JAY'S POV —
I wake before the city does.
Not because of alarms.
Because my body no longer knows how to rest past dawn.
The ceiling above my bed is pale, unfamiliar in the way only something once-loved can be. Manila light slips in through the curtains—soft, deceptively gentle. I lie there for a moment, listening to my own breathing, steady and controlled.
No gunshots. No screams. No orders.
Just me.
I get up.
The mirror doesn't surprise me anymore. The girl staring back has sharper eyes, calmer hands. Whatever London carved into me, Manila won't undo.
Skincare first. Slow. Methodical. Cleanser. Serum. Moisturizer. Every motion deliberate. A ritual that reminds me I'm still human before the world demands I become something else again.
By the time I lace my shoes, the sun is barely up.
I run.
Not for fitness. For control.
The streets blur beneath my feet, lungs burning, heartbeat strong and sure. Every step reminds me I'm alive. Every breath proves no one owns that fact but me.
Back home, I shower, eat properly—eggs, fruit, black coffee. No rushing. No chaos.
Then I open the wardrobe.
My uniform hangs there, untouched for weeks.
I pause.
Fingers brush the fabric.
Then I put it on.
Crisp. Perfect. Like I never left.
My phone buzzes.
Angelo:
Heard you're back. Visit soon.
I type back a simple okay.
Keys in hand.
The new ones.
Black Aston Martin. Low. Fast. Unapologetic.
Leather boots. Minimal makeup. Hair tied clean.
I pull out of the driveway and let the engine growl.
Speed climbs. 120. 150. 180.
The city stretches, bends, submits.
By the time I pull into campus, the engine cuts like a held breath.
And everything stops.
Students freeze. Conversations die mid-sentence. Phones come up instinctively—recording, whispering, disbelief crackling through the air.
I step out.
Heat. Eyes. Power.
I don't rush.
Aries stands near the path, staring like he's seeing a ghost.
I smirk at him.
He forgets how to breathe.
Section E is straight ahead.
As I walk, the whispers follow.
"She's back." "Is that Jay?" "That car—" "Did you see her?"
I enter the classroom.
Silence.
David is asleep—headphones on, mouth slightly open, completely unaware.
I walk over, flick his forehead.
"Wake up."
He jerks upright. "What the—"
His eyes land on me.
The shock lasts half a second before he's on his feet, hugging me so tightly it knocks the air out of my lungs.
"YOU'RE BACK."
"Missed you too," I say, actually smiling.
That's when the rest of them move.
Cin first. Felix. Rory. Yuri. Blaster.
They surround me—hands on shoulders, voices overlapping, warmth crashing in all at once.
"Where the hell were you?" "You scared us." "Don't disappear like that again." "We missed you."
No one mentions last night.
No one mentions blood.
That's their gift to me.
We settle back into our seats, the noise slowly returning—controlled, familiar.
I feel it then.
A presence shifting.
I look up.
Keifer is walking toward us.
My chest tightens—but I don't let it show.
I lift my hand.
Stop him.
Just for a second.
Before anything can be said—
Sir Alvin enters.
"Good morning."
Everyone straightens.
His gaze finds me. "Welcome back, Miss Mariano."
"Thank you, sir."
"I trust your leave was… productive."
A pause.
"Very."
He nods, then adjusts his glasses. "We also have a new transferee joining today."
I smile.
Confusion ripples through the room.
The door opens.
---
KEIFER'S POV —
The moment Jay walks back into the classroom, something inside me goes rigid.
Not soft. Not relieved.
Tight.
Like a lock clicking into place.
She doesn't look around like she's searching for anyone. She doesn't hesitate. She doesn't scan the room to see who's watching.
She just exists.
Calm. Controlled. Untouchable.
That alone tells me everything I need to know.
When she lifts her hand and stops me—just one small motion, barely noticeable to anyone else—it hits harder than the blow Ram's men landed on my head last night.
Not now.
That's what it says.
Not you.
Before I can recover, Sir Alvin walks in, and the moment fractures into something public, something contained. I take my seat, spine straight, face blank, like I haven't already lost control three times since she stepped inside.
Then Sir Alvin speaks again.
"A new transferee will be joining us today."
I don't care.
Or I tell myself I don't.
The door opens.
And the air shifts.
Damian Martinez walks in like he owns the floor beneath his feet.
Tall. Relaxed. Dangerous in a way that doesn't need to announce itself. His eyes flick once around the room—assessing, dismissing—then land on Jay.
And soften.
That's when my jaw locks.
"Damian Martinez," he says easily. "Transferred from London."
London.
Of course.
Sir Alvin gestures to the class. "You may take your seat."
Damian nods.
Then ignores him.
He walks straight past rows of stunned students, straight past whispers and phones already lifting again—and stops at Jay's desk.
My heartbeat kicks once. Hard.
He reaches into his jacket.
Pulls out flowers.
Red.
Fresh.
Intentional.
He drops them gently onto her desk, leans in just enough for the whole room to hear—
"Missed you, girlfriend."
The room explodes.
"What—" "BOYFRIEND?!" "Since when??" "No way—"
Jay chuckles.
Not surprised.
Not flustered.
Amused.
Damian straightens and turns to the room, completely unbothered by the chaos he's just detonated.
"Yeah," he says smoothly. "I'm Jay's boyfriend."
Every head snaps toward me.
Every single one.
I don't move.
I don't react.
My face stays cold. Controlled. Watson-perfect.
But inside—
Jealousy is a living thing.
It crawls up my spine, sinks claws into my ribs, twists hard enough to make breathing feel optional.
Boyfriend.
London.
The way he stood so close to her. The way she let him.
Sir Alvin clears his throat sharply. "That's enough."
The room quiets, though tension still hums like exposed wiring.
"Mr. Martinez," Sir Alvin says pointedly, "take your seat."
Damian finally complies.
Where does he sit?
Next to her.
Of course he does.
He leans back comfortably, knee brushing hers like it belongs there. Jay doesn't move away. She adjusts her pen. Glances at him once. Their shoulders touch.
Casual.
Intimate.
Deliberate.
Sir Alvin begins the lecture, voice steady, chalk tapping against the board—but no one is listening.
Not really.
The room is silent in the worst way.
Too aware. Too tight.
I stare at my notebook without seeing a word.
Every sense is tuned to them.
To the way Damian murmurs something low and Jay smirks. To the way her hair catches the light. To the way he looks at her like he knows things about her I no longer do.
This is punishment.
Not loud. Not violent.
Precise.
She didn't come back to confront me.
She came back to show me she moved on.
Or worse—
That she learned how to live without me.
I clench my jaw until it aches.
Don't react. Don't look. Don't give her the satisfaction.
But my hands betray me, curling slowly into fists beneath the desk.
Because no matter how cold my face stays—
Every part of me is screaming one truth I can't say out loud:
That seat beside her used to be mine.
And now?
I'm just another witness to the life she built after I broke her.