JAY'S POV — 29TH EVE
The mirror didn't lie.
It reflected a woman who no longer flinched.
Black off-shoulder gown—clean lines, structured elegance, slit cut with intention rather than invitation. The fabric clung where it mattered, fell where it commanded respect. White shoulder detailing like bone against ink.
(Check comments for the dress)
Louboutin heels sharp enough to be weapons.
Red lips—precise, unapologetic. Hair swept up, neck bare, vulnerable only in appearance.
This wasn't armor.
This was authority.
I stepped out of the room and into the corridor just as Damian straightened from checking his cuff.
Black formal suit. Tailored to perfection. Calm eyes. A presence that didn't need introduction.
"You ready?" he asked.
"As I'll ever be."
We moved together toward the elevator.
Halfway in, I glanced at him. "You got the gift?"
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Diamond cufflinks. One pair. Custom cut.The only pair in the world."
I looked at him with the look so much for him huh what is he our best friend....
He understood immediately...
"Relax, gotta maintain the Reputation of JJM Industries"
"For the heir," I said.
"For the Watson heir," Damian corrected lightly.
The doors slid shut.
The descent felt longer than physics allowed.
Inside the car, silence thickened—but not uncomfortably. Damian broke it with deliberate ease.
"You know," he said casually, "if you want to really unsettle him or if you feel uncomfortable seeing him alone,I could pose as your boyfriend."
I arched a brow. "Oh really?"
"Yeah because he has never met me so I'll smile. Hand on waist. The whole act. Would absolutely combust him."
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Soft. Real.
"Tempting," I said. "Very tempting."
He chuckled. "Say the word."
The car slowed.
I exhaled. "Let's not start wars tonight."
"Pity," Damian replied. "I dress well for chaos."
THE WATSON ESTATE
The gates opened like a verdict.
Floodlights illuminated old stone and older money—arches, ironwork, history polished to arrogance. The driveway curved with deliberate grandeur, as if reminding every arrival that this place had outlasted people like them.
The car stopped.
The door opened.
I stepped out first.
Conversation stopped.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
Eyes followed me—not hungry, not curious.
Evaluating.
Measuring.
I felt it like pressure against skin.
Damian came to my side without touching me. Perfect distance. Perfect timing.
We walked in.
Inside, the estate was alive with power.
Old-money heirs. Board members. Industry titans. Political shadows pretending to be guests. Laughter that didn't reach eyes. Champagne that cost more than most homes.
Every step echoed.
Every glance lingered.
Whispers followed us like a ripple.
That's her.
JJM.
Really I had just heard about her...
She is ruthless in board meeting...
Only a few people know about her real identity
She's back.
Keifer wasn't here yet.
I noticed the absence immediately.
The Watson Eldest approached—silver-haired, sharp-eyed, carrying the weight of generations like a crown he'd never removed.
"Ms.Mariano," he said warmly, extending his hand. "Thank you for honoring us with your presence."
"The invitation was… significant," I replied smoothly, shaking his hand. "Congratulations on tonight."
His smile tightened just enough to register calculation.
Clyde appeared next—too composed, too watchful. He shook my hand, grip firm, eyes searching my face for something he wouldn't find.
"Good to see you, Ms.Mariano" he said.
"Likewise," I replied.
The music softened.
Attention shifted.
The Watson Eldest lifted his glass.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, voice carrying effortlessly. "Thank you for joining us on a night of legacy, transition, and continuity."
I felt Damian subtly shift beside me.
"This evening," the elder continued, "marks not only a birthday—but the formal introduction of the future of Watson Industries."
A pause.
The room leaned in.
"Allow me to present the heir. The man of tonight."
He turned.
Gestured forward.
And time—
broke.
I saw him from the back first.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Black tailored suit cut with surgical precision. Familiar posture—too straight, too controlled.
And then—
A Woman.
Her arm looped through his.
Close. Possessive. Soft laughter against his shoulder.
Her head tilted toward him as if she belonged there.
My breath didn't catch.
It stopped.
The Watson Eldest called his name.
"Mark Keifer Watson."
The room held its breath.
Keifer turned.
Slowly.
The lights hit his face.
Older.
Sharper.
Power sat on him like it had always known his shape.
Then—
His eyes found mine.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Like he'd known, on some level, that if the world brought him here—
It would bring me too.
The girl at his side tightened her grip, unaware of the shift.
The applause started.
Polite. Thunderous. Hollow.
I stood perfectly still.
Red lips curved into something unreadable.
Damian leaned slightly toward me. Just enough for only me to hear.
"Still want me to play boyfriend?" he murmured.
I didn't look away from Keifer.
"No," I said softly.
"Tonight," I continued, "I want him fully aware of who walked into his world."
The applause swelled.
The heir stepped forward.
And the past, the present, and the future—
Finally occupied the same room.
The applause hadn't fully died when the Watson Eldest lifted his hand again.
"And beside our heir," he said smoothly, pride threaded into every syllable, "allow me to introduce Ion Perez—his fiancée."
The word landed.
Fiancée.
Not lover.
Not companion.
Not rumor.
A title.
Ion smiled like she had rehearsed it—soft, elegant, perfectly placed. Her hand slid to Keifer's arm with practiced intimacy, fingers resting where cameras would catch them best.
I didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe any differently than before.
My eyes stayed locked on Keifer.
His face was carved from stone.
No flicker. No reaction. No tension that anyone else could read. The Mark Keifer Watson the world was being handed tonight was immaculate—polished, controlled, untouchable.
If I hadn't loved him once, I might have believed it.
Ion leaned into him slightly, chin lifted, smile radiant.
The Watson Eldest continued speaking—about legacy, about alliances, about futures shaped long before choice—but his voice faded into background noise.
Because Keifer's eyes flicked back to mine.
Just once.
Sharp. Quick. Contained.
And in that split second, I knew.
This wasn't a love story.
This was a deal.
They descended the stage moments later, swallowed immediately by guests eager to congratulate, align, attach themselves to the heir and his newly declared future.
Damian shifted closer—not protective, not possessive. Strategic.
The Watson Eldest approached us again, this time with Keifer and Ion in tow.
"Ms.Mariano," he said, pleased, "may I formally introduce you to my grandson—Mark Keifer Watson."
Keifer turned to me.
"And Keifer this is Ms. Jasper Jean Mariano owner if JJM industries."
Up close, the distance between us felt impossible and microscopic at the same time.
"Ms. Jay," he said evenly, extending his hand.
The formality was surgical.
I took his hand.
Cool. Controlled. Professional.
"Mr. Watson," I replied with equal precision.
If anyone expected sparks, they were disappointed.
Ion watched us with polite curiosity, unaware she was standing between a loaded history.
"And this," the elder continued, "is Ion Perez."
Ion stepped forward first, smile warm, hand outstretched. "It's lovely to finally meet you. I've heard quite a bit."
I smiled back—measured, courteous. "Only good things, I hope."
She laughed lightly. "Naturally."
Keifer's gaze shifted—briefly—to Damian.
"And who is this with you?" Keifer asked, tone casual, eyes too sharp.
I didn't hesitate.
I slid my arm through Damian's.
The contact was deliberate.
Comfortable.
Public.
"This," I said smoothly, "is Damian Martinez."
I tilted my head slightly, lips curving.
"My boyfriend."
The reaction was subtle.
But I saw it.
Keifer's jaw tightened—not visibly, not enough for anyone else to catch—but his eyes darkened, something shuttering behind them like a door slammed shut.
Ion's smile faltered for half a second before recovering.
"Well," the Watson Eldest said approvingly, clearly pleased, "congratulations to you as well. Powerful people should never walk alone."
Damian inclined his head politely. "We agree."
He handed over the gift.
"From both of us," Damian said. "A small token."
Keifer accepted it, nodding. "Thank you."
His fingers brushed mine as he took it.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
My phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
I glanced at the screen.
Private line.
Important.
"I'll excuse myself," I said calmly.
Damian nodded. "I'll be here."
I stepped away without looking back.
---
THE BALCONY
The air outside was colder.
Sharper.
Real.
I leaned against the stone railing, the music muted behind thick glass. London stretched out below—unimpressed, eternal.
I answered the call.
"Yes."
A voice spoke quickly. Efficiently.
Updates. Confirmations. Timelines.
I listened. Responded. Finalized decisions that would move markets by morning.
When the call ended, I stayed there a moment longer.
Letting the night breathe.
Behind me, the doors opened.
I didn't turn.
I didn't have to.
I felt him.
"Your boyfriend," Keifer said quietly.
I smiled to myself. "Problem?"
"No," he replied just as softly. "Observation."
I turned then.
Slowly.
We stood a few feet apart—close enough for truth, far enough for survival.
"Congratulations," I said. "On the engagement. On the takeover."
He studied me like I was a variable he hadn't accounted for.
"Business," he said.
"Same," I replied.
Silence stretched.
Not awkward.
Loaded.
"You look… well," he said finally.
"So do you," I answered. "Heir suits you."
His mouth twitched—almost a smile. Almost regret.
Almost nothing.
Inside, applause rose again.
The world moved on.
And we—
We stood on opposite sides of something neither of us had crossed yet.
Not tonight.
Not yet.