JAY JAY POV
The sun was barely peeking through the sheer curtains of the villa, painting everything in gold. I woke up feeling... different. For the first time, my head didn't feel like it was stuffed with cotton and broken glass. I felt light. I felt like the old Jay-jay—the one who lived for chaos.
I looked at the man sleeping beside me. Keifer was still out, his face unusually soft in his sleep, his arm anchored around my waist like he was afraid I'd float away if he let go.
Safe signal? Yeah, right.
He's been acting too much like a bodyguard and not enough like the arrogant, possessive Keifer who usually makes my blood boil (and my heart race). Yesterday, he managed to keep his cool. He controlled himself. He played the "gentleman."
Well, today? No chance.
If he thinks he can just dote on me and keep his distance forever, he's got another thing coming. I need to know he still looks at me like a woman, not just a patient. I need to make him lose that famous Watson control, or else I might actually die of boredom—or frustrated pride.
I carefully unpried his arm from my waist, which was harder than it looked because even asleep, the guy has a grip like a titan. I slipped out of bed and headed to my suitcase.
I pulled on a white ribbed tank top—the kind that's so thin it's basically a second skin—and some tiny matching shorts. To complete the "I just woke up like this" look, I threw on an oversized, chunky knit cardigan. But I didn't button it. I let it hang low, sliding off both my shoulders, cinched only by the way I crossed my arms. It was the perfect mix of cozy and deadly.
I stood by the window, the morning light pouring in, making the thin fabric of the tank top almost translucent.
When Keifer finally emerged from the room, he didn't even make it to the kitchen. He stopped dead in the hallway, his eyes locking onto me. I saw the exact moment his brain short-circuited. His gaze traveled from my messy curls, down the curve of my neck exposed by the drooping cardigan, to the way the tank top clung to me.
"Jay..." he breathed out. It wasn't a greeting. It was a plea for mercy.
I leaned against the wooden shutters, letting one side of the cardigan slip even further, exposing the strap of the tank top and the smooth skin of my shoulder. I gave him a slow, sleepy smile that I knew would be the end of him.
"You're awake," I said, my voice intentionally airy. "I was starting to think you had a low battery. You slept late, Keifer"
Keifer's hands balled into fists at his sides. I could see the muscles in his forearms bulging. He was trying so hard to be the "protective fiancé" that Jare expected him to be, but the hungry side was winning the fight.
"The shirt, Jay-jay," he rasped, taking a single, heavy step toward me. "It's... it's too small. Or too thin. Or both."
"Is it?" I asked, looking down at myself innocently. I shifted my weight, making the cardigan flutter. "I thought it was comfortable. Do you not like it? I can take it off if it's bothering you..."
Keifer let out a sound that was half-groan, half-growl. He covered the distance between us in two strides, slamming his hands against the shutters on either side of my head. He didn't touch me, but he was so close I could feel the thrum of his heart through the air.
"You're doing this on purpose," he hissed, his face inches from mine. His eyes were dark with a hunger that made my toes curl. "You're testing me. You want to see how much I can take before I stop being 'careful' with you."
I reached up, my fingers grazing the waistband of his pajama pants before sliding up his bare, heated chest. I felt him shudder under my touch.
"And?" I whispered, tilting my head back to look him in the eye. "How much can you take, Keifer? Because I'm tired of being treated like I'm made of glass. I'm still the girl who can handle the baddest guy in the city. Are you still that guy? Or has the island turned you soft?"
That was the final straw.
"Soft?" Keifer repeated, a dangerous smirk finally breaking across his face. "You want the 'bad guy,' Jay-jay? Careful what you wish for. Because once I lose control, I'm not letting you go until you're begging me to be a gentleman again."
He grabbed the edges of my cardigan and pulled me forward, burying his face in my neck. "You're gonna be the death of me, Mutya. But I'm taking you down with me."
I could feel his heart slamming against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that told me I had him exactly where I wanted him. His breath was hot against my skin, and for a second, I thought he was actually going to forget all about the "slow recovery" plan and just carry me back to that bed.
But I wasn't done playing yet. I had to remind him who really runs things here.
I placed my hands on his chest and gave him a firm, playful shove. It didn't move him much—he was like a brick wall—but it was enough to break the spell.
"For now, go make breakfast for me," I said, my voice switching from a sultry whisper to my usual bossy tone. I gave him a cheeky grin, pulling my cardigan back up over one shoulder just to tease him.
Keifer stayed frozen for a beat, his hands still braced against the shutters. He looked at me like I'd just doused him in ice water, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to process the sudden shift.
"Breakfast?" he repeated, his voice still a rough, low growl. "You... you look at me like that, say things like that, and then tell me to go flip pancakes?"
"Not just pancakes. I want fruit, toast, and eggs. Over easy," I added, stepping around him and heading toward the veranda with a sway in my hips I knew he was watching. "A girl needs her strength if she's going to keep dealing with an idiot like you all day."
I heard him let out a long, frustrated groan that probably scared the birds outside. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated defeat.
"Jay-jay, you are a demon," he muttered, though I heard the sound of him trudging towards the kitchen. "A beautiful, sadistic demon. Jare should have warned me that your 'healing process' involved psychological torture."
"I can hear you!" I shouted from the veranda, making myself comfortable on a lounge chair, letting the sunlight hit my legs.
"Good!" he yelled back, the clattering of pans sounding much more aggressive than necessary. "I hope you like your eggs salted with my tears of frustration!"
I leaned back, closing my eyes and smiling
He was losing his mind, and I was finding mine.
"Hurry up, Keifer" I teased. "The customer is getting impatient!"
"Keep it up, Mutya," he growled from the stove, "and I'm eating your portion right in front of you."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
I laughed, the sound bright and clear. Yeah, we were definitely going to be okay.
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KEIFER POV
I slammed a frying pan onto the stove with a little too much force, the metal clanging loud enough to echo through the whole villa.
She is doing this on purpose. Every single move, every "accidental" slip of that oversized cardigan, every look she gives me over the rim of that mug—it's calculated. She knows exactly how much power she has over me, and she's wielding it like a weapon.
God, I was so close. Just seconds ago, when she was backed against those shutters, I was ready to throw the doctor's advice out the window.
I was ready to scoop her up, take her to that bedroom, and make her scream my name until she forgot her own. I wanted to hear nothing but Keifer coming from those lips until my name was the only thing left in her head
But no. Instead, I'm in here. Making eggs.
"Over easy," I muttered to myself, cracking an egg with a bit of a murderous glare. "I'll give her 'over easy.'"
I looked out toward the veranda. I could see the silhouette of her legs as she lounged there, completely relaxed, probably enjoying the fact that she had the most feared man in Manila wrapped around her little finger. My grip tightened on the spatula.
I'm trying to be the guy she needs—the protector. I'm trying to give her space to heal, to breathe, to not feel pressured. But Jay-jay isn't making it easy. She's not playing by the rules. She's testing the cage, and she's realizing the cage is me.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the fire in my blood.
Focus, Watson. Eggs. Toast. Fruit. Don't be a savage.
"Watson! Is it done yet?" her voice drifted in, sounding way too cheerful for my current state of mind.
"Coming, Mutya!" I yelled back, my voice sounding more like a threat than a promise.
I dished out the food, plate after plate, silver and glass clinking. I walked out to the veranda, my jaw set. I stood over her, the tray in my hands, and for a moment, I just looked at her. She looked so small, so innocent, and yet so incredibly dangerous in that thin white tank top.
I set the tray down on the small table next to her with a deliberate thunk.
"Here," I said, my voice low and rough. "Your breakfast. Your Highness."
She looked up at me, a playful spark in her eyes as she reached for a piece of toast. "Thanks, Keifer. See? You're not just a pretty face."
I leaned down, my hands gripping the arms of her lounge chair, trapping her again. I leaned in close enough that I could see the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes and the way her breath hitched just a fraction.
"Eat your breakfast, Jay-jay," I whispered, my voice thick with all the things I wasn't doing. "Because if you keep testing me like you did this morning... I won't be heading for the kitchen next time. And I think we both know that eggs won't be the only thing getting served."
I saw her swallow, her confidence wavering for just a second. Good.
"Enjoy your meal," I added with a sharp, predatory smirk before turning around and heading back inside before I actually lost it.
The game isn't over yet, Mutya. Not by a long shot.
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💙 SHOUTOUT TIME 💙
Shoutout goes to Hazelnut12 for completing the chapter target yesterday in under 2 hours 😭
💙✨ Thank you sooo much — you seriously carried that target 💬🌙💙
And of course, thank you to everyone else who helped too 🤍✨
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