JAY JAY POV
The alarm clock went off, and honestly, I wanted to smash it into a million pieces. It's the loudest thing in this house, probably because everyone else is so quiet and cold.
My room is huge, but it doesn't feel like mine. It feels like a museum exhibit for a kid nobody actually likes. In this family, if you aren't perfect, you're basically a ghost. The only people who even look at me are Kuya Angelo and Aries. Especially Aries. He's my brother, but sometimes he feels more like my bodyguard protecting me from the people who are supposed to love us.
My parents? They're obsessed with the business. Most of the time, this house is empty, echoing like a tomb. It's not that they don't "provide" for me—I get an allowance of 50 million every week—but you can't cuddle with a bank account. It's just blood money to keep me quiet while they obsess over their precious reputation.
Whenever I can't take the silence anymore, I go see Aunt Hazel.
Hazel is Papa's younger sister, and she's the only one who got out alive. She lives a normal life and doesn't feel the need to flex her wealth or act like a robot. There's a ten-year gap between her and Papa, which is probably why she's actually cool and he's... well, he's him.
Sometimes, when I'm sitting in her house where it actually feels warm, I wish she was my mother instead of the woman who just sends me wire transfers. It's easier to breathe around her. With her, I'm not a "disappointment" or a "reputation risk." I'm just Jay Jay.
Then there's Kuya Angelo. Even though he's just my cousin, he actually steps up. I go to his place when the silence in my house starts feeling like it's swallowing me alive. He's always telling me I need to "act more mature" because I keep getting into fights at school. But honestly? Throwing a punch is the only thing that makes me feel loud enough to be heard. I fight random kids just to feel something—anything—other than the emptiness. And it's not like Mom and Dad care anyway. I could come home covered in blood and they'd probably just ask if I stained my designer shirt.
But now? Now Aries is gone. He left for college, and the air in this mansion feels like lead. It's just me and the maids, moving like ghosts through these giant, cold hallways.
I call him or text him every single day. I have to. He's only two years older than me, but he's the only one who actually "parented" me. When I was sick and puking my guts out, it wasn't Mom holding my hair back; it was Aries.
I'll never forget when I got my first period. I was terrified and didn't know what was happening. I didn't go to my mom—I went to my brother. And instead of being grossed out, he went to the store, bought me a box of pads, and made sure I was okay. He was sixteen, and he handled it better than a grown woman.
When my mom finally found out later, she didn't apologize for not being there. She just gave me this fake, cold smile and said, "You know how it is, sweetheart. The business world moves fast. I can't always be there for the little things."
The little things. Like my childhood. Like my life.
She thinks 50 million a week makes up for the fact that she's a stranger. But Aries? Aries is the only reason I know what love actually looks like. And now that he's gone, I'm just holding my breath until I can get out too.
I really don't want to disappoint Aries. It's the only thing that actually scares me. When he finds out I've been throwing hands at school again, he doesn't scream or get mad like a normal person. He just gives me the look. It's this quiet, disappointed stare that makes me feel like I'm breaking the only heart that actually beats for me.
So, I've been trying to channel the rage somewhere else. Somewhere that doesn't involve me getting suspended or making Aries sad.
Now, whenever I feel like I'm going to explode—whenever the silence of the house gets too loud—I go to the courts or the field. I play tennis and soccer until my lungs burn and my legs feel like lead. I stay at the playgrounds and the school facilities way longer than I have to, practicing way too hard. My coaches look at me with these proud expressions, telling me how "hardworking" and "dedicated" I am. They think I'm some star athlete obsessed with the game.
If they only knew. I'm not practicing to win a trophy; I'm practicing so I don't destroy everything in sight. Every time I hit that tennis ball, I'm imagining I'm hitting the life my parents built for me. Every time I kick the soccer ball, I'm kicking the walls of this gilded cage.
I'm so close to being done. High school is almost over.
"GET ME SOME COFFEE, SOMEBODY!" I yelled, my voice cracking through a massive hangover. I'd stumbled home drunk last night, hoping the noise would at least make someone notice I was alive.
"Ma'am, your father is in the hall. He wants a word," one of the maids whispered, looking terrified.
A tiny spark of hope lit up in my chest. I actually smiled. Maybe this was it. Maybe he was finally going to yell at me, ground me, or tell me that drinking myself into a blackout was a bad idea. You know, like a parent.
I practically ran downstairs, but my smile died the second I hit the floor.
My father wasn't standing there with a lecture; he was standing there with a business deal.
"Jay, this is the Hanamatchis," Dad said, gesturing toward a man who looked just as cold as he did. He didn't even look at the smudge of mascara under my eyes. "Jay, do you know Yuri?"
I looked at the guy standing there. "No."
Dad gave me that fake, polished smile that he uses for press conferences. "Well, he goes to a different school. Show him around. Be a good host."
My stomach turned. He didn't care that I was hungover or acting out.
"Find someone else," I snapped, turning on my heel. "I have places to be."
I stormed back to my room and started getting ready, my hands shaking as I put on my makeup. I wasn't staying in this house of wax for one more second. I was going to see the only person who makes me feel like I'm not a ghost.
Keifer.
Oh god, Keifer. He's the only thing in my life that feels real. He's normal—beautifully, wonderfully normal. Most guys either want a night with me because of how I look, or a night with my bank account because of my last name. But Keifer? He doesn't give a damn about those things
He talks to me like I'm a person. Like Jay Jay is someone worth knowing, not just a billionaire's messy daughter. In a world full of people trying to buy me or sell me, Keifer is the only one who just wants to see me. And right now, he's the only reason I'm still breathing.
I finished getting ready, fueled by spite and expensive perfume. I was halfway to the door when the human business deal blocked my path.
"Hey, I'm Yuri," he said, trying to flash a smile that probably worked on girls who cared about stock options.
"Sorry, not interested," I snapped, not even breaking my stride. I brushed past him, grabbed my keys, and peeled out of the driveway in a car that cost more than most people's houses.
I drove straight to the basketball courts. I knew exactly where he'd be.
Keifer was there, the only one on the court, the rhythmic thump-thump of the ball the only sound in the morning air. It was a beautiful sound. A real sound.
"Don't you think it's a bit too early for practice?" I asked, leaning against the chain-link fence, my hangover momentarily forgotten at the sight of him.
Keifer didn't even turn around. He just sighed, a sound of pure exhaustion. "Dear God, Jay. I thought we talked about this. Stop following me."
I didn't stop. I never stop. I walked toward him, closing the distance just as he turned to face me.
"Mark. Keifer. Watson," I said, my voice dropping an octave as I stepped into his personal space.
He immediately started backing up, his eyes widening. "What the hell, Jay?"
"What the hell, Keifer," I mimicked, matching him step for step, forcing him back until he was trapped. "You didn't text me last night."
"Why would I? You were wasted, and it was a total nightmare getting you home," he said, his back finally hitting the cold metal of the padded pole.
I didn't give him an inch. I moved in, pressing my palms against his chest, feeling the steady, frantic thrum of his heart under his sweaty jersey. I tilted my head, putting on my best "innocent" face—the one that usually makes people give me whatever I want.
"So, you care about me then?" I whispered. "You made sure I got home safe. You made sure no other guys looked at me or touched me. Sounds like someone's protective."
He let out a sharp, annoyed breath. "Tss."
Oh, god. I was addicted to that sound. That Tss. It was the sound of him trying—and failing—to ignore the chemistry pulling us together like a car wreck.
"It was just basic humanity to get you home safe," he grumbled, looking everywhere but at my lips.
"Still playing this game, huh?" I laughed softly, sliding my hands from his chest to wrap them around his neck, lacing my fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. I pulled myself closer until the only thing between us was a few inches of tension and his stubbornness. "Come on, Keifer. Let's just date already."
"You're seriously obsessed with me," Keifer said, his voice a low rumble that I felt in my bones.
"Maybe," I breathed, closing the space until I could taste the air he was exhaling. I leaned in, my eyes fluttering shut, waiting for the collision—the spark that would finally burn this cold house of mine down.
Instead, I got a face full of gravity.
He pushed me. Not enough to hurt, but enough to send me stumbling back until I landed hard on the asphalt. The impact jarred my bones, and for a second, I just sat there in the dust, stunned.
Then, Keifer laughed. It was a rich, genuine sound that made me want to punch him and kiss him at the same time. "I already told you, Jay. You and me? It's never going to work."
"Asshole!" I yelled, scrambling to my feet. I winced, pressing a hand to my hip where the pavement had bit into my skin. "Is this how you treat a woman?"
Keifer stopped laughing, but the smirk stayed tucked in the corner of his mouth. He dribbled the ball once, looking me up and down. "I treat women just fine. But I haven't even figured out your gender yet, Jay. One second you're talking to me like a fragile princess, and the next I'm catching you in the alley fighting boys double your size."
I felt a thrill of heat go through me. I stepped back into his space, ignoring the ache in my hip. "So... you do watch me. You care."
"Tss. Childish," he muttered, turning his back on me to grab his gear. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. We are never happening."
He started walking away, his stride long and confident, leaving me standing in the middle of the empty court. I cupped my hands around my mouth, my voice echoing off the surrounding buildings.
"Keep saying that to yourself, Watson!" I screamed after him, a manic grin stretching across my face. "I'm way too obsessed with you to drop off now! You're stuck with me!"