JAY — MANILA
Manila didn't announce itself.
It waited.
The moment the aircraft doors opened, the air wrapped around me—warm, heavy, unmistakably alive. Not aggressive. Not kind. Just present. The kind of heat that didn't care who you had become.
My lungs tightened before my mind could.
The terminal was new now—sleek glass, polished floors, signage glowing in three languages. Efficient. Global. Unrecognizable.
And yet—
My hands curled slightly at my sides, instinctive, like I was bracing for something that no longer existed.
Cole stepped beside me, scanning the space with interest. "This place feels… awake," he said quietly.
Celeste nodded. "Like it never sleeps. Just watches."
I didn't answer.
Outside, a line of black Watson vehicles waited—identical, engines humming softly. No logos. No need. Authority here didn't require explanation.
The drive into the city was worse.
Manila had grown upward. Outward. Neon cut through dusk where streetlights once flickered. Old neighborhoods hid behind renovated facades. Familiar roads wore new names.
But some things refused to be erased.
A corner café that used to stay open past midnight. A narrow street I once ran down barefoot. A church whose bells still rang too early on Sundays.
I looked away.
Cole noticed. He always did.
"You don't have to explain," he said, not looking at me. "Just… tell me if you need to stop."
I didn't.
The villa stood beyond tall iron gates—white stone framed by palms, lights already warming as evening approached. Private. Expansive. Too intentional.
A basketball court stretched along one side, pristine and unused. A swimming area curved behind glass walls, water still as if waiting.
Celeste let out a low whistle. "This is where billion-dollar guilt comes to rest."
"They did not go subtle.. "
"This is where Watson will hosts negotiations," I replied.
We decided quickly—one house. No separation. No distance.
Strength stayed visible.
Inside, the space smelled faintly of citrus and fresh linen. Everything was prepared. Every room stocked. Every detail pre-empted.
That made my chest ache more than I expected.
Someone had planned for us.
We were still setting down bags when the doorbell rang.
Once.
Cole opened it without hesitation.
Honey stood there—impeccably composed, navy dress pressed sharp, hair pinned back with deliberate restraint. Tablet in one hand. Envelope in the other.
No smile.
Just professionalism sharpened into formality.
She stepped inside, nodded once to Cole and Celeste, then came straight to me.
"Ms. Mariano," she said evenly, handing me the envelope. "A formal business dinner has been arranged for this evening. Attendance is required."
I accepted it.
Our fingers didn't touch.
"Mr.and Ms. Wilson are to be also acquainted..," she added, glancing briefly at Cole. "Transportation will arrive at seven."
Celeste arched a brow. "Efficient."
Honey inclined her head. "This project does not allow inefficiency."
And then she turned and left.
No lingering. No curiosity.
Just execution.
The door closed softly behind her.
For a moment, the villa felt too quiet.
"I'm guessing skipping isn't an option," Celeste said.
"No," I replied.
And I hated that my voice didn't waver.
Evening came quickly.
Black blazers. Crisp coats. Heels clicking with purpose. No softness allowed tonight.
We arrived at the venue just after sunset.
It was everything Manila elite demanded—discreet luxury, gold-washed lighting, security hidden in politeness. Conversations hummed low and dangerous.
The moment we stepped inside—
The room shifted.
Eyes turned. Whispers spread. Recognition traveled faster than sound.
Cole leaned closer. "They're not subtle."
"They don't need to be," I replied.
That's when I felt it.
That old pull.
The one I hated for surviving.
Keifer stood near the center of the room, engaged in conversation like this space belonged to him. Relaxed. Controlled. Entirely at home.
When his eyes lifted—
They found me instantly.
No shock.
No hesitation.
Just certainty.
His gaze slid briefly to Cole. Measured. Assessing.
Then back to me.
And something in my chest cracked—not loudly, not visibly—but enough that I had to inhale slowly to keep my spine straight.
This wasn't London.
London had been neutral ground.
This was Manila.
Where memory lived in the walls. Where survival had a name. Where I had learned how to disappear.
I straightened my shoulders.
Cole and Celeste flanked me, solid, unflinching.
I hadn't come back to reclaim anything.
I'd come back because power demanded it.
But standing there, under lights too warm and eyes too familiar, one truth surfaced quietly and cruelly:
Some places don't forget you.
They wait.
They seated us with intention.
Opposite sides.
Opposite histories.
Keifer took the seat directly across from me, Angelo to his right, Aries to his left—Watson and Fernandez aligned like muscle memory. Board members filled the rest, voices polished, laughter measured.
Cole sat beside me, relaxed but alert. Celeste crossed her legs calmly, eyes already cataloguing weaknesses.
Crystal glasses clinked.
Champagne flowed.
Toasts were made—to "historic collaboration," to "economic expansion," to "shared vision."
I smiled when required.
Spoke when necessary.
Listened always.
Keifer didn't.
His eyes stayed on me.
Not openly enough to be rude. Not subtly enough to be missed.
Every time I lifted my glass—he followed. Every time I spoke—his jaw tightened. Every time Cole leaned closer—his fingers curled around his cutlery like it offended him.
Angelo attempted small talk once. Something about logistics.
I answered without warmth.
Aries didn't speak at all.
When dessert arrived, I didn't touch it.
When the final toast ended, I stood.
"Excuse me," I said calmly. "Early morning."
Cole nodded instantly. Celeste followed.
I didn't look at Keifer.
I didn't need to.
Outside, the night air pressed in—humid, buzzing, alive.
Our car waited at the curb.
I stood beside it, arms folded, spine straight.
Waiting.
That's when I felt him.
Too close.
Before I could turn—
Keifer stepped in.
One hand planted against the car door beside my shoulder.
The other braced against the roof.
I was caged.
Metal cold at my back. Heat at my front.
"You don't get to walk away like that," he said low, furious, sharp in his accent.
I shoved him.
Hard.
"Move," I snapped.
He didn't.
"You kissed him," he hissed. "In front of me."
"I don't owe you permission," I shot back. "Get. Out. Of. My. Space."
"You ran," he said, eyes burning now. "You disappeared. You don't get to kiss another man in front of me you don't—"
"Don't Touch me," I warned, voice lethal.
His hand twitched.
That was enough.
I shoved him again, harder this time, nails digging into his suit as I forced space between us.
"You don't get to corner me," I said coldly. "Not here. Not ever again."
"Jay—"
"No."
Footsteps approached fast.
Cole's voice cut through the tension like steel. "Back away. Now."
Celeste was already beside me, stance sharp, eyes merciless. "You're done."
Keifer stepped back half a pace—just enough.
His chest rose and fell, eyes never leaving mine.
For a moment, the world narrowed to the three of us.
Then he straightened.
Mask back in place.
"This isn't over," he said quietly.
I met his gaze without flinching. "It ended six years ago."
He stepped away.
Disappeared into the light.
Cole immediately turned to me. "You okay?"
"Yes," I said.
And this time—
I meant it.
Celeste opened the car door. "Next time,i'll kill him."
I slid in, heels steady, heart controlled.
As the door shut and the car pulled away, Manila blurred past the windows—neon and shadow and memory tangled together.
Keifer Watson had made his move.
And failed.
But I knew one thing now, with terrifying clarity:
This city wasn't just hosting negotiations.
It was preparing a battlefield.
And I would not be the one who bled.