Keifer's PoV
The plane touched down in London under a sky that looked like old steel — cold, heavy, and uninviting. For a second, I sat there after the seatbelt sign went off, hands clasped tight, staring at the faint condensation on the window. The city stretched out beneath me like a painting done in grayscale.
I could almost hear Jay's laughter echoing in my head — the warmth I'd left behind two oceans away. "Exchange program," I'd told her.
It sounded so clean. So harmless. But this trip had nothing to do with universities or academic meetings.
This was about the Watsons. And about my mother.
The car waiting outside Heathrow was black, sleek, and silent — the kind of car that didn't belong to people, but to legacies. The driver didn't say a word when I got in. Just a curt nod before we pulled away from the terminal. Every passing street, every cold brick building, felt like it was closing in, reminding me of the last time I'd been here.
That was the night everything went wrong. The night my mother died. The night Kaizer Watson made sure she'd never stand against him again.
"Keifer."
The voice snapped me out of my thoughts. We'd stopped in front of the Watson estate — sprawling, cold marble steps leading to a door twice my height. And standing there was Uncle Ezran — same pinched lips, same calculating eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses.
"You're late," he said flatly, already turning to go inside.
"Nice to see you too, Uncle," I muttered, dragging my suitcase behind me.
The hall was exactly as I remembered — portraits of Watson men staring down from the walls, their painted eyes full of arrogance. Every one of them had that same sharp jawline, that same expression of entitlement. I could almost hear their whispers:
You're not one of us. You never were.
Inside the sitting room, the rest of them were already gathered. My father, Kaizer Watson, sat at the head of the long oak table — a silver wolf in a charcoal suit. Even after all these years, he hadn't changed. The same calm menace in his eyes, the same faint smile that never reached them.
"Son," he said, voice smooth as glass. "Glad you could make it."
"Didn't have a choice," I replied, dropping my bag near the wall. "You made that clear."
A few of my cousins snickered. Clyde, the eldest, leaned back in his chair, swirling whiskey in his glass. "Still dramatic as ever, Keif. Heard you ran off to play house in the tropics?"
"Still a parasite, Clyde?" I shot back, unamused.
His grin faltered. A small victory.
Kaizer chuckled lowly. "Now, now. We're here for business, not banter."
Right. Business. The inheritance. My mother's inheritance.
It wasn't Watson Holdings I'd come for. It was her estate — everything that had once belonged to Clara Watson, the only person in that house who had ever shown me love.
Land, charities, research foundations — all she'd built with her own name, separate from my father's empire.
When she died, her will made it clear: half would go to me when I turned twenty-four. The other half would stay protected, out of Kaizer's reach.But Kaizer never believed in boundaries.
Especially not from the woman he'd killed.
"I thought we settled this years ago," I said, leaning against the wall.
"You disowned me, remember? I'm not interested in your company."
Kaizer smiled — that slow, reptilian kind of smile.
"You may not be interested in my company," he said softly, "but your mother's estate still falls under the Watson legal branch.
Until you sign the transfer, it stays frozen. That delays everything. You're holding us back."
"Maybe that's the point."
A murmur rippled through the room. I could feel all their eyes on me — cousins, uncles, vultures circling, waiting for the weak link to bleed.
Kaizer rose from his seat, walked toward me with that controlled grace that made everyone else step back.
"You always had your mother's stubbornness," he said, voice lowering. "But she isn't here to protect you anymore."
I didn't flinch.
"She protected me from you," I said quietly. "That's all that matters."
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes — a crack, barely visible — and then it was gone.
That night, I stayed in the guest wing, staring at the ceiling, phone clutched in my hand. Jay had texted hours ago.
Jay: Plane okay? Jay: London must be beautiful this time of year. Send pics! Jay: Baby kicked today. You missed it. You owe me one. 😤❤️
I smiled despite myself, my chest tightening.
I wanted to tell her the truth. That this city wasn't beautiful. That its people weren't kind. That I wasn't here to study but to survive.
But how do you tell the woman you love that the ghosts of your family are still trying to drag you under?
So I typed:
Keif: Yeah. Cold but fine. Missing you already. Tell the baby to take it easy on you. ❤️
Then I put the phone face down and exhaled.
In the hallway, faint voices echoed — Kaizer and Reginald, talking just outside my door.
"Do you think he'll sign?" Reginald murmured.
Kaizer's tone was low, dangerous. "He will. One way or another."
My fingers clenched around the bedsheet. Because I knew what that meant.
In the Watson family, one way or another didn't mean persuasion. It meant control. It meant pressure. It meant threats. And if that didn't work — it meant blood.
As the rain began to tap against the windows, I looked out into the London night. Jay was asleep by now, probably curled up with her hand over her belly.
I promised her everything would be okay. But for that to happen, I'd have to fight every monster that wore my last name — including the one who killed my mother.
And I'd have to do it alone.
End of Chapter 9
Hey guys! Sry for not posting for a long time. And a very happy belated halloween.
🎃