JAY'S POV — WHEN POWER DOESN'T ASK FOR PERMISSION
My fingers had just brushed the cool metal of the exit handle when—
His hand closed around my wrist.
Firm.
Not gentle.
Not angry.
Desperate.
"Jay."
The word cracked.
I stopped walking, not because he held me—
But because I chose to.
Slowly, I turned.
The hall behind us was still buzzing, voices low and frantic, but around us there was a strange pocket of silence—like the air itself knew not to interfere.
Yuri stood too close.
Too human.
Too exposed.
"Why?" he demanded, voice tight. "Why can't you choose me?"
His grip tightened slightly. Not enough to hurt. Enough to beg.
"You could've had everything," he continued. "We could've done this together. Why hide who you are? Why pretend—"
I looked down at his hand on my wrist.
Then back up at his face.
And something in me went cold.
I pulled my hand free.
Once.
Cleanly.
"Don't," I said softly.
The word carried more weight than shouting ever could.
"You don't get to ask me that."
His jaw clenched. "I love you."
I laughed.
Not loud.
Not cruel.
Just… empty.
"You loved the version of me you could stand next to," I said. "The one you could protect. The one you could place on a stage."
I leaned in just enough that only he could hear me.
"You never loved the woman who could burn the stage down."
His eyes flickered.
Fear?
Respect?
Both.
"My identity," I continued calmly, "was none of your business."
"You were my friend," he shot back. "That made it my business."
I smiled again.
Sharp.
"No," I corrected. "That made it your mistake."
His breath hitched.
"And listen very carefully," I said, voice dropping even lower. "If you breathe a word of this—about JJM, about me—"
I tilted my head.
"—to anyone…"
I paused.
"Especially Keifer."
The name landed like a blade.
"I will make sure," I finished softly, "that the Hanamitchi legacy becomes a case study."
His eyes widened.
"Not a scandal," I clarified. "A lesson."
I straightened, smoothing my dress, reclaiming my space inch by inch.
"You tried to secure your position as the heir to the Hanamitchi's with my life," I said evenly. "Now I own the boardroom you thought I'd never enter."
I stepped back.
This time, he didn't reach for me.
"You should've trusted me,you could have talked to me before " I said one last time. "But you chose to control me of all people instead."
I turned.
Walked out.
Behind me, Yuri didn't follow.
Didn't call my name.
Didn't stop me.
And that—
That told me everything.
The night air hit my skin like freedom.
And somewhere deep inside, the last thread tying me to who I used to be finally snapped.
YURI'S POV — WHEN PRIDE BLEEDS QUIETLY
The door closed behind her.
Not slammed.
Not dramatic.
Just… final.
The sound echoed anyway.
I stood there, staring at the space where Jay had been seconds ago, my hand still suspended in the air like it had forgotten what it was supposed to do next.
Gone.
She walked out like she owned the night.
Like she hadn't just ripped something out of my chest and left it bleeding on polished marble.
My jaw tightened.
"She threatened you."
My grandfather's voice cut through the silence—low, sharp, controlled. He had moved closer without me noticing, his cane tapping once against the floor.
"That wasn't a threat," I said coldly. "That was a promise."
My mother inhaled sharply. "Yuri—"
"No," I snapped, turning to face them. "Don't."
My father's expression was unreadable. The same face he wore in boardrooms when companies collapsed across the table from him. Calm. Assessing. Already calculating losses.
"She humiliated us," my grandfather said. "In our own house."
"She outplayed us," I corrected.
That earned me a look.
"You were supposed to secure her," my grandfather continued. "You were supposed to make this clean."
I laughed bitterly. "You don't secure someone like Jay."
My mother stepped closer, voice trembling. "You said she trusted you."
"She did," I replied quietly.
And that was the worst part.
"She trusted you," my grandfather repeated, disgust laced through every syllable. "And she used that trust to put a knife to our throat."
"No," I said, fists clenching at my sides. "We put the knife there first."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
I turned away from them, staring toward the glass walls that led to the skylight, where guests would soon marvel at fireworks, oblivious to the war that had just been declared indoors.
Jay standing on that stage replayed in my mind.
The slit in her dress.
The chair.
The way she smiled—not sweet, not polite—but sharp, deliberate.
Like a queen revealing her crown only after everyone underestimated her.
JJM Industries.
Of course.
Everyone in the room knew the rumors. A faceless prodigy. A young CEO who moved like a ghost through markets, destabilizing giants with surgical precision.
We just never thought—
Her.
My chest burned.
"She chose power over protection," my grandfather said. "That never ends well."
I scoffed. "She didn't choose power."
I closed my eyes briefly.
"She is power."
My mother's voice softened. "Yuri… you still care for her."
That was the problem.
I turned back toward the exit she'd taken.
"She thinks she's won," I said, bitterness seeping into my tone. "She thinks she sees the whole board."
My father finally spoke. "Does she not?"
A slow smile pulled at my lips.
No warmth.
No humor.
Just certainty.
"She doesn't know about Keifer."
My grandfather's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
I didn't.
Not fully.
Some things were better kept close.
Some plans weren't mine to reveal—yet.
I remembered the fragments I'd overheard. The quiet movements. The long game being played behind the scenes. The way Keifer never acted without layers.
Always three steps ahead.
Jay thought she'd escaped manipulation.
Thought she'd burned the cage.
But she had no idea who else had been holding the keys.
I exhaled slowly.
"I hope you don't regret it, Jay," I thought bitterly. "Because when you find out the truth…"
I clenched my jaw.
"…you'll realize you chose the wrong enemy."
Behind me, my family began speaking in low, urgent tones—damage control, counteroffers, retaliation.
I barely heard them.
All I could see was her walking away.
Head high.
Unafraid.
Unaware.
And for the first time that night, my anger wasn't loud.
It was patient.
Waiting.
Just like the game had always been....
JAY'S POV — WHEN THE WORLD STOPS BREATHING
My family had already left.
I knew that because the hallway felt emptier—too quiet for a place that had just hosted a war disguised as a party. My heels echoed softly against the marble as I walked, phone pressed to my ear, Damian's voice steadying me as he spoke.
"We'll move fast," he said. "JJM holds leverage now. We don't rush—but we don't hesitate either."
"I know," I replied, rubbing my temple. "I want interim control clauses drafted by morning. No loopholes."
"I'll handle it."
I exhaled slowly. "Thank you, Damian."
I lowered the phone, already preparing to call the driver—
When suddenly—
A hand grabbed my arm.
Strong.
Unyielding.
I was pulled sharply sideways—
Into an elevator.
The doors slid shut with a soft ding before I could react.
My instincts flared.
My breath hitched.
My hand came up—
And then—
His mouth crashed into mine.
Hard.
Desperate.
Familiar.
Every thought shattered on impact.
I didn't need to open my eyes.
Didn't need to question it.
My lips responded before my mind could catch up—moving instinctively, like they recognized him on a level deeper than reason.
The world narrowed to heat and breath and the way his hand trembled against my waist.
Keifer.
I kissed him back.
Not careful.
Not polite.
Like I'd been holding my breath for weeks and he was air.
The elevator hummed softly as it began to move, the city outside irrelevant.
Then—
He pulled away.
Just slightly.
Enough for me to open my eyes.
And my heart broke.
Keifer stood inches from me, chest rising unevenly, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. There was the faint smell of alcohol—wine, maybe more than one glass. His jaw was clenched like he was holding himself together by sheer force.
Tears sat in his eyes.
Not falling.
Just… there.
"I didn't know," he said hoarsely. "I didn't know what was happening."
My chest tightened painfully.
"I saw you up there," he continued, voice cracking. "Smiling. Saying yes. And everyone was clapping and I—"
He swallowed hard.
"I didn't know if you were being forced. Or if you chose him. Or if I was already too late."
The elevator slowed.
Stopped.
The doors stayed closed.
He laughed once—broken, disbelieving. "I drank too much. Thought maybe it would make it hurt less."
I reached for him without thinking.
My hands framed his face, thumbs brushing just beneath his eyes.
"Keifer," I whispered.
He leaned into my touch like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
"I didn't understand," he said quietly. "I thought… I thought I lost you without even knowing how."
My throat burned.
"You didn't," I said firmly. "You didn't lose me."
His eyes searched mine, raw and vulnerable in a way I'd never seen before.
"Then what was that?" he asked. "Up there."
I took a breath.
Steady.
Grounded.
"That," I said softly, "was me surviving."
His brows knit together.
"This," I continued, leaning my forehead against his, "is me choosing."
His breath shuddered.
The elevator lights flickered faintly above us.
I kissed him again.
This time slower.
Intentional.
A promise instead of a collision.
When I pulled back, his eyes were still wet—but clearer now.
"I should be sober for this," he muttered weakly.
I smiled sadly. "You should."
The elevator finally chimed again, doors sliding open.
Neither of us moved right away.
The war outside hadn't ended.
The games were just beginning.
But in that small, quiet space—
For the first time that night—
I wasn't alone.