(Jay's POV)
The ride back home didn't feel like an ending.
It felt like something unfinished.
Everyone was louder than usual. Percy wouldn't stop talking, Cin kept adding unnecessary comments, and Freya argued just to keep the energy alive. Mica and Grace were planning something random for when they got back, while Honey tried to calm Percy down for the hundredth time.
Normal.
Forced—but normal.
I sat by the window.
Not quiet.
Just… watching.
He sat across from me.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Every now and then, our eyes met.
And every time—
he looked away first.
Good.
"Jay, you're ignoring me," Percy complained.
"I'm protecting my peace," I replied.
"That's rude."
"That's survival."
A few laughs.
And just like that, it became easier.
By the time we reached the mansion, the air had shifted again.
Familiar.
Safe.
"Finally," Freya stretched, walking in. "I missed my bed."
"You miss everything dramatic," Cin replied.
"Shut up."
Everyone scattered slowly—bags, rooms, noise.
I didn't move much.
Just stood there for a second.
"Jay."
I turned.
Keifer.
"Come here," he said quietly.
Not a command.
Something softer.
I walked toward him anyway.
"Room," he added.
"Bossy."
"Move."
I smirked slightly. "Careful."
"Try me."
There it was.
Normal.
We walked upstairs together.
Not touching.
But not distant either.
His room hadn't changed.
Still clean.
Still quiet.
Still him.
I walked in like I belonged there.
Because I did.
"You look better," he said.
"Wow," I replied. "You noticed."
"I always do."
A pause.
I turned to him. "Then stop acting like you don't."
That hit.
He didn't reply immediately.
Instead—
he stepped closer.
Too close.
"You know why," he said quietly.
"I do."
Silence.
Heavy—but not bad.
Then I stepped even closer.
"Then stop pretending."
"You first."
I scoffed lightly.
"…idiot."
He didn't warn me this time.
Just leaned in—
and kissed me.
Quick.
Familiar.
Like nothing had changed.
Like everything had.
I pulled back first this time.
"…you're still using that stupid rule?"
"Works every time."
"You're annoying."
"Say it again."
I rolled my eyes.
But I didn't step away.
Didn't create distance.
Not yet.
"Two months," I muttered.
"I know."
"You disappeared."
"I had to."
"You hurt me."
A pause.
"I know."
That made me look at him.
Really look.
No excuses.
No denial.
Just truth.
"…you're lucky I didn't kill you," I said lightly.
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
"I'd win."
I smiled.
"You wish."
The tension broke—just a little.
Enough to breathe again.
I turned away, walking further into his room.
Like I had done a hundred times before.
Like nothing was wrong.
And for a moment—
I almost believed it.
Almost.
The room didn't feel like his. It never did. It was ours. The same bed, the same quiet corners, the same familiar stillness that should have felt safe—but tonight, it didn't sit right.
"I'll get you something to eat," he had said before leaving, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like nothing heavy was hanging between us.
Now the door was closed, and the silence was real.
I sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, exhaling slowly, trying to steady the noise in my head. This wasn't something I could fight. That was the problem. This wasn't pain I could push through or ignore. This needed control—perfect control.
I stood up, more out of restlessness than intention, and moved around the room. My fingers brushed the surface of the table, then the edge of the shelf, before I stopped near the side drawer. I wasn't looking for anything specific. I just needed something to do.
I pulled the drawer open.
At first, nothing seemed out of place. A few scattered things, some papers, small belongings—ordinary. Then my hand paused.
There it was.
A photograph.
I picked it up slowly.
Him.
And her.
Standing close. Not casual. Not random. The kind of closeness that meant something official, something decided, something real—at least on the surface.
For a second, my mind went completely still. No reaction. No emotion. Just silence.
Then everything settled into place.
Of course.
I already knew. Not from him—he would never say it—but from the kind of world I had once been part of. Information had a way of reaching me whether I wanted it or not. An engagement. Forced. Temporary. Strategic.
I understood it.
That was the worst part.
Because this wasn't betrayal.
This was him trying to protect me.
My grip tightened slightly around the photograph, my thumb pressing harder against the edge than necessary. "Idiot," I whispered under my breath, not with anger—but something heavier.
Of course he didn't tell me. Of course he handled it alone. Of course he thought this was the only way.
I closed my eyes for a brief second.
This changes things.
Not because of what he did—but because of what it means. If things had already reached this point, then it wasn't safe anymore. Not for him. Not for anyone here.
And that meant…
I had to step back.
A slow breath left me as I carefully placed the photograph back exactly where I found it. Same position. Same angle. No sign that it had been touched.
Control.
Always control.
I closed the drawer gently and turned away, walking back toward the bed. My expression settled into something calm, something normal, something he wouldn't question.
Because I couldn't let him see it. Not yet. Not like this.
The door opened behind me.
He walked in with a plate like nothing had changed.
I turned to face him, my face completely composed.
He set the plate down like it was just another night. Like we hadn't just come back from something heavy. Like nothing was sitting between us.
"Eat," he said, pulling a chair slightly closer.
I didn't move.
"I'm not hungry."
He looked at me for a second. "You said that before."
"And I meant it."
A small pause settled. Not loud. Not sharp. Just enough to shift something.
He didn't push immediately. That was his way. But I could feel it—he was watching, noticing the difference. Of course he was. He always did.
"Jay," he said a little softer, "what's wrong?"
Nothing.
Everything.
I looked away. "Nothing."
"Don't do that."
There it was.
The tone. Not angry—but not letting it go either.
I forced a small scoff. "Do what?"
"This," he said. "Act like you're fine when you're not."
My jaw tightened slightly.
You can stop this right now.
You can tell him.
You can just stay.
For a second—just one second—I almost did.
Then the image flashed again. The photo. The reality. The danger tied to him… because of me.
No.
I can't.
"Why do you care?" I said, sharper than I meant to.
He frowned slightly. "What?"
"You heard me."
That wasn't me.
And I knew it.
I could feel it in the way my chest tightened immediately after.
But I didn't stop.
I couldn't stop.
"Jay, what are you saying?" he asked, confusion clear now.
I laughed lightly—but it didn't sound right. "I'm saying you're doing too much."
"I'm trying to—"
"I didn't ask you to."
Silence.
Heavy.
That one hit.
I saw it.
I felt it.
And it hurt more than anything I said after.
I looked away quickly, because if I didn't, I might break before I finished this.
"Since when do you need permission?" he said, his voice lower now.
"Since always," I snapped.
That wasn't true.
And he knew it.
"You're not making sense," he said.
"I don't have to."
Another lie.
Another push.
My hands curled slightly at my sides.
Stop.
Just stop.
But I didn't.
Because if I stopped now—
I wouldn't be able to leave.
And I had to.
For him.
"I saw it," I said suddenly.
That made him pause. "Saw what?"
"The photo."
Silence dropped instantly.
His expression changed. Just a little—but enough.
"What photo?"
"Don't," I cut in, my voice rising now. "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about."
"Jay—"
"You got engaged."
There it was.
Out.
Sharp.
Ugly.
Final.
He stepped forward slightly. "It wasn't like that—"
"I don't care what it was like," I snapped, louder than I meant to.
My voice shook.
I hated that.
"I don't care if it was forced, or fake, or whatever excuse you're about to give me."
His expression hardened slightly. "It's not an excuse."
"Then what is it?"
"A reason."
That almost broke me.
Almost.
Because I knew the reason.
And that made it worse.
"Good for you," I said, my voice unsteady now despite everything. "You found your reason."
"That's not what this is," he said, stepping closer again.
"Then what is it?" I demanded.
Silence.
Just for a second.
And that second was enough.
Because I didn't give him time to answer.
"I'm not doing this," I said, shaking my head.
My vision blurred slightly.
No.
Not now.
Don't cry now.
But it didn't listen.
"You disappear for two months," I continued, my voice cracking despite everything I was trying to hold together, "you come back like nothing happened, and then I find out you were engaged to someone else?"
"Jay, listen to me—"
"No."
That came out louder than anything before.
Sharp.
Final.
My chest tightened painfully, tears slipping before I could stop them. I wiped them quickly, turning away for a second.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
"I'm done," I said, quieter now—but worse.
Because I meant it.
Even if I didn't.
He didn't move this time.
Didn't reach for me.
Didn't stop me.
And somehow—that hurt more.
"Jay…"
I shook my head again, stepping back. "Don't."
If he said anything else—
I wouldn't leave.
And I had to.
For him.
For all of them.
"I can't do this," I whispered.
Another lie.
Because I could.
I just wasn't allowed to.
I grabbed my things quickly—anything that gave me a reason to move—and walked toward the door.
My hand paused on the handle for just a second.
Just one.
Then I opened it.
And walked out.
Without looking back.
Because if I did—
I wouldn't go.