The music room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Jay stood near the piano, fingers resting on the keys, when she felt someone behind her—too close, too sudden.
"Cyrus," she said, stiffening. "Don't."
He didn't listen.
His hand brushed her arm, then her waist, pulling her back a fraction. Before she could step away, his lips pressed against her neck.
Jay froze.
"Stop," she whispered, pushing at his chest. "I said stop."
He ignored it, his mouth lingering, his face tilting toward hers, breath warm against her lips as he tried to close the distance.
Fear hit her all at once.
"Cyrus—"
The door flew open.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Keifer's voice snapped through the room.
Cyrus barely had time to turn before Keifer was there—grabbing him by the collar and yanking him back, putting himself between Cyrus and Jay without a second thought.
"Don't touch her," Keifer said, low and deadly. "Ever."
Jay stumbled back, heart racing, her hand gripping the edge of the piano.
Cyrus scoffed, trying to recover. "She didn't even—"
"She told you to stop," Keifer cut in. "That's enough."
The room felt charged, tense.
Keifer didn't take his eyes off Cyrus as he spoke again. "Leave. Now."
Cyrus hesitated, jaw tight, then glanced at Jay—at the way she was shaking, the way Keifer stood in front of her like a wall.
He turned and walked out.
The door shut.
Silence returned, heavy and real.
Keifer turned immediately, his voice softening. "Jay… are you okay?"
She nodded, even though her hands were trembling.
He didn't touch her until she stepped forward first.
Then he held her—steady, grounding.
"You're safe," he said quietly. "I won't let anyone do that to you."
And for the first time since the door had closed behind Cyrus, Jay believed it.
Jay's strength gave out the moment the door closed.
Her breath hitched once, twice—and then she was crying, silently at first, like she was embarrassed by it. Her shoulders shook, hands clenched in her sleeves as if holding herself together.
Keifer didn't rush her.
He moved closer, slow, careful. "Jay," he said softly, like saying her name too loud might break something. "You're okay. You're safe."
She shook her head, tears slipping free. "I—I froze," she whispered. "I tried to stop him and I just—"
"That's not your fault," Keifer said immediately. No hesitation. No doubt. "Not even a little."
Her knees weakened, and this time he didn't wait. He wrapped his arms around her, solid and warm, one hand resting gently at the back of her head, the other steady at her back—no pressure, just presence.
Jay buried her face against his chest.
Her sobs came harder now, messy and unfiltered, like she'd been holding them in for days. Keifer stayed still, grounding her, letting her cry it out. His thumb moved in slow circles against her shoulder, the only rhythm in the room.
"I'm here," he murmured. "I've got you. He can't touch you. He won't come near you again."
She clutched his shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric like an anchor. "I felt so scared," she said, voice breaking. "But when you came in… everything stopped."
Keifer swallowed, jaw tightening—not with anger now, but resolve. "You never have to face that alone," he said. "Not ever."
Jay nodded against him, breathing slowly evening out, tears soaking into his shirt. He didn't pull away. Didn't check the time. Didn't rush her healing.
They stayed there in the music room—among the quiet instruments and soft light—until her shaking eased and the world felt steady again.
And for the first time in a long while, Jay felt held in a way that meant safe, not trapped.