JAY'S POV —
Damian leans back in his chair like this is a café and not a classroom wired tight with history.
His shoulder brushes mine again—on purpose.
"Wow," he murmurs under his breath, lips barely moving. "If looks could kill, Watson would've murdered me twice already."
I don't look at Keifer.
I don't need to.
"I told you not to enjoy it," I whisper back.
Damian grins, eyes flicking sideways. "I didn't say I was enjoying it. I said he's super duper jealous."
I finally glance at him. "You're insufferable."
"And you're doing great," he replies lightly. "Did you see his jaw? Man's one lecture away from snapping chalk in half."
"Focus," I mutter, tapping my pen.
"I am," he says. "On my role."
He leans in just a little closer, voice dropping. "Relax. I'll exit dramatically after class. Give him space to implode."
I snort before I can stop myself.
Sir Alvin clears his throat sharply, and Damian straightens like he's done nothing wrong. But when the bell rings, he's already on his feet.
He grabs his bag, bends down just enough to whisper, "Miss me already, girlfriend?"
"Go," I hiss.
He laughs softly and walks out like he didn't just drop a grenade into my life.
The moment he's gone—
I feel it.
Eyes.
All of them.
Section E turns toward me in unison like synchronized chaos.
Cin squints. "Okay. No. Explain."
Felix crosses his arms. "You disappear for weeks and come back with a boyfriend?"
Rory leans forward. "From London."
Yuri says nothing. Just watches.
I shrug, deliberately vague. "It's complicated."
"That's not an answer," Cin protests.
"And I'm not explaining," I reply calmly.
The room buzzes again—questions, theories, disbelief.
Then—
A hand closes around my wrist.
Firm.
Warm.
Certain.
My breath catches before I can stop it.
Keifer.
"Jay," he says, low and tight. "We need to talk."
"Let go," I reply just as quietly.
He doesn't.
He pulls me out of my seat and toward the hallway before anyone can react.
"Keifer—"
He doesn't slow.
The music room door opens.
Slams shut.
Locks.
He turns and pins me—not violently, not painfully—but close enough that the wall presses cool against my back and his presence crowds my space.
Too familiar.
Too dangerous.
"Boyfriend?" he demands, voice controlled to the point of fracture. "That's what you're doing now?"
I lift my chin, meeting his eyes without flinching. "You don't get to ask that."
His jaw tightens. "I saw him. The way he looks at you. The way you let him."
"Careful," I warn softly. "You're crossing lines you erased yourself Watson,tell me who told me that they 'used me' huh.."
His hand loosens on my wrist—but doesn't let go.
"You came back," he says, quieter now. "Why?"
I swallow.
"Because running forever is boring."
His gaze searches my face like he's looking for something he lost and refuses to believe is gone.
"And him?" he asks. "Is that real?"
I don't answer right away.
That silence?
It hurts him.
Good.
"Yes he is real just like you're very real 'fiance' now step back, Keifer," I say evenly. "Before you say something you can't take back."
For a second, I think he won't.
Then he does.
Just enough to let me breathe.
He looked at me cold and stern as if he wanted to speak but not like this..
I straighten my uniform, smooth my sleeves, and look him dead in the eye.
"Next time," I add calmly, "ask permission before you grab me."
I reach for the door.
Unlock it.
Pause just long enough to say—
"Welcome back to reality Watson,I'm not the same girl you used to know...."
Then I walk out.
And I don't look back.
The corridor feels longer on the way out.
Not because it is— because I'm holding myself together with discipline instead of breath.
I don't look back.
I don't look for him.
If I do, I'll break in public—and that's one thing I will never allow again.
The drive to the condo is a blur of red lights and muscle memory. I don't speed this time. I don't push the engine. My hands are steady on the wheel even though my chest feels hollowed out, scooped clean.
When I reach the condo, I park perfectly.
Of course I do.
I unlock the door.
Step inside.
Lock it.
Once.
Twice.
The sound echoes too loud.
The moment the bolt slides home—
My knees give out.
I don't fight it.
I hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the air from my lungs, palms braced against cold marble. The silence crashes down on me all at once, thick and merciless.
I breathe in.
It stutters.
I breathe out—
And something inside me finally caves.
My forehead drops to the floor.
God.
Seeing him today—
Not just him.
The bruises on his knuckles. The way his ribs moved like breathing hurt. The tension in his shoulders like he hasn't slept.
He looked wrecked.
And that shouldn't matter.
But it does.
Because I still love him.
That's the cruelest part.
I press my hand to my chest like I can physically hold my heart in place.
I loved him so much that when he broke me, I didn't scream.
I rebuilt.
Piece by piece. Knife by knife. Blood by blood.
I told myself it was survival. I told myself it was strength. I told myself that becoming colder meant becoming safer.
But the truth?
I changed because loving him hurt more than killing ever did.
I curl in on myself, arms wrapping around my knees.
Tears finally come—not loud, not dramatic.
Silent. Ugly. Uncontrolled.
They drip onto the floor, blurring the reflection staring back at me.
I hate him.
I love him.
I hate that I love him.
I hate that when he grabbed my wrist, my body remembered before my mind did. I hate that his voice still knows how to reach places nothing else touches.
I hate that even now, part of me wants to go back and press my face into his chest and pretend none of this happened.
But it did.
He used me.
Whatever his reasons. Whatever his intentions. Whatever protection he tells himself it was—
He broke me without asking if I'd survive it.
And I did.
That's what scares him.
That's what scares me.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
"I can't forget you," I whisper to the empty room, voice cracking for the first time in weeks. "So I became someone you wouldn't recognize."
The room doesn't answer.
The city outside keeps moving.
Eventually, I force myself to stand.
I wash my face. Change out of the uniform. Tie my hair back.
By the time I sit on the couch, spine straight, expression empty—
The girl on the floor is gone again.
That's the price of loving someone like Keifer Watson.
You don't get to fall apart forever.
You get one moment.
And I already took it.
Tomorrow, I'll walk back into that classroom like nothing touched me.
But tonight—
Tonight, I let myself remember that before I was ruthless…
I was just a girl who loved a boy enough to destroy herself trying to forget him.