The Grandfather's vengeance was never a blunt instrument; it was a poison-tipped needle.
A box had arrived at Jay-jay's door that morning. Inside was a gown of deep, obsidian silk—and a note in the Grandfather's shaky, elegant script: "Since you are so fond of protection, you shall be escorted by the best. Vuk will be your shadow tonight. Ensure Keifer understands his place."
Now, at the entrance of the Windsor Winter Gala, Jay-jay stood frozen. Beside her was Vuk, the Grandfather's head of security. He wasn't just a guard tonight; he was wearing a tuxedo that strained against his massive frame, his scarred face a brutal contrast to the elegance of the ballroom.
"Smile, Ms. Mariano," Vuk grunted, his hand gripping her elbow with a force that promised a bruise. "The cameras are watching. The Grandfather is watching."
Jay-jay's eyes immediately found him. Keifer was standing by the champagne fountain, surrounded by investors. When he saw her—and saw whose hand was resting on her waist—his glass shattered in his grip.
Champagne and blood dripped from his palm onto the white marble floor.
Keifer didn't wait. He cut through the crowd like a shark through water, his face a mask of white-hot fury. He stopped inches from Vuk, his height nearly matching the mercenary's.
"Take your hands off her," Keifer hissed, his voice vibrating with a primal rage.
"I'm under direct orders from Watson Prime, Sir," Vuk replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "I am her official escort for the evening. Unless you want to explain to your grandfather why his orders are being ignored?"
Keifer's gaze shifted to Jay-jay. He was looking for the girl who had fought for him in the beach camps, the girl who had promised to never let him go. But Jay-jay knew that Vuk's other hand was hovering over a phone—one that could signal the sniper in Cavite in a heartbeat.
"He's a very... attentive date, Keifer," Jay-jay said, her voice like broken glass. She leaned closer to Vuk, a move that felt like a knife in Keifer's chest. "At least I don't have to worry about him being 'confused' by ghosts. He knows exactly who he works for."
Keifer let out a dry, jagged laugh. He looked at the socialites whispering behind their fans, at the cameras flashing, capturing his utter humiliation. His own "secretary," his "Mutya," was being paraded around by his grandfather's dog.
"Is this what you wanted, Jay?" Keifer whispered, ignoring the blood still dripping from his hand. "To show me how low you can go? To show me that anyone with a Watson seal is good enough for you?"
"Maybe I just prefer the company of someone who doesn't ask too many questions," Jay-jay replied, though her heart was screaming for him to see the apology in her eyes.
Vuk pulled her closer, his hand sliding lower on her back in a possessive, mocking gesture. "The music is starting, Ms. Mariano. Shall we?"
As they moved toward the dance floor, Jay-jay saw Keifer turn away, his shoulders shaking. He walked out onto the balcony, leaving the gala behind. He looked like a King who had lost his kingdom—not to an army, but to a girl who had once been his everything.
As they spun on the dance floor, Vuk leaned down, his voice a low rasp. "You did well. The Grandfather is pleased. He says the 'Cavite project' will remain on standby... for now."
Jay-jay didn't answer. She looked over Vuk's shoulder and saw Seraphina standing near the exit, her eyes cold and calculating. Seraphina raised a glass of red wine—a signal.
The Ice Queen had seen the humiliation. She had seen Keifer's break. And now, the counter-strike was being prepared.