JAY — PRESENT DAY
Morning arrived the way it always did.
Quiet. Controlled. Predictable.
I woke before the alarm—not because I had to, but because my body had learned discipline better than rest. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, painting pale lines across the ceiling of my room. The city beyond the glass was already alive, humming with urgency that matched my own.
I showered without thinking.
Cold water. Sharp focus.
By the time I stepped out, steam curling behind me, the woman in the mirror was composed—hair sleek, face bare but flawless, eyes calm in the way people mistook for indifference.
It wasn't indifference.
It was restraint.
I dressed in my usual armor: tailored black trousers, a crisp ivory blouse, blazer structured enough to command rooms without saying a word. Minimal jewelry. Watch on my wrist. No excess.
Downstairs, the mansion moved quietly around me.
"Good morning, Ms. Mariano," the butlers greeted in unison.
"Morning," I replied, voice even.
The kitchen smelled like coffee and toasted bread. I poured myself a cup, fixed a simple breakfast, and sat at the island, skimming through overnight reports on my tablet. Numbers steadied me. Markets made sense. People, less so.
The doorbell rang.
Once.
Then again—impatient.
I didn't look up before the voices filled the space.
"Tell me why your security still side-eyes us like we're criminals," Cole announced as he walked in like he owned the place.
Celeste followed, immaculate as always, already stealing a strawberry from my plate. "Because you are criminals. Financially."
I sighed. "Good morning to you too."
Cole dropped into the seat across from me, grabbing coffee like it was his birthright. "Morning, Ice Queen."
Celeste smirked. "She smiled yesterday. Mark the calendar."
"I did not," I said flatly.
"You blinked softer," Cole argued. "That counts."
Breakfast dissolved into controlled chaos—Cole talking over everyone, Celeste correcting him mid-sentence, me pretending not to enjoy it while absolutely doing so. This was our normal. Loud. Easy. Safe.
For them, I softened.
Only for them.
An hour later, we were in the car together, city rushing past in blurred motion. MJ Industries' tower rose ahead of us—glass and steel cutting into the skyline, unmistakable, untouchable.
As we stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
Executives straightened. Assistants moved faster. Conversations died mid-sentence.
Heads bowed.
"Good morning, Ms. Jay."
"Ms. Mariano."
"Ms. Jay."
They never used my last name alone.
Not because of legacy.
Because Jay carried more weight.
Cole and Celeste peeled off toward the main conference room, already debating strategies with animated intensity.
"I'll see you inside," Cole said. "Try not to terrify them before we start."
"No promises," I replied.
I headed toward my cabin.
The corridor was silent except for the measured click of my heels. Glass walls framed the city behind me—my city now.
Behind me, Dane kept pace.
My assistant was efficient, sharp, and thankfully immune to intimidation.
He handed me a tablet as we walked. "Today's agenda is tight. The collaboration meeting starts in twenty. Two rising firms joining us for phase one—"
"Summarize risks," I said, opening my office door.
He followed me inside. "Minimal. Both companies are eager. Financials are clean."
I set my bag down, picked up a few files from my desk, flipping through them automatically.
"And," Dane continued, scrolling, "we also have representatives attending on behalf of Watson Corporation and Fernandez Corporation."
My hand stilled.
The page blurred.
For a fraction of a second, the world tilted—just slightly. Like a tremor under glass.
"Repeat that," I said calmly.
"Watson Corporation," Dane repeated, unaware. "And Fernandez Corporation. They'll be joining as observers."
The room felt colder.
Six years collapsed into a single breath.
Watson.
Fernandez.
Names I had buried deep enough that even thinking them felt foreign.
I closed the file slowly.
My face revealed nothing.
"Understood," I said. "Proceed as scheduled."
Dane nodded, already moving on. "I'll alert you when everyone's assembled."
He left.
The door closed softly behind him.
I stood alone in my office, city stretching endlessly beyond the glass.
So.
The past hadn't stayed buried after all.
I straightened my blazer, expression settling into something unreadable.
Whatever walked into that meeting room—
It would meet me.
Not the girl who ran.
Not the one who broke.
But the woman who built an empire and forgot how to look back...
KEIFER — PRESENT DAY
MJ Industries was exactly the kind of place Keifer despised.
Too clean.
Too precise.
Too quiet in a way that felt deliberate—like the building itself was watching, measuring, judging.
The glass doors slid open smoothly as he stepped inside, London-tailored suit immaculate, expression unreadable. Power hummed beneath the polished floors. Not loud. Not arrogant.
Controlled.
Beside him walked Honey.
His assistant.
His firewall.
His only constant.
She was dressed sharply—charcoal skirt, silk blouse, heels lethal enough to qualify as weapons. Beautiful in the kind of way that shut people up rather than invited them closer. Her expression was already bored.
"Wow," she muttered, scanning the lobby as employees subtly straightened and bowed. "They really trained these people to worship capitalism properly."
Keifer didn't respond. His eyes moved slowly, cataloging exits, cameras, body language.
MJ Industries felt… different.
Honey leaned closer, voice low and dry. "You're scowling. Again. Should I pretend to be your girlfriend or your lawyer today?"
"Neither," he said coolly. "Just do your job."
She smirked. "Touchy. Must be the jet lag. Or the unresolved trauma."
He shot her a look.
She smiled sweetly. "Kidding. Mostly."
They were met by a staff member who bowed slightly. "Mr. Watson. Ms. Honey. Welcome. The meeting room is ready."
They followed the corridor, the silence pressing in. Keifer adjusted his cufflinks absently, jaw tight.
This meeting should've been routine.
Watson Corporation had been invited as an observer.
Fernandez Corporation as a courtesy.
Nothing more.
Nothing personal.
Except—
Fernandez.
Angelo Fernandez walked just ahead of them, posture rigid, face carved from stone. He hadn't said a word since they'd arrived.
Aries couldn't make it.
"Urgent matters," Angelo had said.
Keifer hadn't asked.
He didn't need to.
The doors to the conference room opened.
The first thing Keifer noticed was the atmosphere.
Not tense.
Not chaotic.
Focused.
At the head of the long table sat two figures.
A man lounging back slightly, relaxed but sharp-eyed—confidence worn casually, like he knew the room would bend eventually.
Beside him, a woman sat straight-backed, legs crossed, fingers resting calmly on the table. Her gaze was cool, observant, taking everything in without giving anything away.
They stood as Keifer and Angelo entered.
The man smiled easily. "Cole Wilson. CEO, Wilson Corporation."
The woman nodded once. "Celeste Wilson."
Honey's eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly. Oh, these two are interesting, her expression said.
Keifer inclined his head. "Keifer Watson. Watson Corporation."
Angelo followed stiffly. "Angelo Fernandez. Representing Fernandez Corporation."
Introductions completed, they took their seats.
Keifer sat opposite the Wilson siblings, Honey settling beside him, already pulling up documents on her tablet.
Cole leaned back, studying them openly. "Glad you could make it. We're excited about this collaboration."
Celeste added coolly, "MJ Industries has been… selective. This meeting matters."
Keifer noted that.
MJ Industries.
The name had been circulating for years now.
A rising giant.
Quiet. Ruthless. Efficient.
No public CEO interviews.
No scandals.
No wasted motion.
He respected that.
Still—
Something felt off.
The chair at the head of the table was empty.
Keifer's gaze flicked to it, then away.
Probably the MJ rep running late.
Honey leaned toward him, whispering under her breath, "Just so you know, if this mysterious MJ CEO turns out to be another seventy-year-old man with an ego problem, I'm walking."
Keifer almost smiled.
Almost.
The room settled. Files were arranged. Glasses of water untouched.
Then—
The door opened.
Footsteps. Measured. Unhurried.
The air shifted.
Keifer didn't look up immediately.
He was mid-thought, reviewing figures in his head, when something—instinct, maybe—made his chest tighten.
The footsteps stopped.
A familiar calm voice spoke.
"Sorry to keep everyone waiting."
Keifer looked up.
And the world—
Stopped.