Jay's POV:
My stomach churned, a violent, acidic knot tightening with every fake smile I forced myself to give to Keifer. On the outside, I was present. On the inside, my composure wasn't just cracking—it was shattering into jagged pieces.
He couldn't see it. I couldn't let him see me break.
For weeks, we had been looking for a ghost. We thought Aunt Katrina was the mastermind. We thought she was the one plotting in the shadows, pulling the strings to ruin us. We were so wrong.
It wasn't her. It was him.
My stepfather.
The realization felt like a physical blow to the chest, stealing the air right out of my lungs. The monster under my bed hadn't stayed in the past; he was running the game. The very same man who had slipped poison into my drink. The same man who had cornered me in the dark, trying to tear away my dignity. The one who had broken bottles and left a constellation of silver glass scars mapped across my back.
"What's wrong, Wifey?"
The memory of Keifer's voice from earlier echoed in my head. His face back then had been a sanctuary of pure, unwavering reassurance. He was right here. He was ready to fight the world for me. Yet, a suffocating wave of shame washed over me. I felt like an absolute idiot. A coward. I was hiding in the dark, terrified of my own shadows, completely unable to open my mouth and voice the truth to the man who loved me.
"Wifey!"
The real-world shout shattered the flashback. I gasped violently, a sharp, ragged sound catching in my throat as my stomach lurched with absolute, primal fear. My vision blinked back into focus.
Keifer was leaning over me, his features twisted in deep, agonizing worry.
"Jay! What's wrong??" His hands clamped gently onto my shoulders, grounding me, but his eyes were frantic. "I've called your name five times. You've just been staring at the laptop screen for ten long minutes without blinking."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I forced my muscles to relax, forcing a wry, hollow laugh through my teeth to fill the heavy silence.
"Who even counts time for stuff like that?" I mumbled, trying to deflect the heavy weight in the room.
Keifer didn't buy the laugh, but instead of pushing, he leaned down. His lips brushed against mine—a soft, warm pressure that contrasted so sharply with the cold terror in my chest it almost made me weep.
"I do," he murmured against my mouth, his breath warm and steady. "I count every single second when it comes to you, baby."
He didn't pull away immediately. Instead, he let his forehead rest against mine, his thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles on my shoulders. The sheer warmth of him was a direct contrast to the icy dread pooling in my gut.
"In fact," Keifer continued, his voice dropping an octave, a teasing edge finally bleeding through his worry, "if you're going to ignore me for a screen, the least you could do is make it a sexy screen. What's so captivating about logistics spreadsheets, Wifey? Should I be jealous of row forty-two?"
I managed another weak laugh, my fingers gripping the edge of the desk just to stay anchored. "Row forty-two has a very compelling personality, Keifer."
"Ouch." He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of my jaw, making my breath hitch for an entirely different reason. "Hurts my ego. I guess I'll just have to work harder to command your full, undivided attention tonight." He reached down, his hand covering mine on the trackpad, gently closing the laptop lid. "Perks of being your husband: I get veto power over work hours."
"Not my husband yet."
He lips grazed mine.
"Keifer, I actually need to finish—"
"You need to breathe," he corrected gently, nipping playfully at my earlobe before straightening up. He gave my shoulders a final, supportive squeeze. "I'm going to make you some tea. The calming kind. Don't touch that laptop, or I'll be forced to use more drastic distraction tactics."
He flashed a devastating, dimpled smile that usually turned my brain to mush, then turned and walked toward the kitchen.
The moment his back was turned, the fake smile slid off my face. My posture slumped. The silence of the room rushed back in, heavy and suffocating. I stared at the closed laptop, my hands trembling.
BZZZ.
The sudden vibration of my phone on the desk made me jump. My heart leaped into my throat. I snatched it up, my eyes widening as an unknown number flashed across the screen. My thumb swiped the screen with shaky urgency.
It wasn't a call. It was a text.
[Unknown]:Look at you, playing house with your little protector. Enjoy the warmth while it lasts, Jay. Fire burns everything down eventually. Tell Keifer goodbye before he becomes collateral damage. He can't save you from me.
A gasp caught in my throat. The room seemed to spin.
The words screamed in my head. My stepfather knew. He was watching. And worse, he was targeting Keifer. The thought of Keifer getting hurt—of that monster touching a single hair on his head because of me—sent a wave of absolute, paralyzing panic through my veins.
I couldn't tell Keifer. If I told him, he would throw himself into the line of fire without a second thought. He would try to hunt down a ghost, and it would get him killed.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing a message to the only person who shared my blood, my past, and this nightmare.
[Jay]:Jare. It's him and Aunt Katrina. He knows about Keifer. He sent a threat. He said Keifer is collateral damage. Jare, I'm terrified. What do I do?
I hit send, staring at the screen, desperately waiting for the ellipsis to appear.
In the kitchen, I could hear the faint sound of the kettle beginning to whistle, and Keifer humming a mindless tune. He was safe right now. But if I didn't handle this, my past was going to destroy his future.
I quickly swiped my phone screen blank, shoving it face-down onto the desk just as Keifer stepped back into the room. My chest was heaving, the phantom grip of my stepfather's threat still tightening around my windpipe. I couldn't breathe. I literally couldn't get oxygen into my lungs.
Keifer didn't notice the phone. His eyes were fixed entirely on me, a lazy, devastating smile playing on his lips. He set the steaming mug down on the edge of the desk, completely ignoring the space I had tried to maintain between us.
Before I could even attempt a deflection, he moved. He didn't just stand near me; he stepped right into my space, his thighs brushing against my knees. He reached down, his hands sliding under my arms, and smoothly lifted me out of the office chair as if I weighed nothing at all.
"Keifer—" My voice came out as a breathless, ragged gasp.
"Shh," he whispered, setting me down directly onto the edge of the desk. He stepped in between my knees, effectively trapping me against the wood, his broad chest blocking out the rest of the cold, terrifying world. "You're still too tense, Wifey. Your mind is miles away, and I told you... I don't like sharing you."
His hands traveled up my waist, his palms scorching hot even through the fabric of my shirt. They slid up to my neck, his thumbs gently tilting my chin upward so I had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, and burning with an intensity that made my stomach do a completely different kind of flip.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
I looked. I drowned in the deep amber of his gaze, trying desperately to use him as an anchor against the panic clawing at my throat. I was so breathless, my lips parted slightly, searching for air.
Keifer took that as an invitation.
He leaned down, his mouth brushing against mine in a slow, agonizingly deliberate tease. He didn't kiss me fully at first. He just hovered, his lips grazing mine, tasting me, coaxing my compliance until a soft, desperate whimper escaped my throat.
That broke whatever restraint he had left.
Keifer groaned, a deep, primal sound that vibrated right against my chest. His hand tangled itself into the hair at the back of my head, anchoring me to him as his mouth came down on mine with a fierce, possessive hunger. It was a deep, bruising kiss that completely stole whatever little air I had left in my lungs, leaving me utterly, beautifully breathless.
The heat of his tongue, the solid weight of his body pressing me back against the desk, the scent of his cologne—it was a sensory overload that violently violently pushed the memory of the text message out of my mind. My hands, which had been trembling with terror just seconds ago, found purchase on his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as I pulled him closer, responding to the kiss with a desperate, frantic energy of my own. I needed this. I needed his heat to burn away the icy dread.
He pulled me flush against him, his other hand sliding down to grip my hip, lifting me slightly higher onto the desk. The kiss deepened, becoming hotter, wetter, a reckless exchange of breath that had my head spinning. He nipped at my lower lip, making me gasp, and immediately used the opportunity to claim my mouth all over again.
When he finally tore his lips away, he didn't go far. He pressed his forehead against mine, both of us panting, our breaths mingling in the short space between us. His lips traced a path down to my jaw, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his hot breath sending shivers straight down my spine.
"Tell me I am the only one in your mind right now," he breathed against my skin, his fingers tightening possessively on my hip.
I couldn't answer. My heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, and my throat felt completely tight. I was safe in his arms, but looking over his shoulder, my eyes locked onto the black mirror of my phone screen lying on the desk.
The monster was still out there. And I was holding onto the man he wanted to destroy.