5 Months Later
--: Jay-Jay's POV: --
Five months. It had been exactly five months since I traded the chaotic, rowdy classrooms of Section E for a diamond wedding ring and a permanent residency at the massive, echoing Watson estate.
And if I had to summarize married life lately? It could be described in one single, heavy, exasperated word: Frustrating.
Don't get me wrong, I loved Keifer. I loved being Mrs. Watson more than anything in the world. But lately, my husband had been completely, incredibly swamped. Between the new northern port expansions, endless high-stakes alliance meetings, and district security logistics that I understood as I was a business student too, he was basically living in his home office room. He was running himself ragged, operating like a machine, and it was driving me completely, utterly insane. The silence of the mansion felt twice as loud when he wasn't around to anchor it, and the loneliness was starting to pile up in my chest.
And the absolute worst part of it all? His specific, highly effective method of "handling" me whenever I marched in to complain.
Whenever I couldn't take the isolation anymore, I would stomp straight down the grand hallway, push open his heavy mahogany office doors, and demand some actual, genuine attention. I'd stand there with my hands on my hips, ready to give him a piece of my mind. And what does the great, terrifying Keifer Watson do?
He doesn't argue. He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't even tell me to leave. Instead, he just extends one massive, heavily scarred arm, grabs me by the waist, and effortlessly pulls me down onto his lap. Before I can even utter a single syllable of my prepared lecture, he cups the back of my neck and plants a deep, breathless, utterly devastating kiss right on my lips.
It's the kind of kiss that completely fries my brain cells, makes my toes curl, and turns my spine into absolute mush.
And then? The exact second he pulls away and sees that I'm completely dazed, he just deadpans, "Go play with Keiran, Jay. I need to finish this report," and turns right back to typing on his laptop. He would go back to ignoring me as if I hadn't just been short-circuiting right there on his thighs!
Gagoo really thought a single kiss was enough to recharge my attention battery for a whole twenty-four hours!
He would literally ignore me the entire day, leaving me to wander the endless, polished hallways of the mansion all by myself. I'd eat lunch alone, talk to the maids out of pure boredom, and wear his oversized black hoodies just out of spite.
But of course, when night finally falls and the rest of the world goes quiet, things change. Apparently, the ruthless King of the district can't stay away from me for too long, and we all know exactly why. No matter how consumed he is by corporate wars, he always comes to me in the dark. He'll slide into bed, his massive frame radiating heat as he pulls me tightly against his chest, seeking my warmth as if it's the only real, solid thing keeping him grounded after a day of dealing with sharks.
But lately, it isn't even every night anymore. He's sleeping so little these days, pushing his physical and mental limits to a point that genuinely scares me.
Whenever I try to pull his hands away from his paperwork, tugging at his sleeves to beg him to come to bed, he just looks at me with those tired, dark, bloodshot eyes. He'll soften for just a fraction of a second, press a gentle, lingering kiss to my forehead, and murmur in a low, gravelly rumble, "I have some work to complete. Please go and sleep, wifey."
Half the time, I refuse to leave him. My stubborn streak kicks in, and I'll refuse to go back to our empty master bedroom. Instead, I'll stubbornly crawl onto the plush leather sofa inside his office, wrapping myself in a throw blanket and vowing to keep my eyes wide open until he finally closes that stupid laptop. But my body always betrays me. The rhythmic sound of his typing becomes a lullaby, and I inevitably drift off to sleep right there on the couch.
Then, when morning comes, the frustration hits all over again. I magically wake up tucked comfortably beneath the heavy silk duvet of our massive master bed—completely alone, with no Keifer beside me. The spot next to me is always cold. He always carries me up the grand staircase in the dead of night without waking me, tucks me in like I'm made of glass, and then heads right back down to his desk to work until dawn. It is just so incredibly frustrating.
Some days he doesn't sleep at all. He just survives on black coffee and sheer willpower. And then there are those other nights—the rare, intense ones where he doesn't let me sleep either.
On those specific nights, the suffocating exhaustion from his corporate world and the weight of the district finally catch up to him all at once. The control he fiercely maintains during the day snaps, and he handles me with a quiet, overwhelming desperation.
Even if I lose my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs, and whisper against his neck that we need to stop and get some rest, he won't let me go. He'll trap my wrists gently but firmly against the pillows, leaning down until his dark, piercing gaze locks onto mine in the shadows. He'll press his forehead against mine, his chest heaving as he whispers in that deep, raw, gravelly tone that makes my entire body melt, "Staying inside you gives me more energy, baby. Just bear with me."
He claims me completely on those nights, losing himself in my touch, sinking into my body as if he's pulling life and strength right back into his veins. It's an unspoken, breathless language between us—him consuming my warmth to survive the chaos, and me giving it to him willingly, letting him pull me into his rhythm until the first rays of the morning sun peak through the curtains. In those hours, he makes me forget every single ounce of my anger and loneliness, leaving me completely breathless and tangled in his arms.
But it's only some days that he lets himself unwind and seek refuge like that. The very next morning, the walls go right back up. He goes right back to being the cold, distant, unbothered workaholic—busy as hell, buried in his kingdom, and leaving his wifey completely, utterly starved for attention.
----
I didn't know what was wrong with me lately. I really, honestly didn't.
It was one thing to be annoyed by Keifer's relentless corporate schedule, but the sheer, volatile intensity of my frustration over the last couple of weeks was getting borderline ridiculous. Every single time he gave me that deadpan, affectionate-but-dismissive brush-off, it didn't just ruffle my feathers anymore—it felt like a physical spark hitting a mountain of gunpowder inside my chest.
Yesterday afternoon, when he did the usual routine—pulling me onto his lap, delivering a brain-melting kiss, and immediately murmuring, "Go, I have some work, Jay," before turning back to his spreadsheets—I didn't just stomp out. I actually had to lock myself in the guest bathroom because a sudden, overwhelming wave of tears rushed to my eyes out of absolutely nowhere. I had spent ten whole minutes crying over a laptop screen! It was humiliating.
My emotions were swinging around like a broken pendulum, and the tiniest hint of his distance made me feel like the world was ending.
And it wasn't just my temper that was completely out of whack. My entire body felt like it had been hijacked by someone else.
I dragged myself off the sunroom sofa, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over me the moment I stood up. I had to grip the edge of the glass coffee table, closing my eyes tightly until the room stopped spinning.
"Great. Just great," I muttered, shaking my head.
Lately, waking up in the mornings had become an absolute Olympic sport.
Even on the nights when Keifer left me completely alone to sleep by myself, I would wake up feeling as though I had spent the entire night running a marathon through the district muddy trenches. My limbs felt like lead weights, and a deep, bone-deep exhaustion had settled into my system, making me want to do nothing but burrow under the duvet for fourteen hours straight.
I padded barefoot toward the kitchen, hoping a glass of cold water would shake the grogginess out of my head. But the moment I stepped into the grand hallway, the faint, rich aroma of the kitchen staff brewing Keifer's signature dark roast coffee drifted through the air.
Usually, that scent was comforting. It smelled like him. But today?
The smell hit the back of my throat like a physical wall. My stomach did a sudden, violent flip, a sharp wave of intense nausea hitting me so fast my eyes watered. I clamped a hand tightly over my mouth, my knees trembling as I literally bolted down the corridor, barely making it to the nearest powder room before dry-heaving over the porcelain sink.
I leaned against the cool marble wall, panting heavily, my forehead slick with a sudden cold sweat.
"Did I eat something bad?" I whispered to myself, my voice shaking. But I knew I hadn't. This was the third morning in a row that a random, everyday smell had completely turned my stomach inside out. Yesterday it was the garlic rice; the day before, it was the floral scent of my own freshly washed hair.
I walked back out to the sunroom, completely drained, and collapsed back onto the cushions. My body felt incredibly sensitive, almost tender to the touch, and even the fabric of his oversized black hoodie rubbing against my skin felt unusually heavy.
To make matters worse, my stomach let out a loud, demanding growl, immediately followed by a bizarre, incredibly specific mental image of sour green green apples dipped in hot chili powder. I didn't even like green apples that much.
I buried my face in a throw pillow, letting out a muffled scream of pure exasperation. Between the sudden nausea, the dizzy spells, the random crying fits, and the fact that my heart hammered erratically every time Keifer so much as walked into the room, I felt like I was losing my mind.
I just wanted my husband to shut his laptop, carry me up the stairs, and hold me until whatever weird sickness this was finally passed. But as usual, the distant, faint sound of his fingers tapping against the keyboard down the hall was the only answer I got.
----
By the time the clock in the main foyer chimed two in the morning, the entire mansion had long fallen into a heavy, suffocating silence. The maids had retired to their quarters hours ago, leaving the grand corridors illuminated only by the dim, ambient floor lamps that cast long, golden shadows across the polished marble.
Everyone was asleep. Everyone except for the ruthless leader of the district—who I could still hear occasionally shuffling papers in his office down the hall—and his completely miserable, utterly exhausted wife.
I tossed and turned under the heavy silk sheets of our master bed, completely unable to find a comfortable position. My body felt radiatingly warm, a strange, persistent heat humming under my skin that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. My breasts felt incredibly tender, a dull, sensitive ache throbbing every time the fabric of my silk nightgown brushed against them.
I let out a frustrated groan, burying my face deep into Keifer's pillow. It still carried the faint, intoxicating scent of his cedarwood cologne and clean soap, a smell that usually made me feel completely safe. But tonight, the aroma hit my nose and caused a sudden, familiar flutter in the pit of my stomach—a strange mix of intense longing and another sudden wave of lightheadedness.
And then came the final blow. My stomach let out an incredibly loud, empty rumble that echoed distinctly in the quiet bedroom.
It wasn't just normal hunger. It was a fierce, demanding, borderline aggressive command from my body that demanded immediate satisfaction. And the absolute worst part was the mental image that suddenly occupied my entire brain: a massive plate of extra-greasy street-style fried noodles, completely drenched in sweet banana ketchup and topped with a mountain of crushed chili flakes.
I sat up abruptly in bed, my jaw dropping. Banana ketchup on fried noodles? Gross! Crazy, what is wrong with my mouth?! I tried to swallow the bizarre craving down, but my mouth literally began to water. The desire was so overwhelming it felt like a physical necessity.
Defeated, I swung my legs out of bed. The moment my feet touched the cool floor, the world tilted dangerously to the left. I had to freeze, clutching the mahogany bedpost tightly as a sharp wave of dizziness washed over me, making my ears ring for a few seconds.
I closed my eyes, breathing through my nose until my vision finally stabilized.
"If I'm dying of some weird tropical disease, Keifer is never going to hear the end of it," I whispered into the dark, stabilizing my balance before padding barefoot out of the bedroom.
--: Author's POV: --
The heavy double doors of Keifer's office were slightly ajar, a single sliver of bright LED light cutting through the darkness of the hallway. Inside, the clicking of a mechanical keyboard was steady and unhurried.
Keifer sat behind his massive glass desk, looking entirely focused. His tie was completely discarded, the first three buttons of his black dress shirt undone to expose the base of his throat. A half-empty cup of bitter, black espresso sat near his left hand, surrounded by three different tablets displaying maritime shipping routes and financial ledgers.
He didn't look up when the faint sound of soft, hesitant footsteps approached the door, but his typing stopped instantly. He knew her rhythm by heart.
"Wifeyy," Keifer murmured, his voice a low, gravelly morning rasp that carried a hint of warning. "It's past two. Why aren't you sleeping?"
Jay-Jay pushed the door open completely. She didn't look angry like she usually did during her afternoon tantrums; instead, she looked incredibly small, wrapped in one of his massive, oversized cardigans over her nightgown, her cheeks slightly flushed and her eyes wide and dazed.
"I can't sleep," she muttered softly, padding across the room. She bypassed the plush leather sofa entirely and walked straight toward his desk. "And I'm hungry. Incredibly hungry."
Keifer finally looked up from his screens, his dark, sharp eyes scanning her face. The cold, analytical expression he maintained for his syndicates shifted slightly, a subtle crease forming between his brows as he noted the slight paleness around her nose and the way her fingers were trembling against the edge of his desk.
"I'll tell the night staff to prepare a meal," Keifer said deadpan, already reaching for the house phone.
"No!" Jay-Jay suddenly squeaked, her voice cracking slightly as a sudden, inexplicable wave of emotion rushed to her throat. Her eyes instantly welled up with hot tears out of absolutely nowhere, her lower lip trembling. "Don't wake them up. They work so hard, Keifer... why do you always want to bother people?!"
Keifer froze, his hand dropping away from the phone. He stared at his wife, completely unblinking. It was the first time in his life he looked genuinely caught off guard. She was crying because he wanted to order her food.
Realizing his corporate spreadsheets were officially irrelevant for the night, Keifer pushed his leather chair back and stood up. He walked around the desk, his massive frame instantly towering over her. Without a single word, he reached out, his large, warm hands settling possessively onto her waist, pulling her small body flush against his chest.
The moment her forehead hit his solid shoulder, Jay-Jay let out a ragged sob, her hands tightly clenching the fabric of his shirt. "I don't even know why I'm crying," she sniffled miserably, her voice muffled against his skin. "I just... I want noodles. With ketchup, Keifer. And chili. If I don't eat it right now, I feel like I'm going to throw up and faint at the same time."
Keifer's grip on her waist tightened, a fierce, protective instinct flaring deep within his chest. He didn't understand the sudden mood swings, the random tears, or the bizarre culinary requests, but the physical reality of her distress was something he could handle. His thumb gently traced the small of her back through the thick cardigan, his other hand moving up to cup the back of her head, pressing her closer.
"I'll make it," Keifer murmured smoothly, his deep voice vibrating directly against her chest, instantly grounding her frantic emotions.
Jay-Jay sniffled, looking up at him through wet eyelashes. "You? The King of the district... is going to fry street noodles at two in the morning?"
"If it stops you from crying on my shirt, yes," he countered deadpan, though his thumb gently wiped away a stray tear from her cheek. His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes darkening with that familiar, possessive intensity. "Come on."
--: Jay-Jay's POV: --
The mansion's industrial kitchen was completely dark until Keifer flipped a switch, illuminating the stainless steel appliances and white marble countertops under a soft, warm light.
I sat on top of the high marble island, my legs dangling off the edge, watching my husband move around the kitchen. It was the strangest sight in the world. Keifer Watson—the man who could silence a room of dangerous gang lords with a single glance—was currently standing in front of a stove, expertly tossing instant noodles in a pan with a spatial precision that belonged in a laboratory.
The rich, savory aroma of the seasoning and the sharp tang of the ketchup began to fill the air.
Usually, the smell of cooking would make me drool, but as the heat from the stove carried the scent closer to where I was sitting, my stomach suddenly did a violent, terrifying somersault. The back of my throat constricted instantly, a wave of bitter nausea hitting me so hard my vision blurred.
I clamped both hands over my mouth, my eyes widening in sheer panic.
Keifer turned around the exact second he heard my ragged intake of breath. Before he could even ask, I scrambled off the high stool, my feet hitting the floor as I bolted toward the small staff restroom located near the pantry.
I threw the door open, dropped to my knees on the cold tile, and gripped the edges of the porcelain toilet bowl, dry-heaving violently. Nothing came up except a bit of water, but the force of the spasm left me completely breathless, my chest heaving as I panted heavily, my forehead pressing against the cool rim to stop the spinning in my head.
A second later, a massive, warm hand settled flat against my back, rubbing firm, slow circles over my spine.
Keifer knelt down on the hard floor right beside me, completely disregarding his expensive clothes. His features were tight, a rare expression of deep, focused concern darkening his eyes as he used his other hand to gently gather my messy hair, holding it securely back away from my face.
"Jay," he muttered, his low voice dropping into a rough, anxious register he rarely used. He leaned closer, his chest pressing against my back as he supported my weight. "That's the third time this week. We're going to the hospital."
"No... no hospital," I gasped out, my voice weak and raspy as the nausea slowly began to recede, leaving me completely drained. I leaned back, letting my head fall heavily against his solid shoulder. My skin was slick with cold sweat, and my limbs felt as heavy as lead. "It's just... the smell. It hit me wrong. I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Keifer stated coldly, his grip on my waist tightening with an unyielding authority. He didn't ask for permission; he smoothly slid his arms under my knees and my back, effortlessly lifting my limp frame off the bathroom floor and into his arms.
He carried me out of the bathroom, completely ignoring the steaming pan of noodles on the stove. He walked back down the long corridor, his heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoing against the walls as he carried me up the grand staircase toward our master bedroom.
I was too exhausted to argue. I just buried my face into his neck, my hands feebly clutching his unbuttoned collar as the familiar warmth of his body slowly chased away the cold shivers racking my system.
He laid me down gently on the massive bed, tucking the heavy silk duvet all the way up to my chin. But before he could step away to grab a glass of water, my hand shot out from under the blanket, gripping his wrist with a desperate, sudden strength.
"Don't go back down," I whispered, my eyes heavy as the deep, overwhelming exhaustion began to pull me under. "Don't go back to the office, Keifer. Please. Just stay here."
Keifer looked down at my hand on his wrist, then at my pale, tired face. The absolute control he maintained over his work completely dissolved. With a quiet, deadpan sigh, he kicked off his shoes and slid under the duvet right beside me.
His massive arm immediately locked around my waist, pulling my back completely flush against his bare chest, pinning me to the mattress with a heavy, possessive warmth that felt like a shield against the rest of the world.
He leaned down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to the back of my neck, his hot breath fanning over my skin.
"I'm staying," Keifer whispered gravelly into the darkness, his hand resting flat and steady over my stomach, his fingers curling slightly over my hip. "Sleep, wifey. I've got you."
As the steady, powerful thumping of his heartbeat synchronized with my own, the nausea and the dizziness finally faded into the background. I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into his unyielding territory, completely unaware of the tiny, miraculous shift that was quietly rewriting the rules of our entire kingdom.
-----
The morning sun didn't filter softly through the curtains today; it felt like a direct, blinding assault on my eyelids.
I stirred faintly, the deep, heavy exhaustion from the past few weeks still weighing down my limbs like wet cement. I blinked my eyes open, expecting to find the usual cold, empty space beside me. But as I tried to shift, a massive, unyielding weight across my midsection stopped me completely.
Keifer's solid arm was still locked possessively around my waist, his fingers curled tightly over my hip. He was buried deep under the duvet with me, his chest radiating a fierce, steady heat directly against my back. He had actually stayed. For the first time in weeks, he hadn't escaped to his office before dawn.
The memory of the previous night—the sudden crying fit over noodles, the cold marble bathroom floor, and the terrifying wave of nausea—came rushing back into my mind. My stomach gave a small, nervous twitch, but thankfully, the violent morning sickness seemed to be holding its breath for now.
Slowly, carefully, I tried to wriggle out of his grip, trying not to wake the sleeping giant. But the second I shifted an inch, his hold tightened with a fraction of a second's warning, pulling me completely flush against him.
"Stay still," Keifer muttered smoothly, his voice a low, gravelly morning rumble that vibrated directly against my spine. He didn't open his eyes, but his chin rested firmly on top of my head, anchoring me to the mattress.
"Keifer, let go... I need to brush my teeth," I whined softly, though my heart did a tiny, treacherous flutter at his closeness. "And your kitchen smells like burnt ketchup from last night. I need to make sure the maids didn't think we had an elite gang war in the pantry."
A low, deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, a sound that always made my stomach do frantic backflips. "The staff already cleaned it. Go."
He finally relented, his arm sliding off my waist. Taking the opportunity, I scrambled out of bed, grabbed his discarded black dress shirt from the floor to throw over my nightgown, and padded quickly into the master bathroom.
After successfully washing the stale taste of dry-heaving out of my mouth and splashing freezing cold water on my face, I leaned against the marble vanity. The mirror didn't lie. My cheeks were slightly pale, my lips a little dry, and my eyes carried a dazed, heavy look that I couldn't shake.
"This isn't a tropical disease," I whispered to myself, my fingers tracing the hem of the oversized shirt.
A sudden, jarring thought hit me. A thought so terrifying, so wild, that my breath instantly caught in my throat. My mind flashed back to five months ago—the morning after the wedding, the girls' teasing messages about the black lace, and Keifer's deadpan, intense promises about securing his bloodline.
No. Way. There is no way.
My heart began to hammer erratically against my ribs. My hands started to tremble as I opened the vanity drawer, looking for a small, sealed paper bag Freya and Naomi had forcefully shoved into my purse two weeks ago during our quick mall visit when I had complained about feeling "weirdly bloated." I had laughed at her and thrown it into the back of the drawer, completely ignoring it.
With shaking fingers, I pulled out the small cardboard box. The words on the front practically blurred under my panicked gaze.
Ten minutes later, I was sitting flat on the cold bathroom tile, my back pressed against the door, staring tanking down at the small plastic stick resting on a clean paper towel.
Two bright, unmistakable, devastatingly clear pink lines stared right back at me.
My jaw dropped completely. Big, hot tears immediately spilled over my eyelashes, blurring my vision. I couldn't breathe. The room felt like it was spinning at a hundred miles an hour.
Two lines. Gagoo... two lines means...
"Jay?"
Keifer's deep, sudden voice cut through the bathroom door, accompanied by a firm, authoritative knock that made me jump.
"Are you throwing up again? Why is it taking you so long?" he demanded, his tone dropping into that rough, anxious register from last night. The handle jiggled slightly. "Open the door."
--: Author's POV: --
Inside the bathroom, the lock finally clicked.
The door swung open, and Keifer stepped in, his dark eyes instantly scanning the room for danger. He had already thrown on a pair of dark sweatpants, his broad, muscular chest bare and his messy dark hair falling over his forehead.
But the moment his eyes landed on Jay-Jay, he completely tensed up.
She was standing right by the vanity, her face an absolute explosion of crimson heat, and silent tears were streaming rapidly down her flushed cheeks. She looked entirely overwhelmed, her chest heaving as she let out a small, trembling sob.
The icy, unshakeable facade of the district King instantly vanished, replaced by a rare, panicked urgency. He closed the distance between them in a single stride, his large hands immediately cupping her face, his thumbs frantically wiping away her tears.
"Why are you crying?" Keifer demanded, his voice cracking with a raw, anxious edge she had never heard before. His sharp eyes scanned her desperately, his grip tight but incredibly gentle. "Are you in pain? Baby? Wifey? Reply to me!"
Jay-Jay couldn't even form words. Her throat was completely locked with emotion. Instead of answering, she simply raised her trembling right hand between them, showing him the small plastic stick she had been holding.
The bathroom fell into a sudden, suffocating, absolute silence.
Keifer's gaze snapped down to her hand. He stared at the small white stick, his dark eyes locking onto the two distinct pink lines running through the center. For the first time in his entire life, the formidable, unyielding leader of the territory completely froze. His breath caught in his throat, his chest locked, and his stoic mask completely shattered, replaced by a deep, wide-eyed shock.
"Keifer..." Jay-Jay whispered miserably, fresh tears welling up as she buried her face right back into his bare chest, her hands clutching his torso out of pure desperation. "Don't say it. Don't say the word. I am so terrified right now. Gagoo, your factory defect actually passed on to me!"
A low, deep vibration began to form in Keifer's chest, but it wasn't a chuckle. His arms slowly moved around her, his grip tightening with an overwhelming, fierce, suffocating possessiveness that nearly lifted her barefoot frame off the floor. He buried his face deep into the crook of her neck, his hot breath fanning against her skin as his large hand slithered down, resting flat, steady, and unyielding over her completely flat stomach.
"I told you," Keifer whispered, his gravelly morning voice thick with an intense, raw pride and an emotion so deep it made her entire body shiver. He leaned back just enough to lock his piercing dark eyes onto hers, a wicked, breathtakingly beautiful smirk slowly spreading across his lips. "I told you my territory doesn't have weak spots, Mrs. Watson. We're going to handle this together."
------
"Keifer, no. Put the phone down. If you press dial right now, we are initiating a tactical disaster."
I was sitting cross-legged in the middle of our massive bed, staring at my husband in absolute, sheer panic. He had already showered, thrown on a crisp black button-up shirt, and looked entirely like a man about to launch a full-scale corporate takeover.
Except he wasn't taking over a syndicate. He was currently staring at his phone, his long fingers flying across the screen with a terrifying, systematic focus.
"They need to know, Jay," Keifer murmured smoothly, his gravelly voice carrying that unyielding undercurrent of absolute authority. "And I am not telling our families and the district over a digital network. Information of this security tier is delivered in person."
Before I could grab a pillow and launch it directly at his face, he hit send.
He didn't just make a call. He sent out a mandatory, high-priority, encrypted broadcast ping to our family homes, Section E, and F4. A literal red-alert message that read: *Emergency briefing at the Watson Mansion. Immediate attendance required. Secure the perimeter.*
"Keifer!" I wailed, throwing my hands over my face as my cheeks exploded into a fresh wave of crimson heat. "They are going to think the mansion is under siege! Are you crazy?, you can't just send a text like that for a positive pregnancy test! Can't you send a normal message??"
Keifer didn't flinch. He casually pocketed his phone, walked over to the edge of the bed, and reached down, easily scooping my panicked body up into his arms. "Get dressed, wifey. The cars are already entering the outer gates."
--: Author's POV: --
Within less than forty-five minutes, the grand main lounge of the Watson Mansion looked less like a residential living room and more like a high-stakes district tribunal.
The heavy mahogany double doors had been swinging open non-stop. Jay-Jay's father, mother, and Tita were the first to arrive, escorted by a tense Angelo and a fiercely alert Aries, both of whom looked ready to draw weapons at the slightest provocation.
Minutes later, Section E slammed through the entrance in a wave of absolute, panicked chaos. Ci-N and Rakki were breathing heavily, and Mayo, Kit, and Drew were scanning the corners of the ceiling for structural damage. Felix stood near the doorway, his tablet open as he monitored local police scanners, while Freya, Naomi, and Yuri immediately tried to push past the security guards.
To complete the absolute madness, the F4 crew slid into the room with their usual effortless, intimidating aura.
Thyme looked thoroughly pissed off that his corporate morning alignment had been bypassed, Kavin was casually checking his watch, MJ looked like he was ready to deploy tactical smoke bombs, and Ren stood quietly near the back, observing the sheer volume of people packed into the space.
The room was a deafening wall of shouting, theories, and pure panic.
"Watson!" Thyme's voice boomed over the crowd as he marched toward the center of the lounge, his eyes flashing with irritation. "My personal detail had to bypass three red lights because your encrypted override hit my dashboard! What the hell happened?!"
"Exactly! What the hell happened?!" Angelo demanded, stepping directly in front of his parents, his sharp eyes locked onto the empty grand staircase. "Is the perimeter compromised? Why is the entire district high command standing in your living room?!"
Aries crossed his arms, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his face jumped. "If someone touched a hair on Jay's head, I'm burning the outer districts down today."
"Everyone calm down!" Jay-Jay's mother pleaded, clutching her Tita's hand as they sat on the plush sofa, looking bewildered by the sheer amount of dangerous men filling the room.
Just then, a heavy, commanding footstep echoed from the upper landing.
Keifer walked down the grand staircase, entirely calm, unbothered, and radiating an immense aura of absolute control. Tied tightly to his side, wearing one of his massive, oversized grey hoodies and blushing so hard she looked like a walking tomato, was Jay-Jay. She was trying to hide her face in his shoulder, completely wishing the marble floor would open up and swallow her whole.
Behind them, having just been summoned from the upper suites, Keiran and Keigan walked out onto the landing.
"Kuya, what the heck is this?" Keiran called down, throwing his head back with a sharp, highly amused grin as he looked at the massive crowd packed into the lounge. "You woke me up for an emergency alignment meeting? This better be a real turf war, Kuyaa!"
Keigan shook his head, leaning over the wall with a smirk. "The entire district high command is in our living room before noon. Did you finally crack a rival network, or are we just throwing a surprise party?"
--: Jay-Jay's POV: --
I squeezed my eyes shut, my hands tightly clenching the fabric of Keifer's shirt. The sheer volume of people in the room was suffocating, and the fact that absolutely *no one* had any clue what was actually happening made my stomach do frantic, terrifying somersaults. No one had asked about us. No one had predicted a single thing. They all genuinely thought a war was breaking out.
Keifer stopped at the base of the staircase, his massive frame completely shielding me from the intense gazes of the crowd.
"Silence," Keifer muttered smoothly.
The single, low word cut through the deafening arguments like a physical blade. Instantly, the entire room—F4, Section E, and our brothers—went absolutely dead silent. The authority he held over the territory was terrifyingly absolute.
Without saying another word, Keifer slowly reached into his pocket. He didn't pull out a flash drive, a layout map, or a syndicate dossier.
Instead, he calmly extended his large hand, holding the small white plastic stick with the two unmistakable, brilliant pink lines right out in the open for the entire room to see.
"The territory is secure," Keifer stated deadpan, a rare, breathtakingly proud smirk slowly spreading across his handsome features as his other hand settled firmly over my flat stomach. "And the Watson bloodline is officially established."
--: Author's POV: --
For three long, suffocating seconds, the grand lounge of the Watson Mansion experienced an absolute, unprecedented human freeze. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. The silence was so heavy you could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer.
And then, the room completely exploded into pure, unadulterated nuclear chaos.
"Took you long enough, Keif! We thought she would be pregnant on your first night itself." Calix's booming voice echoed as he let out a loud, roaring laugh, violently slapping Drew's shoulder in absolute delight. "I was starting to think you were spending all your energy on paperwork! Jay-Jay, welcome to the real madness!"
Thyme just chuckled deeply, an incredibly proud, amused smirk gracing his face. "An heir to the throne. The district is going to be completely insufferable now. Good job, Keifer."
Down below, Angelo's jaw dropped so low it looked like it might unhinge. He stared at the two pink lines, his hands freezing mid-air. "An... an heir? I'm going to be an uncle? Watson... you actually..."
Aries's lethal, defensive posture completely melted away, replaced by a rare, wide-eyed look of utter shock before a bright, genuine smile broke through his usual stoic face. "You're having a baby, Jay?"
"Oh my goodness! A grandchild!" Jay-Jay's mother shrieked with joy, instantly throwing her arms around her Tita, who was already sobbing happy tears into a tissue. Her father stood up completely, a massive, triumphant grin on his face as he pointed at Keifer. "A Watson heir! Keifer, my boy, congratulations!"
Before the family could even finish embracing, the Section E side of the room completely disintegrated.
"AN HEIR!!!!!!!!! I KNEW IT!!!!" Ci-N shrieked,"I'm a godfather! I'm buying a sidecar for my bike today! Nobody stop me!"
"CI-N, YOU ABSOLUTE FOOL, YOU ARE NOT PUTTING A BABY ON A MOTORCYCLE!" Rakki screamed, her face red with a mix of laughter and tears as she aggressively smacked his arm. "Jay-Jay! Oh my god! A baby! I'm coming up there right now!"
"Wait... the food logistics..." Eman's eyes were completely wide as he stared at the test stick. "Does this mean the kitchen staff has to double the inventory? Jay-Jay, please tell me your cravings are going to involve premium wagyu! I will personally curate the maternity menu!"
"Statistically speaking," Felix interjected, his hands flying across his tablet as his eyes widened behind his glasses. "The structural reinforcement for the nursery must begin immediately. Jay-Jay's clumsy movement index must not be allowed within a two-meter radius of the cradle."
"FELIX, STOP CALCULATING THE SAFETY PROBABILITIES!" Rory wailed, wiping actual tears from his eyes. "Jay-Jay! Congratulations! I am ordering ten giant plush teddy bears right now!"
Through the absolute storm of Section E's screaming, the F4 crew stood in a huddle of highly amused shock.
Kavin set his hands in his pockets, a brilliant, sophisticated smirk spreading across his features. "Well, Watson... looking at you in a tactical vest for years, I never thought I'd see the day you successfully initiated an infant alliance placement. Marriage has truly enhanced your efficiency."
"Hey! Shut up, Kavin!" Thyme yelled, pointing a finger directly at Keifer, though a massive, proud grin was splitting his face. "Watson! F4 is officially claiming the premium sponsorship rights! The child will have the top academic placements in the country by tomorrow morning! It's already in the budget!"
"Thyme! Stop colonizing the baby's future before it even has a heartbeat!" Gorya shouted, her hand entering the frame to forcefully smack the back of Thyme's head. She immediately ran forward toward the stairs, her eyes full of soft warmth. "Jay-Jay... oh, congratulations, sweetie! You look absolutely beautiful!"
"Growth, legacy, and a brand new dawn," Ren's calm, soothing voice finally cut through the noise as he let out a soft smile. "I think I'll start sketching the nursery layout today. Peace to the expanding kingdom."
--: Jay-Jay's POV: --
I stood on the stairs, watching our entire family, Section E, and F4 completely tear the living room apart with cheers, arguments about infant corporate sponsorships, and actual tears. The sheer, overwhelming wave of pure affection completely washed away every single ounce of my panic.
They were insane. Every single one of them was completely, entirely hopeless. From my brothers ready to fight a turf war to the boys planning tactical nursery defenses. But as I looked at their chaotic, loving faces, my own tears finally spilled over my eyelashes—not out of fear, but out of absolute happiness.
Before MJ and Ci-N could start a literal chant about "diaper duty for the King,"
Keifer reached out, his massive arm locking securely around my waist. He effortlessly lifted me off the step turning back toward the grand staircase to lead me right back up to the private quarters.
"Wait, Keifer! We can't just leave them down there!" I gasped, looking back at the chaotic crowd.
Keifer didn't even pause. He kept walking, his low, gravelly voice dripping with that deep, suffocating protectiveness that always made my heart skip a beat.
"They've seen the data, Jay. Now they can argue amongst themselves," Keifer murmured smoothly, a wicked, breathtakingly proud intensity flashing in his dark eyes as he pulled me close against his chest. "In this territory, my rules are the only ones that matter... and for the next nine months, you and this baby belong entirely to me."