JAY-JAY POV
He thinks he can control me. He is so wrong.
I went inside the shower thinking about Aunt Seriana.
From the very first day, she was kind to me.
When the vows were spoken and the house became mine too, I expected coldness, judgment, the sharp eyes of a mother who had raised Keifer to believe the world bent to him.
But instead, she smiled.
She touched my hand gently and said, "You're part of this family now, Jay. Don't forget that."
And she meant it.
Every visit, every conversation, she treated me with warmth.
She asked if I was eating well, if I was resting, if I was happy.
She never scolded, never demanded.
It was strange, almost unsettling.
Because while Keifer kept me in silence, Seriana gave me space to breathe.
She saw me.
So when I walked downstairs that morning, after slapping Keifer in my sleep and cursing for the first time, I braced myself for Seriana's gaze.
But she only smiled. "Good morning, Jay," she said warmly. "You're late today. Are you okay?"
Her kindness wrapped around me like armor.
And for the first time, I realized — I wasn't alone in this house.
We went to the dining room, the table already set with fruit, bread, and steaming tea.
I sat down across from Keifer, the silence between us heavy, unspoken.
"So," Aunt Seriana said, her voice light, almost playful as she buttered her toast. "You two have been married for three years now."
Keifer and I exchanged a glance, confusion flickering between us.
Why bring it up now?
Why say it like that?
Then she dropped it: "I want a grandchild."
I froze, spoon halfway to my lips.
A grandchild.
Before I could speak, Keifer leaned forward, jaw tight, voice steady, like he was announcing a merger. "Yes, Mother. We'll give you one."
I nearly choked on my tea.
He hadn't asked me.
He hadn't even looked at me.
He just said it — as if my body, my choice, my life were his to promise.
Seriana's smile widened, her eyes shining with joy. "That would make me so happy, Keifer. Jay, dear, wouldn't it be wonderful?"
I nodded, forced a smile that felt like glass cracking in my mouth.
Back in Keifer's Room
The air was heavy, silence louder than any words.
"What the hell were you thinking?" I demanded.
He looked at me, serious, clipped. "What?"
"You promised your mother a grandchild. You didn't even look at me. You didn't ask. You just decided."
His jaw tightened.
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing like he was in a boardroom. "It made her happy. That's what matters."
I stared at him, stunned. "Her happiness matters. Yours matters. But mine? Mine never does."
The words cut through the air.
For once, I didn't care if they cut him.
He stepped forward, his shadow stretching across the room. "I already told you not to talk to me like that."
But I didn't move back.
I stood still.
"You can tell me a thousand times," I said quietly, firm. "But I will speak when I need to. I will fight when I have to. And you can't stop me."
Our faces were close, the air sharp, heavy.
Keifer's eyes burned into mine, his jaw tight, his pride refusing to bend.
And then — he leaned in.
His lips pressed against mine, sudden, forceful, like he was sealing a deal.
My fist shot up and landed hard against his jaw.
He staggered back, eyes wide, stunned.
"Don't you ever touch me like that again, Keifer!" I spat. "You think you can shut me up with a kiss? You think I'm yours to command? Hell no."
His face darkened, pride wounded, control slipping. "Are you even a woman?" he asked, low, cutting.
"You fucking bitch! Asshole, Idiot, damn you, You peace of shit !" I screamed, grabbing whatever I could reach — a glass, a book, the pillow from the couch. I hurled them one after another.
He straightened his shirt, jaw tight, eyes narrowing. "What do you think? You've been throwing stuff at me."
I grabbed another pillow, holding it like a weapon. "Civilized people don't kiss without consent either, Keifer."
His jaw clenched, his tone clipped. "Civilized people don't punch their husbands in the face."
I smirked, breath ragged but steady. "Civilized husbands don't get punched… unless they deserve it."
The room was chaos — broken glass on the floor, books scattered, my breath ragged. But inside, I felt something new. Not fear. Not shame. Freedom.
And then — the knock.
"Jay sweetheart, are you okay?" Seriana's voice floated in, warm, concerned.
I froze, hair wild, chest heaving, pillow still in my hand like a weapon. "Yes, Aunt," I answered back, forcing calm.
Keifer straightened his shirt, jaw tight, voice clipped. "Tell her we're fine. Just… a private discussion."
I smirked. "Yeah. A very lively discussion."
From the hallway, I could hear her chuckle, soft and amused. "Okay," she said, her voice warm, as if she'd just caught children bickering instead of a near‑riot.
Keifer exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was in a boardroom dealing with chaos. "This is humiliating," he muttered. "My mother thinks we're… lively."
I couldn't help but laugh, the sound spilling out of me despite the tension.
Keifer's eyes narrowed, his tone clipped. "What is so funny?" he asked, voice low, dangerous.
I smirked, leaning back, still catching my breath. "Your face," I said, sharp and playful. "I think you need another punch to cover that punch."
His jaw tightened, his pride burning. "Jay," he said, voice heavy with a warning, "this isn't a joke."
But the bruise forming on his jaw made it impossible not to laugh again.
For once, the mighty CEO of Watson's Enterprise looked less like a man in control and more like a man who'd lost a boxing match in his own bedroom.
Keifer straightened his shirt, trying to salvage dignity. "You think this is funny? You think humiliating me makes you stronger?"
I met his gaze, steady, unflinching. "No, Keifer. Standing up to you makes me stronger. The punch was just… a bonus."
The silence that followed was sharp, heavy.
But beneath it, I could feel it — his control slipping, my freedom rising.
Keifer's POV
I couldn't control it. Her defiance, her fire — it burned in front of me, and for the first time in three years, she didn't flinch. She stood there, chin lifted, eyes steady, daring me.
I leaned in, certain that a kiss would silence her, certain that my presence, my authority, would remind her who held control in this house. But instead of surrender, instead of quiet — her fist met my jaw.
The impact was sharp, humiliating. I staggered back, stunned, my hand flying to my face. Jay. My wife. The woman who had always bent, always stayed silent. She had punched me.
My pride burned hotter than the bruise forming on my jaw. This wasn't just rebellion. This was humiliation. And worse — she laughed.
Her laughter cut deeper than the punch. It mocked me, stripped me of the control I had built, the image of strength I carried. I was Keifer Watson. People listened when I spoke. People obeyed. But Jay… she had defied me in my own room.
"Are you even a woman?" I had asked, desperate to wound her back, to remind her of her place. But her curses, her rage, her fire — they didn't break her. They broke me.
I ducked as she hurled books, glasses, pillows, chaos filling the room. "Jay! Stop throwing things. This is not how civilized people resolve conflict," I barked, my voice clipped, trying to salvage dignity.
She smirked, sharp, merciless. "Civilized husbands don't get punched… unless they deserve it."
Her words echoed in my head, louder than the shattering glass. For the first time, I realized — control was slipping. And I didn't know how to get it back.