The grand hall was alive with polite chatter, laughter, and clinking glasses. Keifer stood near the center, composed and polite, his smile as practiced as ever.
Then, it happened.
His fiancée leaned in, brushing her lips against his cheek first—and then his lips. Bold, deliberate, meant to be seen.
Jay, standing across the room, froze.
Her hands clenched at her sides. Her chest tightened. Her world felt like it had shattered into tiny, invisible fragments, each shard pricking at her heart.
Keifer didn't respond. He couldn't. Not here. Not now. His posture remained straight, polite, his jaw tight, his eyes flicking briefly toward Jay—but he didn't move.
The fiancée pulled back, smiling triumphantly, completely unaware of the storm she'd stirred. Keifer gave nothing in return—no words, no gesture, no acknowledgment.
Jay swallowed hard, forcing herself to turn away. She walked toward the terrace, away from the crowd, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill.
Hours later, when the hall was quieter and the guests distracted, Keifer noticed her.
She was sitting alone near a corner, her shoulders hunched, a tissue loosely held in her hand. She sniffled softly, trying not to draw attention.
No one noticed.
But Keifer did.
He stepped closer, silent, his presence a shadow at her side. Jay looked up, startled, quickly dabbing at her nose, trying to compose herself.
"You don't have to hide it," he said softly, kneeling slightly to meet her eyes. His voice was calm, gentle, but there was an edge of something raw—something he couldn't fully hide.
"I… I'm fine," Jay whispered, though her voice cracked.
Keifer shook his head, unconvinced. "No. You're not. I saw what happened," he said quietly. "And I—" He stopped, swallowing. "I can't… I can't do anything about it, not now. Not here."
Jay's gaze dropped. A single tear escaped, and she quickly wiped it away.
Keifer's hand hovered near hers, not touching, just a fraction of a breath away. He didn't need to speak more. She knew he saw her. She knew he understood.
And in that quiet, shared understanding, the unspoken weight between them grew heavier.
Jay sniffled again, forcing a small, bitter laugh. "You… you don't care, do you?"
"I do," Keifer said simply. "More than you realize. But this… this isn't the time."
Jay nodded, bitter and conflicted, hiding her face against her hands, while Keifer stood there, silently wishing he could hold her, protect her, fix what had just broken—but knowing he couldn't.
Keifer couldn't shake the image from his mind—Jay, her shoulders hunched, softly sniffing into her hands, trying to make herself small in the corner of the hall while everyone else laughed and talked around her.
He hated it. Hated that he couldn't do anything. Hated that he'd let this happen. Hated that his fiancée had crossed a line, and that Jay—Jay, who had never belonged to anyone—was hurting because of it.
He stepped outside onto the terrace, the cool evening air brushing against his face, trying to calm the storm inside him. His jaw was tight. His fists clenched slightly.
Why does it hurt so much? he thought. It's not supposed to… she's not mine. She's never been mine. And yet…
He remembered the way her eyes had shimmered with unshed tears. The way she had sniffled quietly, pretending no one was watching. The way her small frame had seemed so vulnerable—so unlike the Jay he knew: confident, composed, untouchable.
Keifer's chest tightened. He had to remind himself: she was fine. She always was. She didn't need him.
But the truth? Seeing her like that… it broke something in him.
He paced back and forth, unable to focus, replaying every interaction from the evening. Every laugh, every polite nod, every stolen glance he hadn't been able to return.
And then he remembered something she had said weeks ago, in a quieter moment. "I don't need to claim anyone to be myself."
He groaned inwardly. She's always so… unshakable. And yet here she is, and it's me who's shaking.
Keifer ran a hand through his hair, finally stopping to look out at the garden below. The soft lights reflected in the fountain, shimmering like his emotions—beautiful, impossible, out of control.
He wanted to go to her. Wanted to wrap his arms around her, whisper that she didn't deserve this, that he hated seeing her hurt. But he couldn't. Not here. Not now.
I can't, he thought, clenching his jaw. She's… she's not mine. And I can't ruin her. Not like this. Not ever.
And yet every step he took, every polite smile he forced, every moment he spent near his fiancée, reminded him of the truth he couldn't admit: that seeing Jay broken like this hurt more than anything else.
It was a quiet, agonizing struggle—silent, invisible to everyone else, but tearing at him from the inside.
Keifer stayed there, on the terrace, long after the engagement chatter had faded inside, thinking about how much he wanted to reach for her—and how much he couldn't.