer, you are officially banned from touching alcohol again. Ever," I grumbled, trying to untangle myself from his heavy arm.
"Whatever you say, wifey..." he murmured, his voice sounding like warm honey—if honey was significantly more gago and dangerous.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in, his face inches from mine. I could smell the peppermint he used to mask the beer, and it was doing things to my brain that I'm pretty sure were illegal in most countries.
I rolled my eyes, trying to maintain my persona "Go to sleep, Keifer! You're literally dead weight right now."
I managed to maneuver him toward the edge of the bed, ready to drop him like a sack of expensive potatoes. But of course—because my life is a real-life Wattpad tragedy—he didn't just fall.
In one swift, drunk motion, his hand clamped around my wrist.
"Wait..." he whispered.
"Wha—AHH!"
Before I could even find my balance, he yanked me down with him. I felt the air leave my lungs as I tumbled forward, the soft mattress catching our weight. My hands instinctively flew out to brace myself, landing right on his chest—which, reminder to self, is still made of solid marble.
My heart didn't just stop; it did a triple backflip and then exploded.
We were... so close.
I was hovering directly over him, my hair falling around us like a curtain. Our lips were inches apart—close enough that if I breathed too hard, I'd be tasting his peppermint breath. His eyes weren't half-closed anymore; they were wide, dark, and staring at me with an intensity that made my panda-loving soul want to evaporate into thin air.
Someone call 911. My heart is about to punch a hole through my chest.
"Jay-jay..." he whispered, and this time, there was no slur in his voice. It was low, steady, and vibrating against my palms.
"Y-you... you're heavy," I stammered, my face turning a shade of red that probably glowed in the dark
My brain, which usually functions at a semi-decent level I stared at him, my hands still pinned against his chest. I felt the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart—and it was way too calm for someone who was supposed to be seeing two heads.
"Asshole... you're not drunk!" I croaked out, the realization hitting me like a cold splash of water.
I looked at him, searching for the glazed-over eyes or the lutang expression from the restaurant. But there was nothing. No slur, no swaying, no confusion. Just Keifer Watson in all his arrogant, perfectly-composed glory.
He smirked—that signature, lethal, I-caught-you-red-handed smirk—and slowly reached up. His fingers brushed against my forehead as he gently tucked a stray strand of my bangs behind my ear. His touch was so light, but it felt like he was branding me.
"Took you long enough to find out," he murmured, his voice sending a traitorous shiver straight down my spine.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch his shoulder again. I wanted to bite his hand! But I couldn't move. I was paralyzed by the proximity, the scent of him, and the way his eyes were now dropping, focusing entirely on my lips.
Today is the day I die. Cause of death: Billionaire-induced cardiac arrest.
"You... you played me!" I hissed, my face heating up so fast I was surprised the sprinklers in the room didn't go off. "Freya was in on it too? I dragged you all the way here! I almost got a hernia trying to carry you! I was worried about your reputation!"
"You were worried about me?" he whispered, ignoring my rant entirely.
The way he said it—so quiet, so curious—made my anger evaporate like steam. I bit my lip, trying to look anywhere but at his face.
"I... I was worried you'd puke on the car seats! They're leather, Keifer! They're expensive!"
"Liar," he teased.
He shifted his weight, his hand moving from my ear to cup the side of my neck. His thumb grazed my jawline, and I swear I forgot how to inhale. The room was silent except for the rain outside and the chaotic beat of my heart, which was currently loud enough to be heard in the next barangay.
"Jay-jay..." he whispered again.
I looked at him, and for a split second, the teasing was gone. There was a look in his eyes that made my stomach do that weird, fluttery somersault—the kind you get when you see a whole tray of freshly baked donuts. It was intense. It was real.
His gaze dropped back to my lips, and he started to lean in. Slowly. Torturously slow.
Hala. This is it. The first kiss. No more fingers-at-the-altar fakeouts. No more contracts. No more audience. Just... us.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my fingers catching the fabric of his shirt. I was ready. I was curious. I was terrified.
Then, I felt his lips graze the very corner of my mouth—a soft, lingering touch that felt like an electric shock shooting straight down to my toes. My hands tightened on his shirt, and I think my soul was about to float away from my body in pure kilig bliss—
"KUYA!"
The door swung open with a bang.
"HUWAT?!" I shrieked.
Because of the sudden shock, my brain completely disconnected from my limbs. I scrambled backward like a startled cat, but there was no more bed left—only gravity.
BOGSH!
I hit the floor with a dull thud, my legs tangling in the duvet.
Keifer snapped upright, his eyes wide and his hair a mess from the drunk acting and the tumble. He looked over the edge of the bed at me, his face a mix of concern and that familiar, annoying amusement.
"Are you okay?" he asked, reaching out a hand to help me up.
I ignored his hand and sat up on the floor, clutching my elbow. I looked toward the door and saw Keiran standing there, looking at us with wide, innocent eyes
"Keiran! Rules! Boundaries! Social etiquette!" I hissed, my face burning so hot I could've probably boiled an egg on my forehead. "You can't just barge into a person's room! What if I was... what if I was grading papers?!"
"In the dark?" Keiran asked, tilting his head. "Ate, you're on the floor. Is this a new type of Science experiment?"
Keifer let out a low, vibrating chuckle as he got off the bed. He walked over to Keiran, looking completely unbothered, while I stayed on the floor trying to wrap myself in the corner of the rug.
"What is it, Keiran? This better be important," Keifer said, his voice returning to that cool, authoritative Kuya tone.
"I forgot my charger in here when the maids were cleaning," Keiran said, pointing toward the nightstand. He looked at me, then back at Keifer, a slow, gago smirk spreading across his face. "Were you guys... busy? Should I come back in an hour? Or maybe tomorrow?"
"Out," Keifer commanded, though he wasn't actually angry. He was just... Keifer.
Keiran lunged for his charger, winked at me, and bolted out of the room before Keifer could even finish his sentence. "Enjoy your floor-experiment, Teach! Goodnight, Kuya!"
The door clicked shut, leaving us in a silence that was somehow louder than Keiran's shouting.
I was still sitting on the floor like a total loser, my hair probably looking like a bird's nest after a category five hurricane and my heart doing a frantic cha-cha against my ribs.
My dignity didn't just walk out that door; it sprinted away and didn't even leave a forwarding address.
Keifer turned back to me, leaning against the bedpost with his arms crossed. He was rubbing the back of his neck, and for a split second, he actually looked... flustered?
"So," he murmured, his voice still low and a little bit raspy.
My brain hit the emergency override button. Abort mission, Jay-jay! Escape now!
"I... I have to go change my clothes!" I blurted out, scrambled to my feet with the grace of a newborn giraffe, and bolted toward the walk-in closet.
I dove inside and slammed the door shut, leaning against it while breathing like I'd just run a marathon with a heavy backpack full of books.
My heart. Calm down!
Slowly, almost like I was afraid I'd break a spell, I lifted my hand. My fingers trembled as I touched the exact spot at the corner of my lips where his lips had just grazed me. I could still feel the phantom heat of it—the soft, lingering electricity that made my toes curl inside my socks.
A wide, uncontrollable grin broke out on my face.
Gago. Truly!
He wasn't even drunk! He was just... being Keifer.
I did a tiny, silent victory dance between the rows of expensive dresses. He kissed me. Well, okay, it was more of a graze, but in Jay-jay time, that counts as a full-blown romantic milestone.
I looked at my reflection in the full-length closet mirror. My cheeks were redder than the eyes of a student who stayed up all night playing video games, but for the first time since this whole marriage-contract mess started, I didn't feel like a sacrifice.
I felt... kilig.
"Stop it, Jay-jay!" I hissed at my reflection, though I was still smiling like a total idiot.
I grabbed a fresh set of clothes, but my mind was already wondering what was happening on the other side of that door. Is he waiting for me? Is he laughing at me?
Whatever it was, one thing was for sure: I was going to need a very, very large bucket of fries to survive the rest of tonight.
Wait.
I paused, my hand on the hanger.
Did he say he liked my singing earlier?
I let out a soft, happy sigh, still touching my lip.
After changing into my fresh PJs, I peeked out of the closet. Keifer was standing there, and the moment our eyes met, I felt that familiar heat rush to my cheeks. He gave me a quick, unreadable look before heading into the closet himself—probably to change into something more comfortable
I scurried to my side of the bed and tucked myself in.
"La la lala~" I hummed softly, trying to distract my brain. Honestly, I was just trying to convince myself that I wasn't waiting for him to come back.
A few minutes later, the mattress dipped.
"Already?" I asked, struggling to gather my hair. It was a mess, and I was trying to twist it into a bun so I wouldn't wake up looking like I'd been struck by lightning. But of course, my hands were being uncooperative.
Keifer looked at me, his eyes softening as he watched my pathetic struggle. He moved closer, settling himself behind me.
"I will do your hair," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble.
"No need! I've got it... eventually," I squeaked, my fingers tangling in the strands even more.
"I said I will do it. No worries, I won't mess it up," he said, gently taking the hairband from my hand. "I used to do my mom's hair all the time when I was little."
I stopped resisting. My heart did a tiny, soft somersault. A billionaire who knows how to braid?
Someone hand me a fan, it's getting humid in here again. I nodded and let go, feeling his long, cool fingers start to comb through my hair.
The silence was heavy, but in a good way. Like a warm blanket.
"Do you love your mother?" I asked softly.
He didn't hesitate. He continued to deftly weave my hair into a neat braid.
"More than anything," he replied.
I nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy. I thought about my own mother, the woman who deleted me from her life, and then I thought about his mother—the one who lived on in the dress I wore at the altar.
"Don't mind me asking..." I started, my voice barely a whisper. I felt like a jerk for even bringing it up, but the curiosity was gnawing at me. "How did she... how did she die?"
I felt his fingers pause for a fraction of a second before they continued their work.
"My father... he killed her," he said.
My breath hitched. I felt like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over me.
"He used to abuse Keigan and me... and Mom," he continued, his voice devoid of emotion, which made it ten times more heartbreaking. "When Keiran was born, I thought he would stop. But he never did. It only increased. And then, when my grandpa left everything to my mom, he got mad... and well, he killed her."
I sat there, frozen. I couldn't help it—tears started dropping from my eyes, hot and fast. I tried to wipe them away with the back of my hand, but darn it, they wouldn't stop. It was like a faucet that had just broken.
After he finished the braid, he gently turned me around to face him. His eyes widened when he saw the state of my face.
"Don't cry," he said softly, his thumbs reaching out to wipe the tears from my cheeks.
"I'm sorry," I choked out, my voice trembling. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm so sorry."
Everything made sense now. The warning, the coldness when he talked about his dad, the way he protected his brothers. He wasn't just being a grumpy billionaire. He was a survivor.
"Don't be. You just wanted to know," he said, his gaze intense but surprisingly tender. He didn't pull his hands away; he kept cupping my face, his thumbs still brushing away the moisture. "As my wife, you have the right to know."
I nodded, sniffing. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant, heavy hand. I looked at him—the stone-faced leader of the Watson family—and all I wanted to do was give him a bucket of his favorite food and a hug that lasted for a decade.
"Keifer..." I whispered.
He didn't say anything, but the way he was looking at me... it wasn't arrogant. It wasn't teasing. It was just... him.
My heart felt like it was being shredded by a cheese grater as he told me about his mother. It wasn't just a sad story; it was a weight he'd been carrying for years, hiding it behind multi-billion-peso deals and perfectly tailored suits.
I didn't think. I didn't overcomplicate it. My body just moved before my brain could flag it for embarrassment.
I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.
I felt him stiffen the moment I collided with him. His body went rock-solid—probably because Keifer Watson isn't used to people just attacking him with affection. He didn't move for a heartbeat, and I suddenly felt like a total gago.
Hala, Jay-jay! Why did you do that?! He's a billionaire, not a teddy bear! Abort mission! Let go!
But just as I was about to scramble back and apologize for being unprofessional, I felt his hands slowly move. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck.
He didn't say anything. He just exhaled—a long, shaky breath that felt like he was finally letting go of a burden he'd held onto since he was a little boy braiding his mom's hair.
My heart.
"Keifer..." I whispered, my voice still thick from crying. I tightened my grip on his shoulders. "You're not alone anymore, okay? You have Keigan. You have Keiran. And you have... you have me. Even if I'm just a teacher who sings Taylor Swift in the shower."
I felt a small, quiet vibrate in his chest. He was laughing—a tiny, broken laugh.
"You're a terrible singer, Jay-jay," he murmured into my skin, his voice sounding raw.
"Hey! I have the voice of a slightly tone-deaf angel!" I huffed, but I didn't let go. I stayed right there, letting him lean on me. Because for all his power and his money, right now, he was just a guy who needed someone to tell him it was okay to breathe.
We stayed like that for a long time. The mansion around us was silent, the rain was still tapping on the window, and for the first time, the three-foot 'neutral zone' on the bed was completely gone.
Finally, he pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were still dark, but the coldness was gone. He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering on my cheek.
"Thank you, Teach," he whispered.
I sniffed, giving him a small, shy smile. "No worries. My rates for therapeutic hugging are also very expensive. You might have to buy me a bucket of extra-crispy chicken for this."
Keifer actually smirked—the authentic, kilig-inducing one. "Deal."
He settled back onto his pillows, but he didn't move away. He reached out and took my hand under the duvet, his fingers interlocking with mine. His hand was warm and large, making mine look tiny.
"Go to sleep, Jay-jay. We have a lot to do tomorrow," he said, his voice dropping into that deep, husky morning-tone.
"Goodnight, Keifer," I whispered, closing my eyes.
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