Jayjay's POV
I wake up wrapped in warmth.
Not the kind blankets give—but the kind that breathes.
For half a second, panic sparks. Then I realize my head is pillowed on a familiar chest, one arm solid around my waist, like it's always belonged there. I don't move. I just listen.
His heartbeat is calm. Steady. Alive.
The room is softly lit by morning sun, curtains half-drawn. I glance at the clock on the side table.
10:07 a.m.
I stiffen slightly.
"Don't freak out," a voice says lazily above me. "I woke up at nine. You were not disturbable."
I look up.
Keifer's already awake, hair slightly messy, sleeves rolled up, glasses resting low on his nose—like he owns mornings now. He's watching me with that look. The one that used to make my stomach forget how gravity works.
My heart does that stupid thing again.
"Good morning, Jayjay," he says softly.
I swallow. "You… stayed."
He smiles. Not cocky. Not teasing. Just real.
"I said I would."
Before I can overthink, he carefully slips out from under me. I immediately miss the warmth and scowl at the mattress like it betrayed me.
"I'll be right back," he says. "Don't escape."
"I'm not—" I start, but he's already gone.
I sit up, pulling the blanket around myself. The room smells like him—coffee, clean linen, something expensive and calm. Five minutes later, he returns holding a mug.
"For you," he says. "Black coffee. Two sugars. No judgment."
I blink. "…You remembered."
"Of course I did."
I take it from him, fingers brushing his. Electricity—still illegal, apparently.
We sit against the headboard, shoulders barely touching. Barely—but it counts.
There's a quiet moment. Not awkward. Just… full.
Then I say it.
"I still haven't forgiven you."
He nods immediately. No defense. No flinch.
"I know."
I glance at him. "You're not going to argue?"
"No," he says. "I don't deserve forgiveness yet."
That hits harder than any excuse ever could.
"But," he continues carefully, "I want a chance. Not the past—us. Now. I want to make the effort. Earn it. Every single day."
I exhale slowly. "You're really not letting me hate you in peace, are you?"
He smirks—oh no."I was insufferable in high school too, remember?"
I snort despite myself. "You were worse. You flirted like it was a competitive sport."
"And I won," he says smoothly. "Eventually."
I roll my eyes. "Delusional."
Breakfast is… chaos.
He insists on cooking. I insist he'll burn the kitchen down. He proves me wrong—barely—by making something edible and flexing about it like he cured world hunger.
"This," he announces, placing a plate down, "is called effort."
"This," I reply, tasting it, "is shockingly decent."
He grins. "I'll take that as love."
We trade stupid jokes. I steal food from his plate. He pretends to be offended. At some point, I forget to be guarded.
And then—I laugh.
Not a small smile. Not a controlled chuckle.
A full, unfiltered laugh that surprises even me.
Keifer freezes mid-bite, just staring.
"What?" I ask.
He shakes his head slowly. "I haven't heard that laugh in years."
My chest tightens. "…Yeah."
Time blurs after that.
Lunch passes easily. Too easily.
In the evening, he disappears again. When he comes back, he's holding a garment bag.
"Get ready," he says.
"For what?"
"A date."
I raise an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
He tilts his head, smug. "I'm reclaiming my right to flirt."
I cross my arms. "Bold of you."
He hands me the dress. "Trust me."
I change, heart pounding more than necessary.
When I step out, the fabric settles against my skin like it was made for me.
The dress is ivory—soft, structured, elegant. Long sleeves that taper perfectly at my wrists. A neckline that dips just enough to tease, never beg. The skirt hugs my waist before falling effortlessly, confident and lethal in its simplicity.
It's not loud.
It doesn't need to be.
It whispers power.
I glance at myself once more, smoothing invisible creases, before opening the door.
Keifer turns.
And stops breathing.
"Jay," he says, voice dropping dangerously low, "you're going to be the reason men lose their empires tonight."
I roll my eyes. "You're dramatic."
"I'm observant."
Then my gaze lifts to him—and my heart stumbles.
He isn't dressed like a CEO tonight.
Light-blue striped shirt, worn open and careless over a plain white tee, sleeves rolled just enough to show the watch resting against his wrist. White trousers, relaxed but tailored, sitting low on his hips like he never needed to try. Clean white sneakers—quiet confidence instead of polish.
He looks… real.
Dangerous in a softer way. Like a man who could ruin you without raising his voice. Like comfort and chaos decided to coexist in the same body.
He looks like temptation wearing a name.
He catches me staring.
"Careful," he murmurs, lips tugging into that slow, knowing smile. "You're looking at me the way you used to."
"I'm not," I lie.
"You are," he says gently. "Like you're remembering."
And God help me—I am.
Downstairs, he leads me to the garage.
I stop dead.
Rows of luxury cars gleam under soft lighting.
"…You're insane," I whisper.
"Pick one," he says casually.
I glance at him. "Together?"
He leans closer, voice low and playful."Mafia husband and wife privileges."
I choose a sleek black one, smirking. "Obviously."
The ride starts calm.
Too calm.
Five minutes in, I narrow my eyes. "Where are we going?"
He keeps driving. "You'll see."
"Mark Keifer Watson."
Nothing.
"MARK. KEIFER. WATSON."
He laughs. "Relax."
"I will NOT relax—"
"Jayjay."
"…What?"
"You trust me?"
I hesitate.
Then—"…Yes."
The car speeds forward, city lights stretching ahead.
And for the first time in forever, I don't know where I'm going.
But I'm not scared.
--------A/N-Guyssss check the comment section.. It's too stunning..