JAY — (LATE AFTERNOON)
The villa had settled into a working silence.
Laptops open. Screens split into grids of faces framed by glass offices and skyline backdrops.
New York voices filtered through speakers—numbers, deadlines, approvals.
Cole led most of it, calm and surgical. Celeste jumped in when strategy demanded teeth.
I spoke when required.
Smiled when expected.
But my hands were cold the entire time.
When the final call ended, the room exhaled. Chairs shifted. Coffee cups were refilled. Normalcy tried to return.
Then Dane closed his laptop.
The sound was soft.
Final.
"I found what you asked for," he said.
Something in my chest tightened instantly.
Cole straightened. Celeste muted her phone and turned fully toward him.
I didn't move.
"Mark Keifer Watson has been on medication," Dane continued, voice neutral, factual, "for five—closer to six—years now."
The words landed.
Not like a blow.
Like ice water poured straight into my veins.
"March," Dane added. "Six years ago. Almost exactly."
I stopped breathing.
March.
One month.
One month after I left.
The room blurred slightly at the edges, but I stayed still—afraid that if I moved, something inside me would crack wide open.
"He was in London at the time," Dane went on. "Inheritance matters tied to the Watson Company. Roughly a month there."
London.
My fingers curled slowly against my thigh.
"After that," Dane said, "the prescriptions start. Antidepressants. Anti-anxiety medication. Dosages adjusted multiple times in the first year."
Cole swore under his breath.
Celeste looked at me. "Jay…"
I didn't respond.
"I couldn't find concrete records about the ring," Dane admitted. "No purchase trail, no insurance listing. But—"
he hesitated, then continued, "it's confirmed that after his graduation, he left Manila entirely. Settled in London."
My throat felt tight. Dry.
"He only returned occasionally," Dane said. "New Year's. His brothers' birthdays. Always brief. Always controlled."
"Who does he keep contact with?" I asked quietly.
"The Fernandez family," Dane replied. "Consistently. Professionally and personally. He's on good terms with them."
That sent a sharp twist through my stomach.
" He was also seen with 15 more boys same age I dig and found out they call themselves section e because that's where they became friends"
Section E I froze. The faces the names flashed....
"His brothers," Dane added. "Keigan—twenty. Currently studying here in Manila. University. Keiren—sixteen. Second year of high school."
Keigan.
Keiren.
Their names surfaced like ghosts.
I remembered scraped knees and oversized jerseys. Keigan following Keifer everywhere. Keiren clinging to his hand because he didn't like loud rooms.
My chest ached.
"And his father?" Cole asked carefully.
Dane's expression darkened slightly. "Died six years ago. March."
The room went dead quiet.
"Cause?" Celeste asked.
"Unknown," Dane replied. "No public report. No scandal. Nothing definitive."
That was it.
The information ended there.
But inside me—
Nothing settled.
I leaned back slowly, staring at nothing.
March.
London.
Medication.
A father he hated.
A city he abandoned.
A ring engraved with my name.
None of it fit.
He'd hated his father. That much I knew—bone-deep resentment, sharp and unhidden. If his death had been the trigger, it would've shown before. Anger like that didn't turn into grief overnight.
So why March?
Why London?
Why leave Manila entirely?
Why disappear from everything except his brothers and the Fernandez family?
And why—why keep something that belonged to me?
My voice came out softer than I expected. "If it wasn't his father… then what broke him?"
No one answered.
Because no one had one.
Cole watched me closely. "Jay. This doesn't mean you're responsible."
"I know," I said.
But even as I said it, something inside me didn't believe it.
Because the timeline was too clean.
Too precise.
I stood, suddenly restless, my thoughts colliding too fast to hold.
"He chose his path," I said, more to myself than them. "He chose power. Control. Strategy."
Celeste nodded. "Yes. He did."
"Then why," I whispered, the question tearing its way out, "does it feel like I walked away and left something behind that poisoned him instead?"
Dane didn't look away. "Because sometimes," he said quietly, "people survive their choices—but not the consequences."
I swallowed hard.
This city had always been complicated.
But now it felt deliberate.
Like a city that had waited six years just to hand me the missing pieces and watch what I'd do with them.
And the worst part—
The part that scared me the most—
Was that knowing the truth didn't bring relief.
It only raised a deeper, more dangerous question:
If I wasn't just a chapter in Keifer Watson's story—
Then what exactly was I to him???
---
JAY — (EVENING)
By the time the sun dipped low, exhaustion settled into our bones.
Not the productive kind.
The hollow, overstimulated kind.
"I refuse to cook," Celeste announced, already slipping on her jacket. "If I look at another spreadsheet, I will combust."
Cole nodded. "Let's eat outside. Somewhere that doesn't care who we are and also one reason to get out and see the city...."
That sounded perfect.
We ended up at a place tucked between two older buildings—no neon, no pretension. Warm lights. Brick walls. Faded posters from decades ago. Vinyl records framed like memories that refused to be updated.
It felt… lived in.
Home-adjacent.
We slid into a booth near the wall. Wood worn smooth by years of elbows and laughter. The menu was thick, laminated, honest.
"I'm ordering like I haven't eaten in weeks," Cole said.
"Do it," Celeste replied. "This place feels forgiving."
I smiled faintly.
For the first time all day, my shoulders loosened.
The food came fast.
Too much of it.
Plates stacked. Steam rising. Grease and spice and comfort. Celeste stole fries off Cole's plate. Cole retaliated by stealing dumplings. I laughed despite myself.
Mid-conversation—something stupid, something light—
I heard it.
"Stop it, Cin. We're here. Control."
My fork froze halfway to my mouth.
My spine went rigid.
I didn't turn.
I didn't breathe.
But my body knew.
Knew before my mind caught up.
The voices that followed were older—deeper, roughened by time—but unmistakable.
Loud. Overlapping. Hungry.
Complaining already.
"Bro, I haven't eaten since noon—"
"That's your fault—"
"Dibs on the corner seat—"
"Someone tell Blaster not to order spice level six again—"
Laughter.
Too familiar.
A chair scraped loudly.
Another voice—calmer now, steadier—but one my bones recognized like a scar recognizing pressure.
Keifer.
They took the biggest table in the restaurant.
Of course they did.
My back was to them.
Thank God.
I stared down at my plate like it could anchor me to the present. My heart thudded too fast, too loud, every sound around me suddenly sharpened.
"They're noisy," Cole muttered under his breath. "This place was peaceful five seconds ago."
Celeste frowned. "Do they know they're not in a stadium?"
I shrugged lightly. Casual. Neutral. "Just… ignore it."
They didn't notice.
Didn't see the way my knuckles had gone white around my fork.
Then—
Movement near the kitchen.
I stiffened.
Eman stepped out, wiping his hands on his apron, a grin already forming as he spotted the large table.
Eman.
I ducked instinctively, lifting the menu and pretending to study it like my life depended on appetizers.
Because it did.
That was when it clicked.
This wasn't just any restaurant.
This was his.
The warmth. The noise. The way the staff moved like family.
Section E didn't just come here.
They belonged here.
"Is this place always like this?" Celeste whispered, glancing over her shoulder.
"Apparently," Cole replied. "Loud group energy."
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
The restaurant filled with overlapping voices—Cin teasing someone, Rory arguing about portions, Felix laughing too loud, Blaster already bragging about spice tolerance, Yuri trying to restore order and failing, Kit and Josh arguing over seating, Drew and Denzel heckling from across the table.
Older.
Still the same.
And then—
Clear as glass.
Unmissable.
Cin's voice cut through the noise.
"—I'm telling you, if Jay were here, she'd lose her mind at this mess."
My breath left my lungs.
Slow.
Silent.
Gone.
My name hung in the air.
Unaware.
Alive..
The name didn't echo.
It landed.
Cin's voice hadn't been loud when he said it. It didn't need to be. It slipped between laughter and clattering plates like it belonged there.
Like I belonged there.
Celeste's fork paused mid-air.
Cole's eyes lifted from his plate—slow, sharp.
Neither of them spoke at first.
They just looked at me.
Not curious.
Not casual.
That look people give when something finally clicks into place.
"Jay," Celeste said carefully, softly. "Why did they just say your name?"
I swallowed.
"Probably someone else," I said too fast, voice pitching higher than I meant it to. "It's… not exactly rare."
Cole didn't buy it for a second.
He leaned back slightly, angling his body—not toward the noise, but toward me. Like he was blocking without making it obvious.
"That didn't sound like a coincidence," he said.
My shoulders crept up toward my ears.
"I think you're imagining it," I tried again.
Celeste narrowed her eyes. She wasn't angry. That was worse.
She tilted her head, studying me the way she did during negotiations—when someone was lying badly.
"Jay," she said gently, "you've been flinching since they walked in."
"I have not."
"You hid behind a menu," Cole added dryly.
"That was because—" I stopped. Exhaled. My voice dropped. "Okay. Maybe a little."
They waited.
Patient.
Unrelenting.
I stared down at my plate, tracing a chip in the ceramic with my thumb like it held answers.
"They're… people I used to know," I said finally.
Celeste's brows knit. "Used to know how?"
My mouth opened.
Closed.
I felt—ridiculously—like a child caught sneaking sweets before dinner.
"School," I muttered.
Cole blinked. "School."
"Yes."
"In Manila."
"Yes."
"With that many boys?" Celeste asked, incredulous.
I shrugged, small. Defensive. "It was… a thing."
Cole leaned forward now. "Jay. Are those the same people connected to—"
"I didn't know they'd be here," I cut in quickly. "I swear. I wouldn't have come if I did."
Celeste reached across the table and covered my wrist. Grounding. Warm.
"Hey," she said. "We're not mad. We're confused."
I laughed weakly. "Story of my life."
Another burst of noise came from their table—Blaster complaining loudly, Felix laughing, someone shushing someone else.
The sound tugged at something old and tender in my chest.
"They're… Section E," I said quietly.
Cole's expression shifted. Recognition.
"The group," he said. "From before."
I nodded.
Celeste's grip tightened just a fraction. "And Keifer is with them."
I didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
"Do you want to leave?" Cole asked immediately.
I hesitated.
Every instinct screamed yes.
But another—traitorous, aching—part of me stayed frozen.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I just… don't want to be seen."
Celeste gave a small, crooked smile. "Then we don't see them."
She leaned back exaggeratedly, lifting her glass. "We're just three people having dinner."
Cole nodded. "Invisible. That's our specialty."
I smiled, grateful enough that it hurt.
We tried to go back to eating.
Tried.
But my awareness stayed stretched tight, every laugh behind me pulling at memory. They sounded older. Louder. But the rhythm—the chaos—it was the same.
Then a shadow fell across the table.
I stiffened.
"Hey—everything tasting okay?"
Eman.
Again.
I ducked instinctively, hair falling forward, sunglasses still on like a ridiculous disguise. My heart hammered so hard I was sure he could hear it.
"It's incredible," Cole said easily, already in diplomat mode."Honestly, we don't get food like this back in New York."
Celeste nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. This is… dangerous. In the best way."
Eman beamed. "Glad you like it."
She gestured vaguely with her fork. "Just—uh—your friends are a little loud."
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yeah. I'm sorry about that. They're impossible. Been like that forever."
Cole chuckled. "Friends like family?"
"Worse," Eman said fondly. "Brothers. Can't kick them out even if I try."
My pulse hammered.
He turned to me.
My stomach flipped.
"And you?" he asked. "Everything good?"
I didn't trust my voice.
I just gave a thumbs up.
He frowned slightly. Studied me.
Recognition hovered—just out of reach.
I kicked Cole under the table again, harder this time.
"Ow—" He laughed, then recovered. "She's shy."
Eman blinked, then shrugged. "Fair enough." He smiled once more. "Let me know if you need anything."
When he walked away, Celeste exhaled. "Okay. That was close."
My pulse still hadn't slowed.
"I don't want them to see me," I whispered.
"They won't," Cole said firmly. "We've got you."
I nodded.
Then—
"Jay Jay?"
The voice cut through the restaurant like a knife through silk.
Soft.
Female.
Certain.
Every sound died.
I turned slowly.
A woman stood a few steps away, holding the hand of a small girl. The child blinked up at me, curious, while the woman's face lit with startled recognition.
"Oh my God," she said, smiling. "It is you."
My name again.
Out loud.
Unavoidable.
Behind me, chairs scraped.
Laughter stopped.
Someone swore under their breath.
I didn't have to look to know—
Section E had gone silent.
And the past, which I'd tried so hard to keep behind me—
Had finally said my name first....