KEIFER POV
Ever since that London guy, Zane, stepped foot into this classroom, Jay-Jay has been acting like a high-voltage wire about to snap.
This stubborn girl.
She told the whole class she forgave everyone—every single idiot in Section E—except for me. Typical. She's keeping me on that blacklist of hers, treating me like I'm some kind of plague, all while her eyes keep flickering toward the back of the room where that designer-blazer-wearing brat is sitting.
She thinks she's being subtle. She isn't.
And the profanities. Bloody hell, the amount of swearing coming out of her mouth today is off the charts. It's like she's trying to summon a demon with every 'Asshole' and 'Jerk' she throws my way.
I leaned back in my chair, my jaw still aching slightly from the solid punch she gifted me last night. I didn't mind the pain; I deserved it. What I do mind is the distance.
I watched her from the corner of my eye as Sir Alvin droned on about calculus. She was staring at her notebook, but she wasn't writing.
Whenever Zane moves, she flinches. Whenever he speaks, she grips her pen until her knuckles go white.
She's terrified of him. I can feel it vibrating off her in waves. And yet, she won't tell me why. She'd rather hit me than talk to me, and she'd rather swear at me than let me protect her.
"Jay-Jay," I murmured, leaning closer until I could smell the scent of her shampoo—vanilla and that hint of London rain.
"Switch off, Watson," she hissed without looking at me.
There it is again. Another penalty.
"That's twelve," I whispered, my voice dropping into that low, gravelly register. "Twelve profanities since the first bell. You're running up quite a tab, Mrs. Watson."
She finally turned to glare at me, her eyes flashing with a mix of fury and that lingering sadness that makes my chest tighten. "I told you to stop calling me that!"
"And I told you that a deal's a deal," I countered, my gaze dropping to her lips before flicking back to her eyes. "You claimed me in front of the whole class. You're the one who put the ring back on your finger, Jay-Jay. You can't just hit 'reset' because you're mad."
"I'm not mad, I'm disgusted!" she snapped.
"Thirteen." I pulled a small notepad from my pocket and made a slow, deliberate tally mark. "Keep going. At this rate, the 'collection' for these penalties is going to take me all night."
I saw the blush creep up her neck—the one I'm the only person allowed to cause.
"You're a megalomaniac," she whispered, her voice trembling just a fraction.
"Fourteen," I replied, my pen hovering over the notepad.
Jay-Jay's head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing into those dangerous little slits that usually preceded a physical assault. "Those are not curses!" she hissed, her face going that delicious shade of pink that always made me want to ignore the fact that we were in a classroom full of idiots.
I didn't back down. I leaned in closer, until our shoulders were pinned together, my smirk widening as I saw her grip her pencil so hard I thought it might snap.
"I don't care," I murmured, my voice dropping into that low, gravelly vibration that I knew made her brain short-circuit. "In my book, Jay-Jay, everything that comes out of your mouth that even sounds like a profanity... is a profanity. Megalomaniac? Sounds like an insult to me. That's a penalty."
"That is literally a psychological term, you ego-machine!"
"Fifteen," I countered, making another slow, deliberate mark on the paper. "And 'ego-machine' just made it sixteen. Keep going, Mrs. Watson. Talk your way right into a very long night of collections."
She let out a frustrated, muffled growl and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. I knew she wanted to scream, and honestly, the fact that I was the only one who could get under her skin like this was the only thing keeping my own temper in check.
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JAY JAY POV
ARHHHHHHHH!!!!
That idiot! He is literally making a tally of every single syllable that leaves my mouth. He's sitting there with his stupid little notepad like he's a professional debt collector for the IRS.
"Everything that sounds like a profanity is a profanity."
Typical Watson logic. He creates the rules, he enforces the penalties, and then he expects to collect them at night.
Well, newsflash, Keifer: the bank is closed! There is no way I'm paying him a single kiss, let alone sixteen!
The lunch bell finally rang, sounding like a literal angelic choir for my sanity. I didn't even wait for Keifer to finish his smug little sentence; I grabbed my bag and bolted out of Section E, heading straight for the Section B hallway where Jare and Mia were.
"Jay! I heard about it!" Mia said, nearly tackling me in a hug the second she saw me.
"Zane," Jare interjected. His eyes were scanning my face, looking for any sign of a breakdown. "Did that asshole try to talk to you?"
I didn't say anything. I just stared at the floor, my fingers absentmindedly twisting the silver chain under my uniform.
"Jay-Jay, tell us," Mia asked softly, her hand resting on my shoulder. "We saw him on the list this morning. We couldn't believe he actually followed you here."
"Nothing," I managed to say, my voice sounding thinner than a piece of scrap paper. "He didn't say anything. He just... sat there."
"He sat there and breathed?" Jare asked, his jaw tightening. "Because that's already one thing too many. If he touches you, Jay, I don't care about the rules. I'm sending him back to London in a box."
"Jare, stop," I whispered, looking up at him. "He didn't do anything. He even looked... normal. He just sat at the back and didn't even try to approach me."
Jare let out a skeptical snort. "Zane doesn't do 'normal.' He does 'waiting.' He's a predator, Jay. You know that better than anyone."
I looked away, the weight of the engagement ring feeling heavier than ever.
"Does Keifer know?" Mia asked, her voice hushed.
"He knows Zane is there," I muttered, my face heating up as I remembered Keifer's hand on my knee and his gravelly promise to make Zane wish he'd stayed in London. "But he doesn't know why I'm so weird about it. He doesn't know what happened back home."
"Good," Jare grunted. "Because if Watson finds out what that guy did to you, HVIS is going to turn into a crime scene, and I'm actually not in the mood to go to a funeral this week."
I leaned my head against the locker, closing my eyes. My life is a disaster.
I decided to skip the next two periods. I needed to breathe without the suffocating weight of Section E watching my every move.
The wind was actually quite windy, and I loved it. It felt cool against my flushed skin, carrying the scent of cut grass and the distant noise of the campus
Crunch.
The sound of dry leaves snapping under someone's shoes made my heart do a frantic, caffeinated leap into my throat.
"It's a bit far from London, isn't it, Jay-Jay?"
My blood didn't just turn to ice; it stopped flowing altogether.
"Look, Zane, let's just leave the past. I don't like you anymore," I said, my voice shaking
"I'm here to talk about that, actually," Zane said, his polished leather shoes crunching on the leaves as he stepped closer. His shadow stretched over me, cold and suffocating.
"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, clutching my bag against my chest like a shield.
"Nothing. Just wanted to say I've changed, Jay-Jay," he murmured. He stayed a few feet away
"Okay. What do you want me to do about it?"
"I was wondering if you could give me a second chance," he asked. The entitlement in his voice was still there, buried under a layer of fake humility.
I let out a short, dry laugh—the kind Jare usually makes when I say something incredibly stupid. "Sorry, I think you heard it back in Section E. I have a fiancé." I lifted my hand, the silver ring glinting in the dappled sunlight. It wasn't just a piece of jewelry; right now, it was my armor.
The air shifted. The fake softness in Zane's eyes vanished, replaced by that dark, possessive flicker I remembered all too well. Before I could even blink, he reached out and grabbed my hand—his fingers digging into my wrist, right over the pulse point where my heart was hammering.
"Zane, let go of me!" I snapped, trying to yank my arm back.
He didn't budge. "A fiancé, Jay? A local boy who plays King in a room full of rejects? You're acting out. I get it. You were angry when you left London, but this little game has gone on long enough."
"It's not a game! Let go!" I struggled, my heart doing a frantic, terrified sprint. Every time he touched me, it felt like those cold nights in London all over again.
"He doesn't know you like I do," Zane hissed, pulling me a fraction closer. "He doesn't know the things you've—"
"I count three."
A voice—low, gravelly, and vibrating with an intensity that made the ground beneath my feet feel like it was shifting—suddenly cut through the wind.
I turned my head. At the edge of the trees stood Keifer.
"One," Keifer rasped, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. "That's for touching what belongs to me."
Zane didn't let go. If anything, he tightened his grip, pulling me partially behind him. "This is private, Watson. London business. Walk away."
"Two," Keifer continued, his voice dropping into that deep, territorial register that made my skin prickle. He didn't look at Zane's face; he was watching Zane's fingers on my skin. "That's for making her look that scared."
"Keifer..." I breathed out, my voice small.
Keifer's eyes finally flickered to mine for a split second. The rage was there, but so was that fierce, protective heat. "Don't move, Jay-Jay."
He turned back to Zane, his jaw set in that stubborn line, even with the bruise I'd gifted him last night.
"Three," Keifer whispered. "That's for wasting my time."
In a blur of motion, Keifer closed the distance. He didn't use a word trap or a clever psychological move. He reached out and grabbed Zane's forearm with a bone-crushing grip, twisting it just enough that Zane was forced to release me.
Keifer didn't stop there. He yanked me behind him, his broad shoulders acting as a solid wall between me and my past.
Keifer's fist connected with his jaw.
THUD.
The sound was sickeningly solid. Zane stumbled back, the designer blazer no longer looking so pristine as he hit the dirt. Keifer didn't wait for him to get up; he lunged forward, his eyes clouded with that raw, primal rage that only came out when someone touched what was his.
"Keifer, let's go please!" I cried out, grabbing his arm. I tried to pull him back, my fingers digging into the hard muscles of his bicep. "Stop it! Just leave him!"
Keifer stayed for a second, hovering over Zane like a dark cloud. His chest was heaving, his knuckles already reddening. Zane was on the ground, spitting blood and looking at Keifer with a mix of shock and pure, concentrated malice.
"Touch her one more time and I will personally select a coffin for you," Keifer threatened, his voice a low, vibrating growl that made the very air feel heavy.
He didn't give Zane a chance to respond. He turned and grabbed my hand, his grip tight and possessive, and practically hauled me out of the clearing. He didn't say a word until we were halfway across the football field, far away from the trees and the ghost of my past.
Finally, he stopped. He spun me around to face him, his hands moving from my hand to my shoulders. His eyes were scanning my face, my neck, my wrists—looking for any mark the other guy might have left.
"Did he hurt you?" Keifer rasped, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register.
I looked up at him, my vision blurring with fresh, shaky tears. "No. I mean... he just grabbed my wrist. I'm fine, Keifer. Really."
I reached out, my fingers tentatively touching the new bruise on his knuckles. "Why did you do that? He's a new student, Keifer. You're going to get suspended! Or worse!"
Keifer let out a short, dry chuckle—a hollow sound that lacked its usual smugness. He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine, his breath hot and frantic.
"I don't care about suspension, Jay-Jay," he whispered. "I don't care about anything except the fact that you looked like you were about to disappear when he touched you."
He pulled me flush against his chest, his arms wrapping around me like iron bands. I could feel the frantic, heavy thud of his heart against my ribs.
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