Keifer's PoV
Morning in the Watson estate never felt like morning anywhere else. It didn't wake — it lurched into consciousness, like a creature disturbed from hibernation. Servants moved quietly through the halls, their footsteps light, their eyes never meeting mine for longer than a second. The air smelled of polished wood and old secrets.
I'd slept maybe an hour. Not that it mattered. War didn't ask about sleep.
I dressed quickly — black shirt, worn jeans, boots I'd left in the back of a closet years ago. My reflection in the mirror barely looked like the man Jay trusted with her heart. More like someone carved from anger and unfinished grief.
I checked my phone. No messages.
Jay was giving me space.
Or maybe she could feel the distance I'd tried so hard to hide.
Either way, I shoved the phone into my pocket. Today wasn't about her.
Today was about Mom.
About the truth.
The Library
The estate's library stretched across half the eastern wing, floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with books no one had read in decades. The Watson patriarchs liked the idea of knowledge — not the work of actually learning anything.
But Mom had spent hours here.
Science journals. Ethics texts. Memoirs from whistleblowers and reformists.
All the things Kaizer hated.
I pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside. Dust motes drifted lazily in the morning light, swirling like tiny ghosts disturbed by my presence.
I scanned the room, moving to the second-floor balcony where she used to sit with tea and a blanket, her legs tucked under herself as she scribbled notes for her charity programs.
A memory stabbed through me so hard I had to grip the railing.
Her laughter.
Her patience.
Her stubbornness — the kind that terrified councilmen and comforted children in the same breath.
I looked at her old table — same place, same chair. Except now, something was off.
A book lay open.
Not just any book.
Her book.
Her research journal — the one she used during the final months of her life.
I approached slowly, heart hammering against my ribs. Had Kaizer left it here on purpose? A trap? A message?
Or had she hidden it well enough that even he didn't know where to look?
I ran a hand over the worn leather cover.
Her handwriting stared up at me — neat, firm, unmistakably hers.
The last entry was dated three days before she died.
March 17 — 11:32 p.m.
If anything happens to me, it won't be an accident. Kaizer thinks I'm naive, but I've seen too much. I know what he's planning with the fund transfers. I know who he's meeting. I know what he did in Manila and why he needed the board to stay quiet.
Keifer must never be part of this. He's kind. Too kind. I won't let him be corrupted by the legacy Kaizer is building on blood and silence.
If you find this, my son — please be careful. And forgive me for not telling you sooner.
My throat closed. The words blurred. I pressed the journal to my chest and leaned forward, elbows braced on the table. For a moment — just a moment — I let myself feel like a child again.
Then the door creaked open.
I straightened instantly, sliding the journal under my shirt.
Footsteps approached — slow, deliberate.
Not Kaizer.
Too light.
Lizbeth, the housekeeper.
Her gaze flicked to me, then to the table, and then — briefly — to the balcony doors.
A message.
"Sir Keifer," she whispered. "You should not linger here. The estate has… ears."
I nodded. "Thank you."
She opened her mouth to say something else, but footsteps sounded in the hallway. Heavy ones.
Kaizer's.
Lizbeth's face went pale. She backed away, disappearing through the side passage before he entered. And then he was there.
Towering. Controlled.
A man built from influence and cold ambition.
"Keifer," he said. "Breakfast is ready. Come downstairs. The board will join us shortly."
Of course. An audience. A show of unity. His eyes flicked to the shelves — searching for anything out of place.
I forced a neutral expression. "I'll be down in a minute."
"Now," he corrected.
Like I was ten again.
I followed him, each step sharpening my resolve. The journal was warm against my ribs. A heartbeat that wasn't mine.
Proof.
And if Mom's last entry was right — Kaizer wasn't just a murderer. He was part of something far bigger. Something dangerous. Something she'd died trying to stop
The Dining Hall
The long table gleamed under chandelier light. The board members sat stiffly, pretending they weren't terrified of Kaizer's temper. I slid into my seat, lifting a spoon but not eating. Kaizer clinked his glass.
"Thank you all for coming," he began, voice smooth as poison. "Today, we discuss the future of the Watson legacy — and my son's role in it."
Several heads turned toward me. I kept my face blank.
But inside? A storm. He wanted to use me. Shape me. Turn me into him.
He had no idea he'd already lost.
Because I wasn't here to inherit a legacy. I was here to burn it down.
The Choice
After breakfast, while the board filed into the conference room, I slipped away — out the side door, across the courtyard, and into the old servants' wing.
My hands shook as I pulled out my phone.
Jay's name lit the screen.
If I called her now — if I told her to book a flight — she would.
She'd come to London without hesitation.
But I couldn't drag her into this.
Not while Kaizer was watching every move I made.
Still…
I needed to hear her voice.
I pressed CALL.
It rang once.
Twice.
"Keif?" Her voice was soft, hopeful, sleepy. "Are you okay?"
I closed my eyes, leaning against the peeling wallpaper.
"Not yet," I whispered. "But I will be. I just… I miss you."
"I miss you too," she said, warmth flooding through the speaker. "Please come home soon."
Home.
Not the estate.
Not London.
Her.
"I will," I said. "But first I need to finish something."
A long pause.
"Something dangerous?" she asked quietly.
I didn't answer.
She already knew.
"Just come back to us," she whispered. "That's all I want."
"Soon," I promised.
And for once — I meant it.
I hung up before my resolve could crumble.
Tonight, I would search the east archives — the ones Kaizer thought I'd forgotten existed.
Tonight, I'd find what Mom died for.
Tonight, the war truly began.
And if Kaizer Watson wanted to bury the truth?
He'd have to bury me too.
End of Chapter 39