Jay-Jay's POV
Mama didn't slink away after the restaurant disaster. By midnight, her social media blitz hit like a typhoon — blurry snaps pilfered from Denzel's Instagram stories, captions howling "Ungrateful daughter ditches real family for street thug!" Curtis piled on with crocodile tears: "Lost my princess to London's toxic grip. #SaveJayJay." My notifications detonated: 500, then 2,000, hate DMs pouring in from strangers — "Gold digger," "Traitor to blood," "Gang b@#£&." Section E's group chat erupted into war: Rakki rage-posting clapbacks, Felix threatening blocks, Calix analyzing IP traces.
Keifer paced our cramped flat like a caged lion, his bracelet twisted tight in his fist, veins popping. "Block the lot. We lawyer up? Defamation suit?" His voice cracked with fury, eyes dark storms. I scrolled numbly, heart hammering as one video loaded: Mama outside the restaurant, flanked by tabloid hacks, wailing to a mic cluster. "My baby's brainwashed! Gangs, comas — that boy did this! Help me save her!" Reporters ate it up, cameras flashing like vultures.
Rakki's call pierced the chaos: "It's viral, girl. 500M views already. Kaizer's old crew liking every post, commenting fire emojis. This is coordinated." Serina's texts flooded next: Anak, pack bags. Come to the house. Police can trace her IP. Don't face alone. Aunty Gemma added shaky voice notes, voice wobbling: "She's desperate, but this hurts everyone."
Home didn't feel safe anymore — every corner echoed Mama's shrieks, Curtis's smirk. I curled into Keifer on the couch, his arms a fortress, scent of his cologne grounding me. "She won't stop till she wins," I whispered, tears soaking his shirt.
"We fight together," he vowed, kissing my temple. "Section E's got lawyers on speed dial. Dawn hits, we strike back."
Outside, London rain lashed windows. Siege lines drawn. No sleep.