JAY JAY POV
I was finally, finally having my moment of peace with a slice of Tita's chocolate cake. It was moist, it was fudgy, and it was the only thing standing between me and a total mental breakdown. I was ready to marry this cake.
Then, someone knocked on the door.
"I got it!" I said, quickly shoveling the last big bite into my mouth. I wasn't about to let anyone see me looking like a chipmunk with a sugar addiction. I put my plate in the sink and headed for the door.
I swung it open, and my mood did a 180-degree turn. Great. Just great. It's Andi—the husband of the Great Jeana. My biological mother's better half.
I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my own brain. I didn't even wait for a greeting. I turned back toward the living room. "Tita, I'm going home!" I called out, reaching for my coat like it was a life jacket.
"Already, Jay? You just got—" Aries stopped mid-sentence when he saw Andi standing there. His face instantly shifted into that stony, guarded look he only uses for people connected to her.
To be fair, I don't actually hate Andi. He's not a villain. Honestly, he's just... a lot. He's the type who asks too many questions about your day but somehow never asks about my mom, which is probably a blessing. If he knew the truth, his "perfect" world would probably shatter like a cheap vase.
"Tito, what brings you here?" Kuya Angelo asked, stepping forward. He was being polite, but I could hear the "please leave soon" tone in his voice.
"Oh, nothing much. Jeana just wanted me to give you this," Andi said, holding out a lunch packet. He didn't notice the tension in the room—or maybe he was just used to our family being as cold as a freezer. "And she also wants to inform everyone that we're coming over for dinner next Sunday."
I choked on air. Sunday?
Is this a joke?
I looked at the packet in Kuya's hand like it contained a bomb. Sunday dinner.
I need more cake. No—I need a whole bakery.
"Sunday?" Aries repeated. His voice was dangerously low, that specific tone he uses right before a table gets flipped or a nose gets broken.
"Yeah, and we want everyone to be there," Andi added, his eyes landing directly on me. He gave me that friendly, clueless smile that made me want to scream into a pillow. He really thought he was just inviting the neighbors over for some adobo.
"No promises," I snapped, grabbing my bag with enough force to nearly rip the strap. I was already halfway to the door. My flight-or-fight response was screaming flight, preferably to a different planet.
"Jay-jay, come on. You've never even met Jeana," Andi said, his tone sounding almost hurt.
I froze. I slowly turned my head to look at him, my grip tightening on my bag.
I've never met her?
A bitter, dry laugh bubbled in my throat. I didn't just meet her, Andi. I lived in her house for seventeen years before she decided I was a stain that wouldn't come out of her perfect new carpet. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to say, "Actually, Tito, she's the one who gave me life and then took it back when it became inconvenient."
But my throat felt like it was full of dry crackers. I couldn't speak.
Kuya Angelo stepped in before I could say something that would make Andi lose his brain—if he even had one in there under all that oblivious politeness.
"I will make sure she will be there," Kuya said firmly, his eyes giving me a warning look. He was playing the role of the responsible head of the family, but I could see the muscle in his jaw twitching.
I glared at Kuya. Traitor! How could he volunteer me for a lions' den?
"Great! I'll tell Jeana. She'll be so happy to finally meet you all together," Andi said, looking genuinely relieved. He waved a cheerful goodbye and finally stepped out of the house.
The moment the door clicked shut, the silence in the room was so thick you could have sliced it and served it as a side dish.
"Kuya!" I yelled, finally finding my voice. "Are you serious? You just signed my death warrant! I won't play 'House' with the woman who abandoned us?"
"Jay, listen—" Kuya started.
"No! I've had enough 'lessons' for one day!" I stormed toward the door, not caring if I looked dramatic. In Section E, drama is a survival skill, and I was the master of it.
I didn't wait for an answer. I bolted out into the night air.
Jusko. If this week gets any more complicated, I'm going to resign and become a professional cake-taster. At least cakes don't have complicated backstories or secret contracts!
My life is wonderful. Truly. If by "wonderful" you mean I am currently living in a real-life wattpad tragedy where I'm being sold off to a billionaire to save a company, while my long-lost mother wants to have Sunday brunch.
Jusko. Just kill me now or bury me in a mountain of glazed donuts.
When I finally reached the safety of my apartment, I didn't even bother turning on the TV. I marched straight to the bathroom. I needed to scrub off this feeling off my skin.
I turned the shower to the hottest setting I could stand. Die, germs of arrogance! Die!
After what felt like a year of scrubbing, I stepped out, feeling slightly more human. I wrapped myself in my favorite fluffy towel, and another one around my wet hair.
As I started drying my hair, the silence of the room started to feel too heavy. I needed noise.
So, I did what any sane, stressed-out teacher would do. I started singing.
"He said, 'Let's get out of this town... Drive out of the city, away from the crowds'..."
I wasn't even thinking about the lyrics. It was just the first Taylor Swift song that popped into my frantic brain.
"He's so tall and handsome as hell... He's so bad, but he does it so well..."
My hand paused with the towel. Wait. Why am I singing this?
"I can see the end as it begins... My one condition is... Say you'll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe..."
I closed my eyes, my voice getting louder as I channeled all my frustration into the notes.
"His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room... and his voice is a familiar sound... Nothing lasts forever... but this is getting good now..."
I was still humming the song when I stepped out of the bathroom, feeling like a total diva. My eyes were closed, my head was tilted back, and I was still mid-note.
"You'll see me in hindsight... tangled up with you all night—"
I opened my eyes.
My heart didn't just stop; it did a triple backflip and then died. There, sitting on my sofa like he owned the place, was the one person who should have been 500 miles away from my apartment.
Keifer. Watson.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.
My hands flew up in shock, and that was my fatal mistake. The traitorous towel—which clearly had a personal vendetta against my dignity—slipped right off my wet skin and hit the floor with a soft, mocking thud.
I was basically an open book. A naked, shivering, horrified open book.
Keifer's eyes went wide for a split second—I swear I saw his composure crumble like a stale cookie—before he squeezed his eyes shut so hard I thought he might give himself a headache. He snapped his head to the side, his jaw tight.
"JAY-JAY! CLOTHES! NOW!" he barked, his voice sounding like he'd just swallowed a whole lime.
I didn't even have time to be embarrassed; I was in full survival mode. I snatched the traitorous towel off the floor and wrapped it around myself with the speed of a hungry kid grabbing the last piece of pizza.
"DON'T YOU DARE OPEN YOUR EYES! IF YOU PEEK, I WILL PERSONALLY MAKE SURE YOU FAIL LIFE!" I shrieked, scuttling toward my bedroom.
How?! How did he get in?! Better question: How did he get the keys to my apartment?! Did he pick the lock? Did he bribe the landlord? Is there a "Watson Key" that opens every door in the city?!
I dove into my closet and frantically pulled on my thickest, most un-sexy PJs—the ones with the little pandas on them. I looked like a giant marshmallow, but at least I was a covered marshmallow.
I marched back out to the hall, my hair still dripping and my temper reaching boiling point. He was standing there now,
I didn't even give him a chance to speak. I lunged forward and delivered a solid punch right to his jaw.
BAM!
"Oww!" Keifer groaned, clutching his face and stumbling back. He looked at me with pure shock, his hand hovering over his reddening skin. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I screamed, my voice echoing off the walls. "You broke into my apartment! I was naked! I was singing! I was living my best life until you appeared like a jump-scare in a horror movie!"
I stood there, huffing, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. My heart was still doing the cha-cha from the heart attack he'd just given me.
"I didn't break in, Jay-jay," he grumbled, still rubbing his jaw. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a spare key, danging it in front of my face
"Your Kuya Angelo gave it to me. He told me to drop off some papers and your phone, since you left it at the cafe."
I stared at the key. Then at him. Kuya, I am going to sell your car.
"So you just... let yourself in? While I was in the shower?!" I asked, my voice hitting a high-pitched note of disbelief.
"I knocked!" he defended, though he looked away, a weird tint of pink creeping up his neck. "I heard... singing. I thought you were just busy. I didn't think you'd come charging out of the bathroom like a Taylor Swift-obsessed ghost."
My face was officially a tomato. No—I was a sun-dried tomato. I was a chili pepper. I was the literal embodiment of the color red.
"I hate you!" I hissed, wrapping my arms tight over my panda pajamas. I tried to look intimidating, but it's hard to look like a threat when you have a wet head of hair and a cartoon bear on your chest.
Keifer just looked at me. His expression had finally smoothed back into that annoying 'I-own-the-world' mask, though his jaw was still slightly reddened from my punch. He cleared his throat, his eyes scanning everywhere in my apartment except for my face.
"I will... forget what happened before," he said, his voice a bit deeper than usual. "I'm here to talk about the wedding. It's happening in two days."
I felt my soul leave my body. I think I actually saw it float up toward the ceiling fans.
"TWO DAYS?!" I shrieked. "
He didn't even flinch. He just reached down and handed me a large, expensive-looking shopping bag that was sitting by his feet.
"The wedding dress," he said simply.
I took the bag, my hands shaking. It was surprisingly heavy.
"It's my mom's," he added, his tone suddenly shifting. The arrogance vanished for a split second, replaced by a quiet, heavy seriousness that made my heart do a weird little skip—and not because of the near-nudity from earlier. "Don't ruin it."
I looked into the bag, then back at him. My anger was still there, bubbling under the surface, but his words hit me like a splash of cold water. His mom... the one Keiran told me about. The one they both loved so much.
He was letting me wear her dress?
"Wait," I whispered, the reality of the situation finally setting in. "In two days, I'm actually going to be... a Watson?"
"In two days," Keifer repeated, stepping closer until he was right in front of me. I could smell that peppermint cologne again, mixed with the faint scent of rain from outside. "You'll be my wife, Jay-jay. Whether you like it or not."
He looked at his jaw in my hallway mirror, testing the movement. Then, he looked at me one last time—a gaze so intense it felt like he was memorizing my face.
"Try the dress on. If it doesn't fit, tell your brother to call me. And lock your door, Teach. Next time, I might not be so quick to close my eyes."
With that final, lethal smirk, he turned around and walked out of my apartment, leaving me standing in the hall with a hairbrush in one hand and his mother's wedding dress in the other.
"AHHHHHHHH!" I screamed again, shoving my face into the shopping bag.
Two days.
I was still staring at the shopping bag, my brain processing the fact that I was basically a ticking time bomb of a bride, when another knock echoed through the door.
Don't tell me he forgot his soul in here, I thought as I marched over and ripped the door open.
Keifer was standing there, looking slightly damp from the rain that was now pouring outside like the heavens were crying for my lost freedom.
"It's raining heavily. Is it fine if I stay here for the night?" he asked.
I opened my mouth to say "Absolutely not, go find a five-star hotel," but he didn't even wait for a vowel to leave my lips. He just ducked under my arm and helped himself inside, shaking his hair like a wet dog—if that dog cost billions of pesos and wore designer clothes.
"Asshole," I muttered, closing the door and leaning against it.
I watched him as he started walking toward the hallway with way too much confidence. He was heading straight for the left door. My door. My sanctuary. The place where I hide my secret stash of chocolates and my unwashed laundry!
"Wait! That's my room!" I yelled, sprinting past him to block the doorway. I spread my arms out, nearly hitting him with the hairbrush I was still clutching like a holy relic.
He didn't stop. He kept walking until he was inches away, his shadow completely swallowing me. Before I could process what was happening, he leaned forward, pinning me against the door with his arms on either side of my head.
Jusko. My heart. Stop parkouring!
His face was so close I could see the dampness of his eyelashes. I was trapped between a hard door and a very handsome, very arrogant hard place.
"I know," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that made my panda pajamas feel way too thin. "I thought I'd just sleep here. We're going to be sharing a room in the future anyway, right?"
I felt the heat rush to my face, probably turning my skin into a literal stovetop. I could smell the rain and that addictive peppermint on him again.
"Haha... ha... ha," I let out a fake, dry laugh that sounded like a dying crow. I placed my hands on his chest to push him back—which was a mistake, because his chest felt like a marble wall. "You're so funny. Stop dreaming, Watson. That over there is the guest room. Use that."
I pointed dramatically at the door across from mine.
"It has a bed. It has a pillow. It even has a window where you can watch the rain and think about your life choices," I added, trying to regain my teacher-authority.
Keifer didn't move for a long second. He just stared at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, I thought he was going to say something 'kilig-worthy' or maybe just kiss me and end my suffering.
Instead, he suddenly smirked—that annoying, signature Watson smirk.
"Fine," he said, finally pushing off the door and giving me some breathing room. "But don't come knocking on my door if you get scared of the thunder, Teach. My rates for 'cuddling' are very expensive."
"I'D RATHER HUG A CACTUS!" I screamed as he strolled into the guest room.
I slammed my bedroom door shut and locked it. Twice. Then I leaned against it, sliding down until my butt hit the floor.
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