JAY — PRESENT DAY
MIDNIGHT
The city looked different from my apartment.
Quieter.
Distant lights blinking like they didn't know what had happened today—and didn't care.
Celeste fussed in the kitchen without really cooking. Cole stood by the window at first, arms crossed, watching traffic like it might betray us too if he looked away.
I sat curled on the couch, knees pulled to my chest, blanket draped over my shoulders more for comfort than warmth.
"I'm fine," I said again, voice steadier than I felt. "You don't have to stay."
Celeste turned slowly, eyes sharp. "Jay."
That one word.
Warning.
Care.
I sighed and looked away.
Cole spoke gently this time. "We're not leaving."
Silence settled again.
It stretched.
Midnight came without ceremony.
The clock ticked.
The world exhaled.
Cole finally broke it.
"Tell us," he said quietly. "What actually happened. Back then."
My fingers tightened in the blanket.
For a long moment, I didn't speak.
Then—
"I didn't plan to disappear," I said softly. "I planned to survive."
Celeste sat beside me, close but not touching. Waiting.
"They were everything," I continued. "Section E. Family. Chaos. Safety. Or at least—I thought they were."
I swallowed.
"Keifer loved me," I said. "In his way. Intense. Protective. Terrified."
Cole's jaw tightened but he didn't interrupt.
"They told me it was for my good," I went on. "That lying was necessary. That disappearing pieces of the truth was protection. That pain now meant safety later."
My laugh came out hollow. "Funny how abuse always dresses itself up like concern."
Celeste's hand finally found mine.
"They chose legacy," I whispered. "Fathers. Companies. Bloodlines. I was… expendable."
The word tasted bitter.
"I found out by accident," I said. "Deals being made about my life. My future. Where I'd go. What I'd give up. Who I'd stop being."
My voice cracked—but I didn't stop.
"And Keifer knew," I said. "He knew before I did."
Cole's eyes darkened. "And he didn't tell you."
I shook my head.
"He told himself he was protecting me," I said quietly. "By deciding for me."
Tears slid down my cheeks, silent.
"That night," I continued, "I begged him to choose me. Just once. To run. To burn it all down with me."
I closed my eyes.
"He didn't."
The room felt heavier.
"So I left," I said. "Not dramatically. Not loudly. I just… vanished."
Celeste squeezed my hand. "And MJ Industries?"
I inhaled slowly.
"M.J.," I said. "My initials. But also—
my justice."
Cole blinked. "You built it alone?"
"I built it angry," I corrected. "I built it bleeding. I built it so no one could ever corner me again."
I looked at them then.
Really looked.
"That's why I don't let people in," I said. "Because everyone who ever promised they wouldn't leave—did."
Silence followed.
Not awkward.
Sacred.
Then Cole spoke, voice rough but steady. "You're not alone anymore."
Celeste nodded fiercely. "We're not Section E. We don't disappear when it gets ugly."
I laughed softly through tears. "You say that now."
Cole moved closer, sitting on the floor in front of me so we were eye-level. "Jay. Look at me."
I did.
"I don't care who he is," he said. "What he owns. What he regrets. He doesn't get to rewrite what he did to you."
Celeste leaned in too. "And if the past comes knocking again—we answer it together."
My chest ached.
Not the sharp pain from earlier.
This one was slower.
Healing-shaped.
"I don't know how to be vulnerable," I admitted. "I don't know how to let people stay."
Cole smiled faintly. "Good. Then we'll stay anyway."
Celeste rested her head against my shoulder. "No conditions. No timelines. No expectations."
I finally let myself lean into them.
Just a little.
Outside, the city slept.
Inside—
For the first time in years—
I wasn't bracing for the fall.
MORNING...
I woke up to weight.
Actual weight.
Warm.
Breathing.
I blinked once.
Twice.
Then turned my head.
Cole was sprawled half on the floor, half against the couch, one arm still draped over my ankle like he'd claimed it in his sleep. His hair stuck up in three different directions, glasses crooked on his face like he'd passed out mid-thought.
Across from me, Celeste was curled into the corner of the couch, blanket twisted around her like a cocoon, mascara faintly smudged, mouth slightly open.
I stared.
They stared back.
For a second—no one moved.
Then Celeste squinted. "Why do we look… illegal?"
Cole groaned. "I slept like a morally questionable burrito."
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
The sound surprised me.
It was messy and real and echoed through the apartment like it hadn't been afraid to exist.
Celeste sat up, blanket slipping. "Please tell me someone took a picture."
Cole reached for his phone. "Already did."
"No—delete it," I said, laughing harder. "You are not allowed to weaponize this."
They both looked at me.
Really looked.
And smiled.
Not relieved.
Not cautious.
Just… happy.
We got ready fast—routine efficiency settling in. Coffee brewed. Hair pulled back. Jackets shrugged on. The apartment returned to its polished stillness, but something had shifted underneath.
At the door, Celeste hugged me tight.
"No breaking things today," she warned.
"No promises," I said dryly.
Cole squeezed my shoulder. "Call if you need anything."
I nodded.
Then we split.
The elevator doors opened—
And confetti exploded.
Gold. White. Black.
Applause hit me like a wall.
For half a second, my brain short-circuited.
Then I saw them.
Every employee—assistants, analysts, interns, department heads—lined across the atrium, grinning, cheering, holding banners that read:
BUSINESSWOMAN OF THE YEAR
CONGRATS, BOSS
RAISES OR WE RIOT (KIDDING… MOSTLY)
I stared.
Then—
"Oh my God," I said flatly. "You all planned this."
Cheers intensified.
Someone whistled.
Dane appeared at my side, clapping politely. "Surprise."
I walked forward slowly, overwhelmed.
"This is highly inappropriate," I said, deadpan.
Laughter erupted.
"And highly effective," I added. "Ten percent increments across departments."
The building nearly came down.
I smiled.
Not the boardroom smile.
The real one.