It was a bright Saturday morning, and the Watson mansion was alive with soft activity. Jay was sitting in the sunroom, reviewing her patient notes, while Keifer leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her.
"Morning, fiancée," he said, his tone smooth but deliberately loud, carrying across the room.
Jay jumped slightly, spilling a bit of her coffee. "Keifer! Must you always say it so—so—"
"So public?" he interrupted, smirking, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Yes. Yes, I must. The world should know who you belong to."
Jay groaned, cheeks heating immediately. "You're impossible."
"And yet," he said, stepping closer, "you love it."
Jay opened her mouth to argue, but he leaned down slightly, brushing his hand across her shoulder as he passed. "Honestly," he said softly, "every time I see you like this—focused, stubborn, beautiful—I think… I'm ridiculously lucky. And the world should be reminded."
Her heart fluttered. "Keifer…" she whispered, half-scolding, half-exasperated.
"Fiancée," he corrected immediately, the single word dropping like a teasing punch. "You are my fiancée, and I'll remind you of it whenever I feel like it."
By midday, they had ventured into the city for some errands. Keifer held her hand as they walked, but every so often, he would squeeze her hand, lean close, and murmur "my fiancée" just for her to hear.
"Keifer, stop saying that!" she hissed, tugging lightly on his hand.
"Stop? Oh no," he said smoothly, eyes glinting. "I could say it a hundred times today, and you'd still blush every single time."
Jay felt heat rush to her cheeks. "You… you're going to make me insane!"
"Good," he replied, his voice low and teasing. "I like it when you're flustered. Shows me I have some control over that adorable little heart of yours."
Every person they passed seemed to notice—the way Keifer kept his arm lightly around her waist, the protective, almost possessive way he guided her, the quiet teasing in his eyes. Jay felt self-conscious but secretly delighted.
Back at the mansion, the teasing escalated.
Jay was trying to cook dinner, humming softly, when Keifer appeared behind her, draping a possessive arm over her shoulders.
"Fiancée," he whispered, brushing her hair from her neck. "Do you know how distracting you are?"
Jay shivered, but turned quickly, trying to hide her blush. "Keifer! You're supposed to help, not… distract me!"
He smirked, lowering his voice. "Helping you and reminding you you're mine? Best of both worlds."
"You're insufferable," she muttered, though her tone lacked conviction.
"And yet," he said, leaning closer, lips near her ear, "you can't stop smiling when I call you that."
Jay tried to hide her grin, but she failed miserably. "You're going to ruin me with that word," she admitted, voice soft.
Keifer chuckled, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. "Good," he said. "I plan to. Every day. In public, in private… my fiancée. You'll hear it as much as I want, and you'll love it, whether you admit it or not."
Jay's cheeks burned hotter, but a small, defiant smile appeared. "You think I can't tease you back?"
"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Try me, fiancée."
Jay smirked, stepping closer, matching his teasing tone. "Fine. But remember, I might just make you blush for a change."
Keifer's jaw tightened slightly, but his eyes sparkled with a dangerous mix of amusement and challenge. "Then let the teasing wars begin," he said, drawing her into a playful chase around the kitchen.
By the evening, it was clear to both of them—and anyone who saw them—that their fiancée dynamic had fully taken over. Keifer's bossy, teasing charm had escalated, and Jay was learning to match it, teasing him back in a way that made him laugh, groan, and melt all at once.
And one thing was certain: in private or public, the word "fiancée" had become a weapon, a charm, and a thrill—all at once, and neither of them could resist the game.