She had gone out to buy groceries on her own for the first time in a long while. No driver waiting nearby. No one watching the clock. Just her, a quiet street, and the unfamiliar feeling of freedom resting lightly on her shoulders.
She was standing in front of a small bookstore-café—one of those places that smelled like paper and coffee—when she realized she'd left her phone at the relative's house.
She sighed softly, more amused than stressed.
"That's on me," she murmured to herself.
"Phone trouble?"
The voice came from beside her—not abrupt, not intrusive. Jay turned her head slightly and saw him standing there, holding a book under his arm.
He didn't look intimidating. Not loud. Not sharp-edged like the men she was used to being around. His presence was… calm. Grounded.
"I forgot it," Jay said honestly. "At home."
He smiled—not the kind that demanded attention, but the kind that made space. "Happens. There's a landline inside if you need to make a call."
Jay blinked. "Oh. I didn't know that."
"Most people don't," he said easily. "I'm Keifer."
She hesitated for a fraction of a second—then nodded. "Jay."
He didn't ask her last name. Didn't look at her hand for a ring. Didn't scan her like she was something to assess.
That alone felt strange.
They walked inside together. Keifer showed her the phone, then stepped away without hovering, giving her privacy without being asked. Jay noticed that. Not consciously—but something inside her registered it.
When she finished the call, he was seated at a corner table, flipping through his book.
"Thank you," she said, meaning more than just the phone.
He looked up. "Anytime."
There was a pause. Comfortable. Not awkward.
"You come here often?" he asked, casual, not curious in a way that pried.
"First time," Jay admitted. "I… don't usually go out alone."
Keifer nodded, like that made sense. Like he didn't need an explanation. "Then I hope it was a good first."
Jay surprised herself by smiling. "It was."
They ended up sharing a table—not because either of them asked, but because it felt natural. They talked about small things. Books. Weather. How the café always played music too softly, like it didn't want to interrupt anyone's thoughts.
Keifer listened.
Really listened.
When Jay spoke, he didn't interrupt. Didn't rush her. Didn't look distracted. She wasn't used to that. She found herself choosing her words carefully—not out of fear, but because she wanted to be understood.
And she was.
He didn't flirt. Didn't touch. Didn't lean in too close. He treated her like a person first, and that unsettled her more than neglect ever had.
When it was time to leave, Jay felt something unexpected—a reluctance.
"It was nice meeting you," Keifer said as they stood. "No pressure, but… if you ever want company here again, I'm usually around."
Jay nodded slowly. "I'd like that."
And she meant it.
That night, as she lay in bed, Jay realized something that made her chest ache in a new way.
Keifer hadn't made her feel special.
He had made her feel normal.
Seen. Heard. Respected.
And somehow, that was everything.
Far away, in a mansion that still felt wrong, Jax stared at his phone longer than necessary.
And Jay—without knowing it yet—had just stepped into a life where someone noticed her without being forced to.