Keifer POV
I woke to this girl cussing.
Her voice was sharp, chaotic, loud — the kind of sound that could wake the dead.
Jay never started mornings quietly.
So I thought to tease her. "Again," I muttered, half‑smirking, just to see her reaction.
Her head snapped toward me, eyes wide, brows furrowed. "What do you mean again?" she asked, confused.
She looked cute when she was confused.
Too cute.
"What — you said 'fuck,' so I thought—"
I couldn't finish the sentence because a pillow smacked me straight in the face. She was glaring, lips pressed tight, cheeks flushed, dramatic as ever. Fake tears already forming, like she was about to accuse me of something ridiculous.
God, she was chaos. And somehow, I liked it.
I sighed, rubbing my jaw, voice clipped. "Jay, you're loud even when you throw pillows."
She groaned, muttering insults under her breath, pretending to cry, accusing me of things I hadn't done.
She was cussing too much. So I pinned her to the bed, steady, clipped, unshaken.
"You cuss too much," I said, my voice low, deliberate. Her eyes widened, cheeks already heating.
"Do you want me to clean it for you?" I added, leaning closer.
She was blushing so hard there was no difference between her and a tomato. And yet, even red‑faced, she still found a comeback.
"Why don't you cuss too?" she shot back, defiant, stubborn, refusing to break.
Oh god. Even when blushing, she had comebacks. That was Jay — chaos wrapped in fire.
"We can clean it together," I said, my lips twitching into the faintest smirk.
"Fuck off, Keifer," she snapped, voice cracking under the heat in her cheeks.
I tilted my head, calm, clipped, enjoying every second. "One more time you use profanity, Jay, I'll kiss you."
Her blush deepened, harder, hotter.
And I knew I had her cornered.
Because for once, her chaos couldn't hide the truth.
She wanted me to tease her.
And I wanted her to keep blushing.
I wanted to kiss her but not yet
I have to show her that this marriage is worth saving
"Get up, I'll make breakfast," I said, clipped, steady.
She blinked at me, surprised. She didn't know I could cook. Truth was, she didn't know half of what I could do.
I went downstairs, started making breakfast. The rhythm of it was simple — eggs, pan, spatula. But I knew she'd be watching.
Sure enough, she came down, staring at me like I was some kind of alien. Her eyes narrowed, suspicious, chaotic.
I smirked, spatula in hand. "Do you want to eat me for breakfast?" I teased, voice low, deliberate.
She crossed her arms, rolling her eyes, trying to look unbothered. "In your dreams," she shot back.
I turned back to the pan, lips twitching.
Dreams?
I didn't need dreams.
Jay was loud enough when she was awake.
And the way she was blushing now — tomato red, trying to hide it — was proof enough that teasing her was working.
I made breakfast and set the plate in front of her, then sat across the table. She looked at me, then at the food, suspicion written all over her face.
"Did I hurt you last night?" she asked suddenly.
I frowned, shocked. "Why the hell would you think that?"
"Because you're cooking… and smiling," she said, narrowing her eyes.
I scoffed, leaning back. "Tss. I don't need your permission to cook and smile."
She stabbed at her food, muttering, "Whatever. You're still an asshole."
I looked up, lips twitching into a smile. "What did you say?" I asked, clipped but amused.
She glared. "Are you deaf? I called you an asshole."
I didn't answer. Instead, I stood, walked over, and leaned down until I was so close she couldn't look anywhere but at me.
"Profanity," I said, voice low, deliberate.
Her eyes widened. "Are you serious?"
I didn't bother replying. I kissed her — quick, firm, deliberate.
Pulling back, I smirked. "Seriously," I said, calm, smug, enjoying the way her cheeks burned red.
She pushed me back, fire in her eyes. "Jay," I called out, steady, clipped.
She froze, shocked. Maybe because this was the first time she ever heard me say her name without control. Not cold. Not calculated. Just… her name.
"What?" she asked, voice sharp but uncertain.
"There will be a gala tonight. You have to come," I said.
Her brows furrowed. "Why are you calling me?"
"Why wouldn't I?" I asked back, calm, deliberate.
"Because we've been married for three years and this is the first time you're asking me to come with," she said, her voice cracking between accusation and disbelief.
I held her gaze. "You have to come because you're my wife."
She scoffed, but her lips trembled. "Good. You still remember that."
"I always did. Maybe you didn't see it," I muttered, softer than I meant to.
Her eyes narrowed. "What are you muttering about?"
"Nothing. Just be ready by 5 p.m.," I said, clipped again, hiding the weight in my chest.
She nodded reluctantly.
"And try to wear blue," I added.
"Why?" she asked, suspicious.
"Because I'm also wearing blue," I said.
Her eyes widened, cheeks warming. "You want to match?"
I nodded once, steady, calm.
Because for the first time in years, I wanted the world to see us together.
Not apart.
Not broken.
Together.
JAY-JAY POV
What the hell is wrong with this gago? He's acting weird. Smiling. Smirking. Like he actually has emotions.
And then he asked me to come to a gala. A gala. Like this is the first time he's ever asked me to come anywhere with him.
I stared at him, suspicious. Was he sick? Did someone replace him with a clone? Because Keifer Watson doesn't smile. Keifer Watson doesn't ask. Keifer Watson commands.
And now he's looking at me like he actually wants me there. Like he actually wants me beside him.
My cheeks burned before I could stop them. God, why did he have to act weird now? Why did he have to make me feel like maybe… just maybe… he still remembered I was his wife?
Keifer Watson, the clipped, cold, smug man I married, suddenly wanted us to match.
Like some cheesy couple in a drama.
I pulled out one dress, then another, tossing them onto the bed.
Too plain.
Too shiny.
Too short.
Too long.
God, why was I even stressing?
It was just a gala. But the way he said it — because you're my wife — kept echoing in my head.
My cheeks warmed. I groaned, burying my face in the pile of fabric. Why did he have to act weird now? Why did he have to make me feel like maybe… just maybe… he wanted me beside him?
I finally held up a blue dress against myself in the mirror.
It shimmered under the light, elegant but sharp.
Perfect.
If Keifer wanted me to match, fine.
But I'd make sure I looked better than him.
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🔥 Guys… the Section E Dark Side scene just dropped 😱 I'm literally shaking—too much chaos, too much emotion, and I LOVE it 💀✨ Every line hit harder than the last, and I swear I'm about to die here 🔥💌
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