JAY JAY POV
Just as I was starting to relax—or at least accept my impending doom—there was a sharp, cheerful knock on the door.
"Jay-Jay? Is Keifer in there?" Tita Serina asked from the other side.
Keifer and I froze, looking at each other like two deer caught in a high-beam spotlight. My heart, which had just started to settle, went back into a frantic overdrive.
"Yes, Mom," Keifer answered, his voice surprisingly steady, though it still had that low, post-whatever-just-happened rasp to it.
I slapped my forehead so hard it left a mark. Why did he answer?! Efficient? Yes. Subtle? Absolutely not. We both scrambled out of the bed, a chaotic blur of limbs and discarded fabrics. I've never seen a man find his boxers so fast in my life. I dove for my closet, hands shaking as I searched for the most modest, high-necked PJ set I owned. I needed to cover the map the animal had just finished drawing on my skin.
"Sweetheart, you guys have been in the room for almost three hours. It's dinner time!" Tita Serina called out, her voice filled with that innocent motherly curiosity that made me want to phase through the floor.
Three hours. Three hours? London physics definitely didn't apply in this room because it felt like ten minutes and a lifetime all at once.
"We're coming, Tita! We're just... organizing my luggage!" I shouted back, my voice hitting a pitch only dogs could hear. I frantically buttoned up a flannel PJ top right to my chin, checking my reflection in the mirror. My hair looked like I'd been through a hurricane, and my lips were so swollen they looked like they'd been stung by a very attractive bee.
Keifer, meanwhile, was already fully dressed, leaning against the bedpost and watching me panic with an infuriatingly calm smirk. He looked perfectly fine—barely even ruffled—while I looked like a crime scene.
"Organizing luggage, huh?" he whispered, stepping close enough to tuck a stray, messy strand of hair behind my ear.
"Shut up! This is your fault!" I hissed, batting his hand away. "If Tita or Jare see these marks, I'm telling them you're a vampire and I'm a victim."
"Tss," Keifer hummed, reaching out to adjust the collar of my PJs to make sure the hickey on my neck was fully hidden. "They'll never believe you, Jay-Jay. You're a terrible liar."
He reached for the door handle, clicking the lock open. I took a deep breath, smoothed down my shirt, and tried to channel every bit of "Ice Queen" energy I had left.
"Don't say a word at the table," I warned him. "Not one word."
"Whatever you say, wifey," he murmured, winking at me before swinging the door open.
I followed him out, my legs feeling slightly like jelly, praying that three hours of "organizing" was a believable excuse for the chaos currently happening in my head.
We walked into the dining room, and the air felt thick with the smell of Tita Serina's cooking and my own impending heart failure. I practically dove into the seat next to Jare, using him as a human shield between me and Keifer.
"Why were you two in a room for that long?" Jare hissed, leaning in so close I could smell the chocolate he'd probably scavenged while I was busy.
"He was helping me with physics. And... he was helping me organize my closet," I whispered back, my voice as steady as a leaf in a hurricane. I stared intensely at my empty plate like it held the secrets of the universe.
Jare pulled back, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face—the classic Mariano 'I-know-you're-lying' look. "Liar. Tell me what you both actually did."
"Nothing!" I snapped, a little too loud. Tita Serina looked up from the serving bowl with a smile, while Keifer, who was sitting directly across from us, didn't even flinch. He just calmly picked up his water glass, his eyes tracking the way I was clutching my fork.
"Physics, huh?" Jare continued, his voice dripping with twin-intuition. "Since when does the President of Section E tutor anyone? And since when do you need help with a closet you've been living out of for sixty days?"
"It was... messy. London style," I muttered, taking a massive, undignified bite of rice to shut myself up.
Jare leaned in again, his eyes narrowing as he scanned my face. "Your hair is a disaster, Jay. And your collar is buttoned up so high you're practically choking yourself. It's eighty degrees outside."
"I'm cold! The AC in this house is aggressive!" I countered through a mouthful of food.
I risked a glance at Keifer. He was watching the exchange with a look of pure amusement, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass in a way that made my neck tingle under the flannel fabric of my PJs. He wasn't helping at all. In fact, he looked like he was enjoying watching me squirm under my brother's interrogation.
"Organizing a closet," Jare repeated, shaking his head. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England."
"Shut up, Jare," I kicked him under the table, hard.
"Ow! See, Tita? She's violent today!" Jare complained.
Tita Serina just laughed, placing a hand on Jare's arm. "Let her be, Jare. Organizing takes a lot of energy. I'm just glad Keifer was being a good host and helping her settle in."
I felt like the world's biggest fraud. A 'good host.' If only Tita knew that her son's idea of hosting involved a lot less folding clothes and a lot more collecting 'penalties.'
"He was a great host, Mom," Keifer spoke up, his voice low and smooth. He looked me dead in the eye, a small, dangerous smirk playing on his lips. "I made sure Jay-Jay felt... completely at home."
I coughed, nearly choking on my water. Jare's head snapped toward Keifer, his protective-brother radar pinging at maximum frequency.
"I'm sure you did," Jare muttered, narrowing his eyes at Keifer.
I didn't say another word. I just kept my head down and focused on my plate, my heart thumping against my ribs. Between Keifer's possessive stares and Jare's twin-senses, I had a feeling my 'physics lesson' wasn't going to be a secret for very long.
I wasn't taking any chances. As soon as dinner was over and everyone was distracted by dessert and TV, I slipped out. I didn't care if it was dark or if I was still technically a guest—I had a mission.
I threw on a hoodie over my high-necked PJs, pulled the hood up, and snapped a black face mask over my nose. I looked like I was about to rob the place, but anonymity was my only friend right now. There was a 24-hour pharmacy a few blocks away, and I practically marched there, my heart thumping against my ribs.
Pregnant at seventeen? In a foreign country? With the King of Assholes?
"Nope. Not happening. Absolutely not," I muttered into my mask as I pushed through the glass doors of the pharmacy.
The air conditioning hit me, smelling of antiseptic and soap. I headed straight for the family planning aisle, my eyes darting around like I was a high-level spy. I spotted the boxes—the "Plan B" equivalent—and grabbed one without even looking at the price. My hands were shaking slightly as I walked toward the counter.
The pharmacist, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, didn't even blink. She probably saw a dozen panicked teenagers every week. I kept my head down, staring at the linoleum floor while she scanned the box.
"That'll be 500 pesos, Ma'am," she said.
I fished the crumpled bills out of my pocket, handed them over, and practically snatched the small paper bag from her hands.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice muffled by the mask.
I bolted out of the store and didn't stop moving until I was back within the safety of the mansion's gates. I slipped through the side entrance, heart racing, and took the stairs two at a time. I made it into my room, locked the door, and leaned against it, gasping for air.
I ripped off the mask and hoodie, then tore open the bag. I followed the instructions, swallowed the pill with a gulp of lukewarm water from my nightstand, and let out a long, shaky breath.
"Survival tactic completed," I whispered to the empty room.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My neck was still covered in Keifer's marks, my lips were still sensitive, and my head was a mess of "I love you" echoes. But at least now, I didn't have to worry about a "mini-Keifer" running around in nine months.
I climbed into bed, clutching my Snorlax for dear life. I was safe. For now. But as I stared at the connecting door to Keifer's room, I knew that the real "danger" wasn't over yet. Not when the guy on the other side of that wall had already claimed my heart along with everything else.
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KEIFER POV
It was midnight, and sleep was the last thing on my mind. My body was still humming with the adrenaline of everything that happened earlier, and the silence of the house only made my thoughts louder. I looked at the connecting door—my favorite feature in this entire mansion—and didn't even hesitate.
I turned the handle and stepped into Jay-Jay's room.
The moonlight was filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a silver glow over her. She looked so small and peaceful buried under the duvet. I walked over to the edge of the bed, a soft, genuine smile tugging at my lips.
She was sleeping so cute, her breathing steady and deep. She was death-gripping that Snorlax plushie like it was a lifeline, her knuckles slightly white even in sleep.
I leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek, the scent of her skin—a mix of pool chlorine and that vanilla lotion she uses—hitting me all over again.
"My impossible girl," I whispered.
I reached down and gently, inch by inch, prised the Snorlax out of her grasp. She let out a tiny, dissatisfied mumble in her sleep, but I was patient. Once the plushie was tossed to the foot of the bed, I slid under the covers beside her.
The second I pulled her against me, her body seemed to recognize mine. Without even waking up, she shifted, her hands moving from the empty space where the Snorlax had been and latching onto my arm instead. She tucked her head perfectly into the crook of my neck, her sigh of contentment vibrating against my skin.
I pulled the duvet up over both of us, my chin resting on the top of her head.
I really do love my life.
Sixty days ago, I wanted to send this girl back to London on the first flight available. Now, I couldn't imagine a single second without her loud mouth and her stubborn attitude. I closed my eyes, my arm tightening protectively around her waist.
Whatever happens tomorrow—whether Jare finds out or London calls her back—it doesn't matter. Tonight, she's right where she belongs. Mine.
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