Keifers pov (at that incident)
didn't like that kind of silence.
The kind where a person can sit in a room and still feel like a storm is coming.
Jay sat by the window, legs curled up, staring at the city like she was trying to memorize it. Her phone buzzed again. I saw her flinch, and that was enough.
I knew the name that appeared on her screen.
Jax.
Not because of his power, but because of his history.
I didn't need to hear the message to know what it would say. Threats were his language. Regret was his mask. Control was his comfort.
When Jay handed me the phone, her hands were shaking.
I read the message once. Twice.
Then I looked at her.
The fear in her eyes wasn't new. It was old. Familiar. Like a wound she had never let fully heal.
He was trying to take something from her again.
Not her money.
Not her status.
Her peace.
I felt my body go cold—not because I was angry, but because I recognized the moment.
This was the moment where she would either shrink back into the past, or she would finally realize she didn't have to.
I held her face gently, like I was reminding her she still existed.
"Listen," I said.
She nodded, eyes glossy.
"You are not going back," I told her.
She looked away, voice soft. "But what if he does something?"
I didn't flinch. I didn't yell. I didn't make promises I couldn't keep.
I simply said the truth.
"He won't."
Not because I'm fearless.
Because I'm not willing to let fear win.
Because I had already made a decision.
The decision wasn't about control.
It was about safety.
And I knew how to build safety.
That day, I didn't act like a man in love.
I acted like a man who would fight for love.
The world was full of people who could be bought or threatened or manipulated. Jax was one of them. He thought power was something you could hold like a weapon.
But power is only real when you know how to use it without losing yourself.
So I used mine quietly.
I didn't break him. I dismantled the foundation he relied on.
I used legal channels, financial leverage, partnerships, and influence—every tool I had. Not to destroy him. To make sure he could no longer harm her.
By the time he realized what was happening, it was already too late.
He tried to stand in my office with his confidence.
He tried to threaten me like I would panic.
I looked at him and realized he didn't understand the most dangerous thing about me:
I don't react.
I plan.
I don't chase.
I remove obstacles.
When he signed the papers, he looked defeated, but he also looked relieved.
He knew.
He knew he'd lost.
He'd lost her.
He'd lost control.
He'd lost his right to even think about her.
And the best part?
Jay never had to lift a finger.
She didn't have to fight.
She didn't have to cry.
She didn't have to beg.
She just had to be herself.
And I would make sure the world adjusted to that.
When I came home that night, she was waiting.
Not in fear.
Not in shame.
Just… quiet.
I told her it was over.
She didn't understand the weight of the words until she saw my face.
She asked what I did.
I didn't answer with details.
I didn't need to.
I just said:
"I took fear away."
She leaned into me like her body had finally remembered how to relax.
That was the moment I realized something that I didn't say out loud:
I didn't just love her.
I was responsible for her peace now.
And I would never let her lose it.
Chapter: Domestic Peace — Where Love Lives
The next morning felt different.
Not because anything changed.
But because the air was lighter.
Jay woke up without flinching. She didn't check her phone. She didn't look over her shoulder.
She simply breathed.
I watched her from the bed, quiet.
There was a kind of beauty in the way she moved now. Calm. Unforced. Like she finally realized she could exist without being threatened.
She sat up, stretching slowly. "Morning," she said softly.
"Morning," I replied.
She smiled, then walked into the kitchen.
I followed her, not because I needed to, but because I wanted to be close.
She was making tea.
"Still the same," I said.
Jay glanced at me, amused. "You're jealous of my tea skills?"
"I'm jealous of your peace," I said honestly.
She paused. "You know… I used to think love had to hurt to be real."
I leaned against the counter. "And now?"
Jay turned the cup in her hands, watching the steam rise. "Now I know love can be quiet."
I watched her smile.
Not the kind of smile that hides pain.
The kind that grows from inside.
She set the cup down and leaned against me, close enough that our bodies touched.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?" I asked.
"For not letting me go back," she replied.
I kissed her temple. "You never had to thank me."
Jay lifted her head, eyes soft. "You didn't just save me from him."
She paused, searching for the right words.
"You saved me from myself."
That hit me harder than any fight ever could.
Because it wasn't just about power.
It was about healing.
Jay and I stood in the kitchen for a moment, simply existing in the peace we'd built.
No threats.
No fear.
No pressure.
Just us.
Later, she curled up on the couch, book open but unread.
I sat beside her and began to massage her shoulders, slow and careful.
Her breathing eased.
She looked at me and said softly, "I never thought this kind of calm was possible."
I smiled. "You didn't think you deserved it."
Jay's eyes softened. "I didn't."
I kissed her hand. "You do."
She rested her head on my shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel the need to protect her from anything.
Not because danger was gone.
Because she was finally safe in herself.
And that was the greatest victory of all.