Jay's Pov---
I closed the door to my cabin softly.
The glass walls dimmed at my voice command, the city outside dissolving into a blur of steel and light. The applause was gone now. The laughter. The chaos.
Silence returned.
I exhaled and moved toward my desk.
That's when I saw it.
An envelope.
Not courier brown.
Not internal MJ black.
Cream-colored. Heavy stock. Embossed seal.
London.
I stopped.
Something about it felt… deliberate.
I picked it up slowly, fingers brushing over the raised crest before opening it.
One page.
Formal.
Precise.
Unmistakable.
Businesswoman of the Year
Private Notification of Awardee Status
Award Ceremony — London
Winner:Jasper Jean Mariano,MJ Industries...
I read it once.
Then again.
No cameras.
No headlines.
No applause.
Just fact.
I sat down.
Not because I was weak—
But because six years ago, an eighteen-year-old girl ran from a city that tried to decide her life for her.
And now the same world was asking her to stand at its center.
I let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in my chest for years.
Then I reached for my phone.
He answered on the second ring.
"Tell me you saw it."
I smiled. "You already know."
"Of course I do," Percy said. "Your assistant nearly combusted calling me."
I leaned back in my chair. "You sound calm."
"I screamed first," he admitted. "Then I scared three interns."
I laughed softly.
"You did it, Jay," he said, voice dropping. "You actually did it."
"We did it," I corrected. "You were there when I couldn't be."
There was a pause.
Then, quieter: "You were eighteen when you came back here."
"I know."
"And now you're twenty-four," Percy continued. "And they didn't give you this. You took it."
My throat tightened.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
"I will be," I said. "I just… didn't expect it to feel this heavy."
"That's because it matters," Percy said. "And because you never chased it. You just built something honest."
I smiled.
"I'm proud of you," he added. "Not as your brother. As someone who watched you survive."
"I love you," I said.
"Always," he replied. "Now call Mom before she finds out from me and murders someone."
Next I called her she picked up immediately.
"Jay?"
"Yes, Mom."
Her breath caught. "Percy told me."
I closed my eyes.
"I'm proud of you," Reycee said softly. "So proud I don't even know what to say."
"That's new," I teased gently.
She laughed, then steadied. "Six years ago, you came home broken. Quiet. Guarded. And I didn't ask enough questions because I was afraid of the answers."
"Mom—"
"I see you now," she continued. "And I know you didn't break. You transformed."
My chest ached.
"You don't owe the world anything," she said. "Not even this award."
"I know."
"But you earned it," she added. "And you should stand there knowing your name belongs to you."
"I will," I promised.
"And Jay?"
"Yes?"
"Wear something that makes them uncomfortable."
I smiled. "I always do."
Then I called dad,His voice was steady. Controlled.
"Congratulations,anak" he said simply.
"Thank you, Dad."
A pause.
Then: "I read the letter twice."
I smiled faintly. "You always do."
"You built MJ Industries without shortcuts," Jaspher said. "Without compromising your values. That's rare."
"I learned from you."
"That's why I'm proud," he replied. "Not because of the award. But because power didn't change you."
I nodded, even though he couldn't see it.
"You don't need permission to take up space anymore," he said. "You already own it."
"I know," I whispered.
"We'll be watching," he added. "From here."
"I'll make you proud."
"You already have."
I set the phone down slowly.
For a moment, I just sat there.
Then—
A knock.
"Come in."
Dane stepped inside, tablet in hand, expression sharp and efficient.
"You've seen it," he said.
"Yes."
"All representatives from the morning meeting are aligned," Dane continued. "They've left the city."
"No pushback?" I asked.
"None worth documenting," he replied. "They were… cooperative."
I hummed. "Fear travels fast."
"Also the award ceremony is tonight," Dane added. "In London. Private yet filled with press. Old money. Legacy families and Major companies attending..."
I frowned. "Tonight?"
"I have everything handled," he said calmly. "Jet. Security. Wardrobe. Schedule."
I stood. "I'm not prepared."
"You are," Dane said simply. "You've been preparing for six years."
I exhaled through my nose. "Anyone else attending?"
"Wilson Corporation," he replied. "Sir Cole is confirmed. Mam Celeste declined due to internal matters."
I nodded.
"I'll be ready," I said.
As the door closed, I picked up my phone again.
Jay: London tonight.
Cole: I know.
Jay: You always do.
Cole: You okay?
Jay: I will be. Come with me.
Cole: Already planned on it.
Jay: Three hours.Don't be late.
Cole: I'll be early.
I smiled.
Then I stood, walking toward the window.
The city hadn't changed.
But I had.
And tonight—
I wouldn't be running from the past.
I'd be arriving as myself....
The jet hummed beneath my feet—steady, powerful, unbothered by the distance it was erasing.
New York behind us.
London ahead.
I sat by the window, legs crossed, tablet resting idle on my lap. The city lights below blurred into constellations before vanishing into dark ocean. I didn't need to look anymore—I knew what leaving felt like.
Dane stood a few feet away, scrolling through logistics, already three steps ahead of everyone else in the room.
Cole sat opposite me, jacket off, sleeves rolled slightly, looking irritatingly composed for someone who had just agreed to fly halfway across the world on a few hours' notice.
"You're quiet," Cole said casually.
"I'm focused," I replied.
"Same thing," he countered. "Just scarier on you."
I glanced at him. "You should see me when I'm relaxed."
He smiled. "I have. It's worse."
Dane cleared his throat. "We land in six hours. Hotel check-in is expedited. Ms. Mariano has ninety minutes from arrival to venue departure."
I nodded once.
Efficient. Clean. Controlled.
Still—something tightened in my chest.
London wasn't just a ceremony.
It was a stage.
And stages remembered blood.
The suite overlooked the Thames—glass, steel, history pressed up against modern arrogance. I didn't linger.
I showered quickly, letting the heat ground me, washing off the last traces of New York. By the time I stepped out, the weight had settled—not nerves.
Armor.
The dress waited on the bed.
Black velvet. Bodycon. Precision-cut. Flowing just enough to suggest softness while promising none. The slit was tasteful. Dangerous. Strategic. (Dress in comments)
Business appropriate—if you understood power.
I slipped into it slowly, methodically.
Hair pulled into a sleek bun. No loose strands. No apologies.
Makeup was sharp and intentional—defined eyes, clean lines, red lips that didn't ask permission.
And then the shoes.
Red Louboutins.
A quiet warning.
When I straightened and looked in the mirror, I didn't see the girl who ran.
I saw the woman who decided who stayed.
I picked up my clutch and opened the door.
Cole was leaning against the opposite doorframe, phone in hand, black suit cut to perfection, blazer sharp, posture relaxed in a way that suggested absolute confidence.
He looked up.
And froze.
Just for half a second.
His brows lifted slightly. His jaw—actually dropped before he caught himself.
"Well," he said slowly, pushing off the frame. "That should be illegal."
I arched a brow. "You say that about spreadsheets."
"Yes," he agreed. "But this feels personal."
I stepped closer, heels clicking softly against the marble. "Friendly reminder—you're here as support, not a distraction."
"Impossible," he replied easily. "You weaponized velvet."
I smirked. "Good. Let's go make people nervous."
He offered his arm.
I took it.
The city glowed gold outside the tinted windows.
Dane sat opposite us, tablet up again. "Final briefing. Major attendees confirmed."
I listened. Calm. Neutral.
"Braselton Industries," Dane said. "CEO: David Braselton."
A flicker of memory.
I didn't react.
"Peralta Group of Hospitals."
Cin.
My fingers tightened once around my clutch—then relaxed.
"Hanamitchi Group."
Yuri.
Still nothing on my face.
Then—
"Watson Corporation."
"Fernandez Corporation."
The air shifted.
Not visibly.
Internally.
I didn't freeze.
I didn't flinch.
I didn't look at Cole.
I simply inhaled—and exhaled.
"Continue," I said evenly.
Dane did. Professional. Unshaken.
"The Sanchez's, The Williamson's.... "
He kept going on because he didn't know what could or will probably occur.
But I knew.
Tonight wasn't just about an award.
It was a convergence.
And convergence meant reckoning.
Cole glanced at me then—not with concern, but with quiet acknowledgment.
I met his gaze briefly.
I was fine.
More than fine.
The car slowed.
Lights exploded.
Flashes.
Sound hit us like a wave—names shouted, cameras clicking, recognition buzzing through the air.
The door opened.
Cole stepped out first, smooth, composed.
Then he offered his hand.
I took it.
The moment my heel touched the ground, the noise doubled.
"Ms.MARIANO!"
"M.J. INDUSTRIES!"
"THIS WAY—LOOK HERE!"
I didn't smile immediately.
I walked.
Measured. Elegant. Untouchable.
Cole stayed beside me—not leading, not shielding.
Matching.
The cameras loved that.
Power walking with power.
We paused briefly at the entrance.
I turned just enough to give them my profile.
Red lips. Calm eyes. No fear.
Inside, the doors closed behind us.
The noise cut off.
The hall opened wide—crystal chandeliers, old money opulence, conversations layered with ambition.
Eyes turned.
Recognition sparked.
Whispers followed.
I straightened my spine.
This was my room now.
Whatever ghosts waited inside—
They would have to face me standing.
And for the first time, I didn't wonder who I might become by the end of the night.
I already knew.