The invitation came three weeks later.
Not addressed to her family.
Not routed through her father's office.
Not forwarded by an assistant.
Directly to her.
Jay stared at the email on her screen for a long time before she spoke.
"Keifer?"
He looked up from his laptop.
"Mm?"
"They want me to relocate."
The words felt strange in her mouth.
Heavy.
Bright.
Dangerous.
He closed his laptop immediately.
Not slowly.
Not distracted.
"Where?"
"Paris."
The room went very quiet.
Not tense.
Careful.
"A one-year assignment," she added quickly.
"To set up the pilot division there. If it works… it becomes permanent."
She waited.
For the old fear.
For him to hesitate.
For him to calculate.
Keifer didn't.
"That's huge," he said softly.
Her chest tightened.
"You're not angry?"
He frowned.
"At what?"
"At… me leaving."
He leaned back slightly.
"You're not leaving me."
Jay stared.
"You'd really move?"
He tilted his head.
"You thought I wouldn't?"
Her eyes stung suddenly.
"You have your own work. Your own board. Your own responsibilities."
He nodded.
"I also have you."
The simplicity of it broke something open in her.
"I don't want you to give up your life for mine," she whispered.
Keifer reached across the table and took her hand.
"I'm not giving it up."
He squeezed gently.
"I'm choosing where it happens."
Jay's breath caught.
"You don't even know if you'll like it there."
He smiled faintly.
"I already know I'll like who I'm with."
She laughed weakly through sudden tears.
"You make this too easy."
"No," he said quietly.
"You make it worth reorganising everything."
Later that night, Jay stood at the balcony, looking out at the city that had finally started to feel like hers.
Keifer came to stand behind her.
Not touching.
Just close.
"I used to be terrified of the future," she admitted.
He nodded.
"I know."
She turned slightly.
"I thought every new step meant losing something."
He looked at her gently.
"Sometimes it means gaining room to breathe."
Jay leaned back into his chest.
His arms came around her slowly.
Not urgent.
Certain.
"For the first time," she whispered,
"I can imagine tomorrow without shrinking myself."
Keifer kissed her temple.
"And I can imagine tomorrow without worrying whether you'll be okay."
She smiled.
"Because I will be."
He held her a little tighter.
Not because he feared letting go.
But because he loved how staying felt.
And when Jay finally closed her eyes against the quiet night,
the future no longer looked like a cliff.
It looked like a door.
And she wasn't afraid to open it.
With him.