KEIFER — MANILA (LATER THAT NIGHT)
She didn't wake up.
That was the first thing that broke me.
I stood there for a second too long, rain dripping from my hair onto the pavement, her weight slack in my arms, her head tipped back against my shoulder like she'd finally let go of the fight.
"Jay," I said again.
Nothing.
My chest seized.
I opened the car door with shaking hands and laid her across the back seat as gently as I could, like sudden movement might shatter her. Her skin was hot—too hot—and it scared the hell out of me.
I drove like the city owed me mercy.
Red lights blurred. Streets bent. My hands clenched the wheel so hard my knuckles ached, every second replaying her words.
Revenge. Fear. You chose.
I pulled into my driveway just as the rain started to ease, like it had finished saying everything it came to say.
Inside, the house was dark and silent—too clean, too controlled, nothing like the chaos I'd just dragged in with me.
I carried her upstairs.
She didn't stir.
I laid her on the bed, eased her shoes off, peeled away her soaked dress with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. She felt like fire under my palms.
"Please," I whispered, to no one. "Please be okay."
I soaked a cloth in cold water and pressed it to her forehead, again and again, until my arms ached. Changed her into dry clothes—mine, because they were closest, because I didn't trust myself to leave the room.
Medicine. Water. Another cold cloth.
She murmured once.
My name.
It gutted me.
I sat back on my heels, the weight of it finally crushing down.
"I did this," I said aloud, voice breaking in the empty room. "I did this to you."
My hands curled into fists.
Anger surged—but it had nowhere to go but inward.
I bowed my head and cried.
Quietly. Ugly. Helpless.
Not because I'd lost her.
Because I'd hurt her and couldn't undo it.
Sometime later, exhaustion dragged me down. I didn't dare get into the bed. I lay on the floor beside it instead, one hand resting lightly on the mattress near hers—close enough to feel her warmth, far enough to not take space I hadn't earned.
The rain started kept pouring outside fast and hard.
I stayed awake until I didn't.
The next morning....
Light filtered in through the curtains.
My body ached from the floor, but I didn't move right away. I listened.
Her breathing.
Still there.
Steady.
I exhaled for the first time in hours.
Jay was still asleep, lashes dark against her cheeks, fever eased but not gone. I stood quietly, every movement careful, like noise itself might undo the fragile peace.
I stepped out of the room and closed the door softly behind me.
Downstairs, I rolled up my sleeves and started the kettle.
Soup. Tea. Something warm.
Something that didn't ask forgiveness.
Something that just… showed up.
I stayed in the kitchen as the house woke around me, knowing one thing with terrifying clarity:
Loving her was never the question.
Whether I deserved to be near her again—
That was.
JAY — MANILA (MORNING AFTER)
My head felt like it had been split open and stitched back together wrong.
A dull, relentless throb pulsed behind my eyes. My mouth was dry. My limbs felt heavy—foreign.
I frowned and shifted—
—and froze.
This wasn't my bed.
The sheets were unfamiliar. Darker. The air smelled different. Clean, but not neutral. Something sharp underneath. Something male.
I pushed myself up slowly, nausea rolling through me, and that's when I noticed it.
The shirt.
Oversized. Soft. Definitely not mine.
My breath caught.
I rubbed my eyes hard, as if that might rearrange reality into something safer. When I looked again, the room sharpened instead of disappearing.
Minimalist. Controlled. Expensive without warmth.
A man's room.
My stomach dropped.
I swung my legs off the bed, heart pounding, scanning for anchors—my bag, my heels, anything that said I still owned myself.
On the bedside table sat a glass of water, tablets beside it, neatly arranged.
A note.
Drink this. For the headache.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My fingers trembled.
Memory came back in fragments—rain. Heat. His voice. My own words ripping out of me like they'd been waiting years to escape.
I sucked in a shaky breath.
Keifer.
This was Keifer's room.
I stood too fast.
The room tilted, but I forced myself upright, panic now burning clearer than the hangover. My gaze snagged on something beside the lamp.
A photograph.
I stepped closer despite myself.
It was me.
Older than the girl I remembered, younger than the woman I'd become. Laughing. Unaware. Caught mid-moment like I'd trusted the world not to hurt me.
My chest tightened painfully.
Why was this here?
My foot brushed the side table.
It wobbled.
Then tipped.
The drawer slid open as it hit the floor.
I stared.
Medication.
Multiple bottles.
Prescription labels.
His name.
My breath stalled as I crouched instinctively, picking one up with numb fingers.
Antidepressants.
Anti-anxiety meds.
Refills. Adjusted dosages.
Keifer Watson.
My heart stuttered.
I'd never known.
I never would've guessed.
I swallowed hard, then noticed something else beneath them.
A small velvet box.
My pulse roared in my ears as I lifted it.
I didn't open it.
Not at first.
Some instinct begged me not to.
But my hands betrayed me.
The lid flipped back.
Inside lay a ring—simple, elegant, devastating.
Engraved on the inside, clear as a wound:
Jasper Jean Mariano Watson
My vision blurred.
No.
No, no, no—
Footsteps sounded outside the room.
I snapped the box shut, shoved it back into the drawer, pushed the table upright with shaking hands. I barely had time to straighten when the door opened.
Keifer stood there.
He held a tray—tea, soup, toast. Domestic. Careful.
Human.
For half a second, something unreadable crossed his face when he saw me standing.
Relief.
Then restraint.
"You're awake," he said quietly.
My voice came out cold, sharp with panic. "What am I doing here?"
"You fainted," he replied immediately. No hesitation. "On the road. I couldn't leave you there."
I stared at him. "Why am I in your house?"
"Because it was closer," he said. "And you were burning up."
I clenched my jaw. "Who changed my clothes?"
He didn't answer.
He just looked at me.
That was answer enough.
Something in my chest fractured—not loudly, but deep.
Before he could say a word, before guilt or explanation could spill out, I turned.
I ran.
Out of the room. Down the hall. Barefoot, heart slamming, breath tearing in and out of my lungs like I was escaping something alive.
"Jay—wait!"
I didn't.
I didn't stop until I hit the front door, yanked it open, and staggered into daylight.
My hands shook as I pulled out my phone.
Cab. Now.
Keifer appeared behind me just as the car pulled up.
"Jay," he said, softer now. Careful. "Please. Let me explain."
I looked at him once.
Just once.
My voice was steady when I spoke. That scared me more than if it had broken.
"You don't get to take care of me like that," I said. "Not anymore."
I slid into the cab and shut the door myself.
As the car pulled away, I didn't look back.
Not at the house.
Not at the man standing there with a breakfast tray and a past that still knew my name.
When the villa gates finally closed behind me, my hands went slack in my lap.
I pressed my forehead to the window.
Manila watched me return like it always had.
And this time—
I knew exactly what I was running from..
The villa gates slid open with a soft mechanical hum.
The sound felt obscene—too calm for the chaos still rattling inside my ribs.
As soon as the car stopped, I was out, feet hitting the driveway before the driver could say a word. My pulse thudded in my ears as I pushed through the front doors.
"Jay!"
Celeste's voice cracked.
She and Cole were already halfway across the living room, worry written raw across their faces. Cole reached me first, hands gripping my shoulders like he needed to confirm I was solid, real.
"Where the hell were you?" he demanded, voice shaking. "You didn't answer calls. You didn't text. We thought—"
Celeste wrapped her arms around me, tight, grounding. "We were about to call the police."
I stood there, stiff in their hold.
Safe.
And somehow still drowning.
"I'm fine," I said automatically.
It was a lie. We all knew it.
Cole searched my face. "Jay. Where did you go?"
My throat closed.
I stepped back gently, untangling myself from them. "I just… needed space."
Neither of them believed me.
"I'm going to shower," I added, already moving away. "Please."
They didn't stop me.
That was mercy.
The water was scalding.
I stood under it anyway, skin flushing red, steam curling around me like fog. I scrubbed at myself harder than necessary, like I could erase memory with friction.
Rain.
His arms.
The room.
The pills.
The ring.
Jasper Jean Mariano Watson.
I braced my hands against the tile and bowed my head.
Why?
Why would someone keep that?
Why would someone who'd supposedly moved on still have my full name engraved inside something that intimate?
And the medication—
My chest tightened.
Keifer had always been controlled. Impeccable. Untouchable.
Depression didn't fit the version of him I'd known.
Unless I'd never really known him at all.
I shut off the water, breath shaking, and wrapped myself in a towel before the thoughts could spiral further.
---
JAY — MANILA (LIVING AREA – LATER)
The smell of coffee drifted through the villa.
Normal.
Domestic.
A lifeline.
Celeste sat curled on the couch, mug cradled in both hands. Cole leaned against the counter, watching me like he was bracing for impact.
Dane stood near the window, phone already in hand, eyes sharp and calculating.
I took a seat.
Silence stretched.
Then I broke it.
"I fainted last night," I said quietly.
Cole's posture snapped rigid. "What?"
"I ran," I continued. "From the club. From him. From everything." I stared into my coffee like it held answers. "Keifer."
Celeste inhaled sharply but didn't interrupt.
I told them everything.
The rain. The argument. The way my body had just… given up. Waking up in his house. His room. The pills. The ring.
By the time I finished, the room felt heavier—like the walls themselves were listening.
Cole ran a hand through his hair. "That's not okay," he said immediately. "Jay, that's crossing a line."
"I know," I replied.
Dane finally turned from the window. "You think there's more to this."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," I said.
Celeste frowned. "More… how?"
I hesitated, then forced myself to say it.
"If I was just a plan to him," I said slowly, "just something he used or controlled—then why do I feel like something happened after I left that broke him?"
Cole's eyes narrowed. "Jay—"
"I'm not excusing anything," I cut in sharply. "I'm not forgiving him. I'm not going back."
I looked at Dane.
"But depression like that doesn't come from nothing."
The room was silent.
Dane nodded once. "You want me to dig."
"Yes," I said. Then softer, more honestly: "I need to know if my absence destroyed something I never meant to."
Cole stared at me like he was seeing a fracture he couldn't mend. "Why do this to yourself?"
I shook my head, a bitter smile tugging at my mouth. "Because if I was just collateral in his story, I can walk away clean."
I lifted my coffee cup with hands that barely trembled.
"But if I was the cause of something darker—"
My voice dropped.
"—then I deserve to know the truth. Even if it hurts."
Outside, I had moved on.
Inside, something long-buried had been unearthed.
And I knew—deep in my bones—
This wasn't over yet...