The Mayfair Gala was in full swing, a blur of diamonds, champagne, and the suffocating scent of power. Jay-jay stood in her designated spot—exactly two paces behind Keifer's left shoulder. Her hand was steady as she held his leather-bound portfolio, but her mind was a battlefield.
Keifer was currently charming the Swedish Ambassador's wife, his laughter sounding like velvet, but Jay-jay could feel his eyes tracking her reflection in the gilded mirrors of the ballroom. He was hunting for a crack. He was waiting for her to break.
Bzzzt.
The work phone in her pocket vibrated. A notification from an "Unknown Sender."
Jay-jay pulled it out, expecting a schedule change or a legal update. Instead, her heart physically stuttered.
It was a high-resolution photo. The timestamp was from five minutes ago.
It showed her parents' small house in Cavite. They were sitting at the small wooden dining table, her mother serving sinangag while her father laughed. But the photo wasn't taken from the street. It was taken from an elevated angle—the crosshairs of a telescopic lens centered perfectly on her father's chest.
Underneath the photo was a single line of text:
"A secretary should focus on her master's needs. One tear, and the trigger pulls itself."
Jay-jay felt the blood drain from her face. Her lungs felt like they were collapsing, the air in the ballroom suddenly too thin to breathe. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw the phone and run to the nearest airport.
Don't look up. Don't let him see.
"Ms. Mariano," Keifer's voice sliced through her panic.
She looked up. Keifer had excused himself from the Ambassador's wife and was standing directly in front of her. His gaze was predatory, searching her eyes for the secret she was drowning in.
"You look pale," Keifer murmured, stepping closer, his hand reaching out as if to touch her cheek before he caught himself and gripped her shoulder instead. His grip was firm, testing her. "Did the 'High Priority' dinner on Friday move you that much? Or is the London air finally getting to your lungs?"
Jay-jay forced a small, professional smile. Her hand in her pocket was gripping the phone so hard the glass nearly cracked.
"The air is perfectly fine, Mr. Watson," she said, her voice surprisingly level. "I was simply checking the stock fluctuations for the acquisition. It seems the market is as volatile as your temper."
Keifer narrowed his eyes. He knew her. He knew the way her pupils dilated when she was scared, the way her bottom lip had a microscopic quiver. He saw it—just for a fraction of a second—before she slammed the iron shutters down again.
"Is that so?" Keifer whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from her ear. "Because your hand is shaking, Jay-jay. The silk of your sleeve is trembling. Tell me the truth... who just messaged you?"
"My mother," Jay-jay lied, the words tasting like ash. "She's asking about the weather. Apparently, it's raining in the Philippines
It's not raining, she thought desperately. It's sunny, and there is a killer in our garden
"Liar," Keifer breathed. He took the wine glass from a passing waiter and handed it to her. "Drink. You look like you're about to faint, and I can't have my 'Strategic Assistant' causing a scene in front of the press. It would be bad for the brand."
Jay-jay took a sip of the cold water, her throat dry. She watched as the Grandfather's personal security head, a man named Vuk, nodded to her from across the room. He tapped his watch.
She realized then that this was her life for the next eleven chapters. A hostage in a designer dress. A Queen playing the role of a servant to save the King who currently hated her.
Keifer turned back to the crowd, but he didn't let go of her arm. He kept her anchored to his side, a possessive, angry gesture disguised as a boss guiding his employee.
"Stay close, Jay-jay," Keifer muttered, his voice sounding like a vow and a threat all at once. "I'm not done with you tonight."
Jay-jay looked at the floor, the image of the crosshairs burned into her retinas. Hold on, Papa. Hold on, Mama. I'm doing this for you. I'm doing this for him.
Inside, the Mutya was burning, but outside, the Secretary remained frozen in ice.