Keifer's POV
When I got back to the flat, I knew something was wrong before I even opened the door.
The hallway was quiet, but not the good kind. Not the "everyone's napping after exams" kind. It was the heavy, press‑on‑your‑chest kind.
I pushed the door open and found Jay sitting on the floor by the entrance, back against the wood, knees pulled up, fingers dug into her jeans. Her eyes were red, mascara smudged, breathing shallow like she'd run a marathon and then tried to swallow the finish line.
"Jay?" I dropped my bag instantly. "What happened?"
She didn't answer at first. Just stared past me, somewhere far away, jaw clenched like she was holding herself together by force.
I crouched in front of her, gentle. "Hey. Look at me."
Her eyes finally met mine, shining with anger and something that hurt worse — disappointment. Not in me. In the world.
"She's here," Jay whispered. "In London."
Cold slid down my spine. "Who?"
"My mother," she said, spitting the word like it tasted bad. "With a new man. Again."
I felt my hands curl into fists on instinct. "Where?"
"Canary Wharf." She let out a bitter laugh. "Of course it had to be fancy. She was with this guy named Curtis. Told me to call him Dad. Said he'd been 'waiting to meet his daughter.'"
"Did he touch you?" My voice came out sharper than I meant.
"He tried," she said, eyes flashing. "He went in for a hug without even asking. So I punched him."
A savage, proud warmth flared in my chest. "Good."
She shook her head, tears spilling again. "Mama acted like I was the crazy one. Like I'm the problem for not wanting Husband Number Five. Or Six. I've lost count."
I sat down beside her on the floor and pulled her gently into my side. She resisted for half a second, then crumpled, pressing her face into my shoulder. Her whole body shook with quiet, angry sobs.
"I hate her," she choked. "Every man she meets gets sick of her and leaves, and she just keeps trying again like nothing happened. New ring, new 'family', new 'dad' I'm supposed to accept."
I wrapped both arms around her, holding on like I could shield her from every version of that scene. "You don't have to accept any of them," I said. "Not now. Not ever."
"What if…" She swallowed hard. "What if that's what love is for people like us? Temporary. Disposable. Something people get bored of and trade in."
That one hurt. Deep.
I leaned back just enough so she had to see my face. "Look at me."
Reluctantly, she did.
"I watched my father trade people in like they were weapons and business cards," I said, voice low. "I watched your mom cycle men like outfits. That's their version of love. It's broken. It's not the only one that exists."
She blinked, breathing uneven. "How do you know?"
"Because of this," I said, squeezing her a little. "Because I watched my own brothers leave and still chose not to become like Kaizer. Because you watched your mom blow up every relationship she touched and still show up for mine with my family. Because we've had a hundred chances to walk away from each other and we're still here."
A weak, watery smile tugged at her mouth. "You're being cheesy again."
"Yeah," I said. "On purpose."
I brushed a tear from her cheek with my thumb. "You are not responsible for her choices. Her divorces aren't your fault. Her loneliness isn't your job to fix. You don't owe Curtis or any other guy she drags into your life a single thing."
"I know," she whispered. "I just… every time she shows up, it feels like I'm twelve again, waiting for her to choose me and watching her choose someone else."
That hit something raw in me.
"You don't have to wait for her anymore," I said. "You chose yourself when you walked away in Canary Wharf. You chose yourself when you ran. That's not weakness, Jay. That's strength."
She let out a shuddering breath. "I punched him pretty hard."
Pride warmed my chest again. "Wish I'd seen it."
A tiny laugh escaped her, finally. "He stumbled."
"Good," I said. "Next time he tries anything, you won't be alone in that punch."
She went quiet for a moment, letting my words settle.
"Do you want me to tell Angelo?" I asked. "Or Serina? We can get ahead of whatever drama your mom's gonna spin if she decides to play victim."
Jay thought about it, jaw working. "Yeah," she said eventually. "Angelo first. Serina later. I don't want her blindsided if my mom tries to 'drop by'."
"Okay." I nodded. "We'll handle it. Together."
I helped her up from the floor and led her to the couch, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders even though the flat wasn't cold. She curled into my side automatically, head against my chest, breathing slowly starting to match mine.
"I'm scared," she admitted quietly. "Not of Curtis. Or my mom. Of… turning into her. Of breaking people the way she does."
I tightened my hold, pressing a kiss into her hair. "You won't," I said. "Know how I know?"
"How?"
"Because you care about hurt," I said simply. "Hers. Mine. Section E's. Even Yuri's, when he didn't deserve it. People like her don't stop to think about the damage. You do. That's the difference."
Silence stretched, softer this time.
"Keifer?" she murmured.
"Yeah?"
"If I ever call someone 'Dad' again," she said, voice small but determined, "it won't be because my mom tells me to. It'll be because I chose it."
"Good," I replied. "Start with this: you don't have to call Curtis anything. Not now, not ever."
"Deal," she said.
Her breathing evened out slowly, the tension in her shoulders finally easing as she sagged fully against me. I held her tighter, eyes on the door like I could glare her mother out of existence if she tried to come near.
Her mother had chosen new men over and over.
Jay had chosen herself.
And somewhere in all of this mess, she'd chosen me too.
I wasn't going anywhere.