Jay-Jay's POV
Kaizer slithered from the grave next, Mama's posts his perfect bait. She tagged him shamelessly: "Real protector from her past. Not this poison." His reply video dropped at dusk — grainy club lighting, signature smirk, tats gleaming. "Jay-Jay calling home? Philippines misses its queen. London too soft." Views skyrocketed, his crew flooding comments: knives emojis, "K owns her."
Graffiti scarred our building overnight: "Queen → K" in red spray, dripping like blood. Neighbors whispered, avoiding us. Nightmares clawed back — Kaizer's blade flashing, hospital beeps fading to black, coma void swallowing. I jolted awake screaming, sheets soaked, Keifer's arms hauling me close. "He's bluffing," he murmured, rocking me. "But we expose."
C-in landed from Manila at dawn, eyes wild: "I punch his face flat!" Percy scouted rooftops with drones, Denzel deep-cleaned our digital footprint — fake accounts purged, traces scrubbed. Rakki rallied girls' net: Freya doxxing Curtis safehouses, Grace monitoring flights. Even Serina armed up: "Anak, family recipes include curses now."
Mama's final text iced it: Meet at the old warehouse. Kaizer waits. Or he flies to London. Your coma secrets go public. Attached: twisted hospital files blaming Keifer — "Neglect during attack." Lies, all.
No escape. Trap jaws locked. Keifer loaded a go-bag: "We end this. Together." Section E mobilized — vans, backups, lawyers trailing.
Shadow loomed largest yet.