JAY-JAY POV
Keifer came and told me his mom was arriving in the morning.
He said I should sleep in his room, so she wouldn't suspect anything.
I nodded.
I didn't argue.
I went to his room and made my place on the couch.
The bed was his, the couch was mine.
That's how it always was — even when we pretended otherwise.
The room smelled faintly of his cologne, sharp and distant, like him.
I lay down, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of him moving around.
"Keifer," I said quietly, my voice trembling but firm.
He didn't look up right away. "What?"
I swallowed, forcing the words out. "I was thinking… maybe we should get a divorce."
The silence that followed was sharp, heavy.
He finally turned his head, his eyes narrowing. "Divorce?"
"Yes." My hands clenched in my lap. "We've been pretending for three years. For your family, for mine. But we're not happy. You don't love me, Keifer. You never did."
He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "So now you decide this? After everything? After all the deals, the sacrifices?"
"I didn't decide this now," I whispered. "I've been deciding it every day, every time you ignored me, every time you made me feel like a stranger in my own marriage."
He stared at me, jaw tight, as if he wanted to argue but couldn't find the words. Finally, he muttered, "You think freedom will fix you, Jay? You think walking away will make it easier?"
I met his gaze, steady for the first time in years. "No. But staying will only break me more."
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KEIFER POV
"Divorce?" I repeated, my voice sharper than I intended. She didn't flinch. She just sat there, steady, waiting.
I ran a hand through my hair, pacing the room. "You think it's that simple? You think you can just walk away after everything our families built on this marriage?"
Her silence pressed against me, heavy, unyielding.
I stopped, turning to face her. "Jay, I didn't ask for this. I didn't want you as my wife. But you're here. You've been here for three years. And whether you believe it or not, you matter in this house. To my family. To me."
The words tasted strange, half‑truths tangled with the guilt I never admitted.
She looked at me, eyes shining but calm. "Matter how, Keifer? As your wife? Or as your shield so no one sees how broken we are?"
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. "I don't love you," I said, the honesty cutting both of us. "But I don't want you gone either."
Her breath caught, and for the first time, I saw the weight of my words reflected in her face.
I hated myself for saying them.
I hated myself for meaning them.
Because the truth was simple, and cruel: I couldn't give her love.
But I couldn't bear to lose her, either.
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JAY‑JAY POV
"Fine. Don't give me divorce," I said, my voice steady, sharper than he'd ever heard it. "But from tomorrow onward, I won't stay quiet."
Keifer's eyes narrowed, but I didn't look away.
For the first time in three years, I held his gaze without flinching.
"I've lived in this cage long enough," I continued. "I've smiled when I wanted to scream. I've swallowed every insult, every silence, every cold glance. But not anymore."
He opened his mouth, but I cut him off. "You don't love me? Then stop pretending you do. You want me to play the perfect wife for your family? Fine. I'll play the role. But when the doors close, I'll speak. I'll fight. I'll remind you every day that I'm not invisible."
The words burned, but they felt like freedom.
For the first time, I wasn't begging for his love.
I was demanding my dignity.
Keifer stared at me, stunned, as if he didn't recognize the woman standing before him.
And maybe he didn't.
Because the quiet Jay was gone.
And in her place was someone who refused to be broken anymore.
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KEIFER POV
It was morning, and Jay was still not awake.
Strange. She's always up before me, always moving through the house like a shadow, making breakfast, setting the table, keeping the routine alive.
Mom comes at nine.
Today is Saturday.
No office, no excuses.
I went to the bathroom, showered, dressed.
By the time I stepped back out, I expected her to be awake.
But no. She was still sleeping.
I stood there for a moment, staring at her. Her hair spilled across the pillow, her breathing steady, her face calm.
For three years, she's been the one who bends, who obeys, who never questions. But last night she said it — divorce. And then she said she wouldn't stay quiet anymore.
Maybe this was the start. Maybe her silence was finally breaking.
I clenched my jaw, uneasy. Part of me wanted to shake her awake, remind her of the mask we had to wear, the performance we had to give when Mom arrived. But another part of me… hesitated.
Because for the first time, I wasn't sure if Jay would listen. And that terrified me more than I wanted to admit.
"Jay, wake up," I said again, leaning closer. Nothing. Just the steady rhythm of her breathing.
I nudged her shoulder, impatient. She murmured, "Let me sleep…"
I poked her arm, ready to drag her out of bed if I had to. And then— Her hand shot up, fast, instinctive.
She slapped me.
SLAPPED ME.
She wasn't even fully awake. Her eyes were still closed, her voice drowsy, but her hand had landed across my face.
Me.
Mark Keifer Watson.
CEO of Watson's Enterprise.
The man who commanded boardrooms, silenced rivals, and never tolerated disrespect.
And yet, in her sleep, Jay had struck me.
I stood there, stunned, cheek burning.
It wasn't just the slap.
It was what it meant.
Even unconscious, even half‑dreaming, she was fighting me.
Her silence was gone.
Her obedience was gone.
And now, even in sleep, her defiance lived.
I clenched my jaw, staring down at her.
She shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter, as if nothing had happened.
"Jaspher Jean!" I yelled, her full name cutting through the room like a blade.
She stirred, blinking awake, confusion in her eyes. "What the hell do you want early in the morning?" she asked, her voice sharp, irritated.
I froze.
For three years, she had never spoken to me like that.
Never cursed.
Never snapped.
Always quiet.
Always obedient.
"Don't talk to me like that," I snapped, my grip tightening around her wrist.
"I will if I have to," she shot back, her voice steady, defiant.
I leaned closer, my tone low, dangerous. "I'm warning you. If you don't stop back‑talking to me… you might regret it."
She yanked her hand free, the sudden force startling me. Her eyes locked onto mine, sharp, unyielding.
"What are you going to do?" she asked. Not afraid. Not trembling. Just bold.
"Do you want to see what I can do?" I said, my voice low, sharp, ready to cut deeper. I was about to say more when the knock came at the door.
"Sir, ma'am… Seriana is here," the maid announced.
I clenched my jaw. Perfect timing. Of all mornings, it had to be today.
"Go get ready," I ordered, my tone clipped.
Jay rose slowly, her movements deliberate, almost mocking
I went downstairs
Thinking
I thought Mom would keep Jay in line.
I thought she'd remind her of duty, of obedience, of the mask we all wore.
But instead, she was gentle.
She praised Jay's cooking, told her to rest, even defended her when I pressed too hard.
It irritated me.
Because every time Mom sided with Jay, it chipped away at the control I thought I had.
And Jay knew it. I could see it in her eyes — the quiet confidence that grew whenever Mom was near.