JAY'S POV —
I should've trusted my instincts.
The moment Keifer said, "We need to talk after lunch," I felt it—that subtle shift in the air that always meant I was about to be outnumbered.
I was halfway through zipping my bag when Cin stepped directly into my path.
Arms out.
Smiling.
"Nope."
I looked at him. Then past him. "Move."
"Nope," he repeated, far too pleased with himself.
David appeared at his side, calm, unreadable. "You're coming with us."
"With who?" I asked, already knowing I wouldn't like the answer.
Edrix leaned against the wall, grinning. "Field trip."
Eman nodded. "Emergency."
I turned to Keifer.
He didn't look guilty.
That was the problem.
"We're shopping," he said.
I blinked once. "No, we're not."
"Yes, we are."
"I already have a dress."
Cin waved his hand dismissively. "Irrelevant."
"Highly relevant," I corrected. "I planned ahead."
Keifer tilted his head slightly, studying me the way he did when he'd already decided something. "You have a dress."
I crossed my arms. "And?"
"And it doesn't match."
I laughed once. "This is a school ramp walk, not a diplomatic summit."
Edrix snorted. "Tell that to the photographers."
"I'm not matching anyone," I said firmly. "End of discussion."
Keifer didn't argue.
He just stepped closer.
"You're the face of Section E for that walk," he said quietly. "So am I."
That made me pause.
Cin leaned in, stage-whispering, "Also we already booked the boutique."
I turned slowly. "You what."
David cleared his throat. "Too late to cancel."
I stared at all of them.
Five boys.
Five traitors.
"You planned this," I said flatly.
Keifer met my gaze. "We prepared."
"That's worse."
I meant it.
Preparation implied forethought. Coordination. Betrayal with spreadsheets.
Cin clapped his hands together. "Great! Everyone's on the same page."
"No one is on my page," I said, already being shepherded toward the parking lot like a hostile VIP.
Keifer opened the car door before I could protest. I considered slamming it shut on principle.
I didn't.
That annoyed me most.
---
The boutique's glass doors slid open with a soft chime.
Cool air. Clean light. Quiet luxury.
I stepped inside—and immediately felt it.
The shift.
Two staff members behind the counter straightened at once. One of them actually smiled like she'd just seen a ghost she liked.
"Ms—"
I lifted my hand, subtle. Sharp.
Don't.
They caught it instantly. Eyes flicked to the boys behind me. Understanding dawned. Discretion locked in.
"Welcome," the manager said smoothly, like this was just another afternoon. "Please feel free to browse."
Cin whispered, "Why do they look scared of you?"
"They're not," I said. "They're well-trained."
Keifer glanced around, taking in the space. Minimalist racks. Custom mannequins. A private fitting hallway hidden behind frosted glass.
"…This place is not on Google," he muttered.
"It is," I replied. "Just not for everyone."
I walked ahead, heels clicking softly. The boys followed like ducklings who'd accidentally wandered into a high-end documentary.
Racks of dresses passed by.
I rejected them without slowing.
"Too loud.""Too obvious.""Too fragile."
"No spine."
Cin held up a silver gown. "This one sparkles."
"So do chandeliers," I said. "Put it back."
Edrix lifted a black dress. "Classic."
"Funeral," I replied.
Eman squinted at a deep emerald piece. "That could—"
"No."
Keifer watched silently.
That, somehow, was worse than commentary.
Then—
I stopped.
Not deliberately.
Not dramatically.
My body just… paused.
Three seconds.
That's all it took.
Low back.High slit.
Maroon velvet that caught the light like it was breathing. Something wearing in a school event felt illegal....
Power, not performance.
The kind of dress that didn't ask for attention.
It assumed it.
Cin followed my line of sight. "Oh."
Edrix exhaled. "Oh damn."
Eman nodded slowly. "That's the one."
Keifer didn't say anything.
He stepped closer. Just enough to be beside me. Not crowding. Not claiming.
"It matches," he said quietly.
Not the color.
The intent.
I turned my head slightly. "Don't."
He looked at me. Really looked.
"I didn't say it out loud."
I reached for the hanger.
The velvet was cool. Heavy. Certain.
"Fitting room," I said.
The manager appeared instantly, already holding the key. "Right this way."
Cin leaned toward Keifer. "If she comes out wearing that, you're all done for."
Keifer didn't respond.
---
I didn't look at myself in the mirror at first.
I adjusted the straps. Smoothed the fabric. Felt the way it settled—like it belonged.
Then I looked up.
And stilled.
Not because I looked pretty.
Because I looked dangerous.
When I stepped out, the reaction was immediate.
Cin actually took a step back. "I withdraw every joke I've ever made."
Edrix blinked. "This feels illegal."
Eman swallowed. "Keifer?"
Keifer hadn't moved.
His jaw was tight. His gaze unreadable.
"Say something," I said lightly.
He exhaled once. "We're matching."
I raised an eyebrow. "Confident."
"Accurate."
---
The tux fitting was faster. Predictable. Black. Clean lines. When he stepped out, the room… aligned.
It was annoying how well it worked.He Chose a tie matching with the colour of my dress...
We reached the counter together.
I pulled out my card.
So did he.
Our hands collided.
I didn't look away. "I've got it."
He smiled, slow and infuriating. "So do I."
"I don't need—"
"I know," he said softly. "I want to."
The machine beeped.
Approved.
His.
I stared. "You didn't."
He leaned closer, voice low. "Relax. If anyone asks—consider it a strategic partnership."
I scoffed. "You're insufferable."
His smile tilted. "You noticed."
---
Outside, the sun was lower now.
David checked his phone. "Jay listen I'm heading your way anyway," he said to me. "I'll drop you home."
Keifer's head snapped up. Sharp look. Calculating.
Then—reluctant nod.
"Fine," he said. "Text me when she's in."
David nodded once.
I adjusted the bag on my shoulder and walked toward the car.
Didn't look back.
I didn't need to.
I could feel Keifer's gaze like a promise—or a warning.
And for the first time in a long time—
I didn't flinch from it.
---
The car ride was quieter than expected.
Not awkward.
Measured.
David drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near the gearshift.
His eyes flicked to me once, then back to the road. He'd always been like that—observant without hovering, present without prying.
We passed three traffic lights before he spoke.
"So," he said calmly, "what's the plan?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Outside the window, the city blurred—shops, people, noise. Inside the car, it felt insulated. Contained.
Safe enough.
"What plan?" I asked.
David sighed softly. "Jay."
I turned to him.
He didn't look amused. Or suspicious. Just… aware.
"You don't let people corner you," he continued.
"You don't agree to coordinated outfits unless there's a reason. And you definitely don't walk into a room looking like a declaration of war unless you've already decided something."
I smiled faintly. "You make it sound dramatic."
"You are dramatic," he replied flatly. "When it matters."
Silence again.
Then—slowly—I lifted my hand to my face.
Not literally.
But I felt it all the same.
The invisible mask.
The one I'd perfected over years. Calm. Polite. Untouchable. The version of me everyone was comfortable with.
I peeled it away.
Just for him.
My expression shifted—not sharper, not angrier.
Colder.
"You're the only one who knows," I said quietly. "So I'm not going to insult you by lying."
David's grip tightened slightly on the wheel. "Good."
"I'm pretending," I continued. "Letting them think they're in control. Letting Keifer believe this is about presentation. Unity. Section pride."
"And it's not?"
I met his eyes. "It's about leverage."
He didn't interrupt.
Didn't react.
Just listened.
"They think the ramp walk is the event," I said. "It's not. It's the stage. And stages are useful."
"For?" he asked.
I looked back out the window.
"For showing people exactly what they underestimated."
David exhaled slowly. "You're going to burn bridges."
I shrugged. "Bridges that were already rigged with expectations."
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then, almost amused, "They really have no idea, do they?"
"No," I said. "They see confidence. Not calculation."
The car slowed as we turned onto my street.
David parked in front of the gate but didn't unlock the doors right away.
"You know Keifer isn't stupid," he said. "He'll notice. Eventually."
"I'm counting on it."
"That doesn't sound safe."
I finally looked at him fully. "Since when have I optimized for safe?"
A pause.
Then David nodded once. Respect, not approval.
"Text me if this goes sideways," he said. "Not after. During."
I smiled—real this time. "Always."
He unlocked the doors.
---
My room was dark when I entered.
I didn't turn on the lights.
I dropped the garment bag carefully over the chair. Hung Keifer's calculated generosity beside my wardrobe like a quiet challenge.
Then I sat on the edge of my bed.
The silence settled.
No boys. No banter. No strategic smiles.
Just me.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, and let the thoughts line up—neat. Orderly. Sharp.
They thought today was about fashion.
They thought coordination meant control.
They thought I'd been cornered.
I smiled in the dark.
Keifer. Cin. The rest of them.
They'd learn.
Not loudly.
Not messily.
But completely.
I stood, finally switching on the lamp.
The maroon velvet caught the light even through the cover—rich, patient, inevitable.
"So," I murmured to the empty room, voice steady, "you wanted matching."
I reached out, fingers brushing the fabric like a promise.
"Fine.I'll give you all something to remember to make the entire school envious of section e and then slowly break all of you down at once.. "
"You are doomed Section E...."