KEIFER POV
She was in her room for what felt like hours.
I could hear the shuffle of hangers, the thud of shoes, the chaos of drawers opening and closing.
It grated on me — the mess, the noise, the lack of order.
I stood outside, jaw tight, arms crossed, telling myself I didn't care.
But when the door opened and she stepped out, the words caught in my throat.
Jay. Her dress shimmered under the light, her hair loose, her eyes alive in a way I hadn't seen in years. She looked… beautiful.
I hated the thought.
But I couldn't deny it.
"Where the hell are you going looking like that?" I asked, voice clipped, sharp, trying to cover the crack in my armor.
She smirked, unflinching. "To my mother's house."
I stepped closer, deliberate, my shadow stretching across her. "I'm telling you — don't talk to me like that."
She met my glare, steady, defiant. "Fuck off."
And then she pushed me.
I stood there, jaw tight, watching her walk past me, her heels clicking against the floor like a declaration of war.
She picked a car, slid inside, and drove away.
I exhaled, pinching the bridge of my nose, pride burning hotter than the bruise on my jaw.
She was beautiful.
And that made her defiance even harder to control.
I was thinking about her. Jay‑Jay.
I knew her since she was eighteen.
Always loud, chaotic, stubborn — a storm that never asked permission.
I hated to admit it, but I liked her back then.
Then she married me.
And she changed.
She became obedient, quiet, reshaping herself to fit into my world.
Maybe that's why I didn't like it.
Because she wasn't changing for herself.
She was changing for me.
For others.
Now… she's changing again.
I can see it.
The laughter, the defiance, the fire in her eyes.
Her old self is coming back.
And I don't know if I hate it… or if I'm terrified of how much I still like it.
I was snapped out of my thoughts by a call. From Yuri. My best friend.
"Hey, Yuri," I said.
"Hey man, how's it going?" he asked.
"Good," I replied, clipped as always.
"So, you ready?"
"Yeah."
"By the way, Aries said he couldn't come."
"Okay," I said. "Give me thirty minutes."
I went to my room, found an outfit for the club. Tonight, I decided to chill. Or at least, that's what I told myself.
When I walked inside the club, the lights hit me — loud, chaotic, alive. I spotted Yuri and Percy immediately. I went to them.
"Hi, Keifer," Percy said, grinning like he owned the place.
"Hi," I answered, clipped.
"Don't you miss my handsome face?" he asked, leaning in with that same smug grin.
Of course he would say that. Percy, the self‑proclaimed gift to women, radiating overconfidence like it was cologne.
I didn't roll my eyes, though I wanted to. Instead, I straightened my shirt, jaw tight, and said, "You haven't changed."
Yuri laughed, shaking his head. "Man, you two never stop."
I stood there, posture perfect, trying to convince myself I was here to relax.
But even in the chaos of the club, even surrounded by friends, my thoughts kept circling back to Jay.
I hated that. We were drinking, the noise of the club pounding in my ears, when Percy leaned in with that smug grin.
"Keif… isn't that Jay?" he said, nodding toward the dance floor.
I turned around. And there she was.
Jay. With Ella, Freya, Rakki, and Mica. Together, talking, laughing, alive in a way I hadn't seen in years.
My jaw tightened. The bruise on my face throbbed, but it wasn't the pain that burned — it was the sight of her, free, chaotic, stubborn. The Jay I knew at eighteen. The Jay I hated to admit I liked.
Percy smirked. "She looks good, man."
I didn't answer. Because she did. And I hated that too.
Her laughter cut through the music, sharper than the bass, louder than the chaos. And for the first time, I realized — I wasn't in control here. Not of her, not of the night, not of myself.
She kept drinking. Not one, not two — I was pretty sure she finished a whole bottle.
"Keif, she's drunk," Yuri said, leaning toward me.
"Well, no dip, Sherlock," I muttered, jaw tight.
Jay staggered toward the dance floor, the lights catching her dress, her laughter spilling out louder than the music. She started to dance, wild, chaotic, free.
Then I saw him. A boy. Handsome, confident, leaning close, talking to her. And she was laughing.
Something twisted in my chest. Jealousy. I hated it. I hated that I cared, that I couldn't stand the sight of her smiling at someone else.
I pushed through the crowd, clipped, deliberate, until I stood in front of her. "Jay, let's go," I said, voice low, sharp.
She blinked at me, swaying, eyes glassy. "Who are you?" she asked, laughing.
Yup. She was drunk. Too drunk to recognize me, too drunk to care.
My jaw clenched, pride burning hotter than the bruise on my face. "Your husband," I answered, voice sharp, clipped.
She blinked at me, swaying, then laughed. "OMG, you're Keifer," she said, loud enough for half the club to hear. Her smile twisted. "You asshole."
The words hit harder than the music. I straightened, forcing control into my voice. "Jay, you're drunk. You don't know what you're talking."
She shot back instantly, eyes glassy but defiant. "Yes, I know exactly what I'm saying."
Ella stepped closer, concern etched across her face. "Jay, everything okay?"
I didn't hesitate. "I'm taking her home," I said, clipped, final.
Ella nodded, trusting me, but Jay's laughter rang out again, mocking, chaotic. And I stood there, pride burning, realizing something I didn't want to admit.
She was drunk, yes. She was stubborn, yes. But beneath the chaos, beneath the defiance, I saw her — the Jay I knew at eighteen. Loud, chaotic, alive.
And I hated that even now, even as she mocked me, even as she called me an asshole in front of everyone… I still thought she was beautiful. I still felt something I shouldn't.
"Let's go," I said, voice sharp, clipped.
"No, I want to stay. I want one more drink," she shot back, swaying, eyes glassy.
"You already had enough. Let's go."
"NO."
I didn't wait anymore. My pride wouldn't let me. I scooped her up in bridal style, her laughter spilling out like chaos itself.
"Let me go, Mark Keifer fucking Watson!" she shouted, loud enough for the whole club to hear.
My jaw clenched, but I didn't stop. I carried her out, ignoring the stares, ignoring the whispers. She was mine, and tonight I wasn't leaving her behind.
I put her in the car, slammed the door, and drove home. She kept blabbing, words tumbling out like broken glass.
"I'm going to file a case! You're kidnapping me!" she laughed, slurring, pointing at me like I was the villain in her story.
Tss. This girl.
I pulled into the driveway, carried her inside, up the stairs, into the room. She was still talking, still mocking, still chaotic.
Suddenly, she took my collar.
Her hands were unsteady, her grip clumsy, but her eyes — even drunk — burned into mine.