Keifer pov
The sky over Tagaytay wasn't grey; it was a cruel, mocking blue. The sun was shining brightly over the gardens of the Black Box, as if the world hadn't realized that its brightest light had gone out.
The funeral wasn't held in a cold chapel. It was held here, on the cliffside overlooking the ridge—the place where Jay used to sit and drink her decaf coffee while watching the fog roll in.
I stood at the edge of the freshly turned earth, my suit blacker than the void in my chest. I wasn't crying anymore. I had run out of tears somewhere around 4:00 AM on the second night. Now, there was just a cold, hollow ache that made every breath feel like I was swallowing glass.
In my arms, I held the heirs. Alexander and Aurora were wrapped in white silk—the very fabric Kit had spent weeks obsessing over. They were quiet, as if they understood that the mountain of white lilies surrounding us was for the woman they would only ever know through stories.
To my left stood Keigan and Keiran. They looked like they had aged a decade in three days. Keigan was staring at the mahogany casket, his bottom lip trembling, clutching the small stethoscope Jay had bought him as a joke for his "future medical career." Keiran stood rigid, his hand resting on the hilt of his pocketknife, his eyes scanning the crowd with a fierce, protective anger. He was guarding her, even now.
Behind us, Section E was a fallen army.
Felix wasn't taking photos. His camera stayed in its bag. He just stood there, his head bowed, his shoulders shaking. C in was a ghost; he hadn't spoken a word since he called the time of death. He stood with Mica and Calix, his hand over his heart, looking at the casket like it was his own failure.
Kit had designed the floral arrangements—thousands of white roses and lavender, Jay's favorite. "She hated being a potato," Kit had whispered earlier, his voice breaking. "She deserves to be a Queen today."
Jeena and Jasper were supported by Kuya Angelo and Ion. Jasper looked like a man who had lost his anchor. He walked up to the casket and placed a single mango—a small, private joke between father and daughter—on the lid.
"Go ahead, anak," he choked out. "The surgery is over. You can rest now."
Then, it was my turn.
The crowd—the titans of industry, the surgeons from Peralta, the friends from Section E—all went silent. I walked to the edge of the grave, the twins heavy in my arms. I looked down at the polished wood that held my weify, my Starlight, my Dr. Watson.
"I told you once that I was a Monster," I said, my voice carrying over the ridge, steady but dead. "And you told me that even monsters need a home. You were my home, Jay. You were the only place I ever felt safe."
I looked down at Alexander and Aurora. "You left me with the best parts of you. But God, I'd give every cent of the Watson fortune just to hear you call me 'hubby' one more time. To have you tell me I'm being dramatic. To see you eat BBQ shrimp and get sauce on your chin."
I leaned down, pressing my forehead against the cool wood of the casket. "I'll keep the stars burning for you, Jay. I promise."
As the casket was slowly lowered into the earth, Section E stepped forward. In a synchronized movement, they each took a white rose and tossed it into the grave.
"To the Boss," Felix whispered. "To the Starlight," Mica sobbed. "To the Queen of the Black Box," C in rasped.
The sound of the first shovel of dirt hitting the wood was the finality I wasn't ready for. I turned away, unable to watch the earth swallow her. I walked back toward the house—the massive, expensive, beautiful house that now felt like a mausoleum.
I reached the terrace and looked back. The crowd was dispersing, but the squad stayed. They stood around the grave like sentinels, refusing to leave her alone in the dark.
I looked down at the babies in my arms.
"Let's go inside," I whispered to them. "We have a lot to talk about. I have to tell you about the girl in the brown cardigan."
.......