2 YEARS LATER
KEIFER POV
Everything is going perfect. Two years have passed since we walked into those lecture halls for the first time, and looking back, I still can't believe we made it.
Jay Jay finished her architecture degree, and seeing her walk across that stage was one of the proudest moments of my life. She's officially an architect now, working for a firm that actually respects her vision. She was born for this.
Then there is me. Our business—Watson Enterprise—is finally standing on its own two feet. I actually wanted to name it after her—Jay's Logistics or something along those lines—but she was stubborn. She insisted it be the family name we chose together. She told me, "We're building this legacy as Watsons, Keifer. Let the world know who we are."
It's not exactly thriving yet, but it's real. Jay has been my absolute rock. At the beginning, we survived only on her salary. She never complained, never once made me feel like less of a man for it. She just kept pushing me. Now, we're finally surviving on both our salaries, and the "safety net" is finally strong.
Jay's parents found us during our second year. They tried to talk to her, but she acted like they were invisible. When they approached me, sounding all sentimental about "missing their daughter," I made the mistake of trying to play peacemaker. I tried to convince Jay to listen, and we had our first real fight. It didn't last long—I had to beg her for forgiveness once I realized I was accidentally opening a door she had worked so hard to bolt shut. She made it clear: she doesn't want to talk to them, ever.
I'm sitting in the office of Watson Enterprise today, looking at the layout for our new warehouse, when Jay walks in. She looks professional, confident, and breathtaking in her work attire.
"How's the empire coming along, Mr. Watson?" she asks, walking over to my desk and sitting on the edge of it.
"Slowly," I say, pulling her closer by the waist. "But surely. I was just thinking about how right you were about the name."
"I'm always right," she teases, running a hand through my hair. "That's why you married me."
"I married you because I couldn't breathe without you," I correct her, my voice turning serious. "And because you're the only person who could turn the 'Ice King' into a man who gets excited about logistics spreadsheets."
She laughs, leaning down to kiss me. "Ready to go home? I might not be able to cook, but I did manage to get reservations at that new place on the pier."
"If you're there, I'm ready," I say, closing my laptop. As we walk out of the Watson Enterprise office hand-in-hand, I realize that the Marianos can have their billions and their bloodlines. I have everything I need right here.
We had dinner at the restaurant on the pier, the city lights reflecting off the water in a way that made everything feel strangely calm.
"Keifer, I've been thinking... I think we should build our own house," Jay said, setting her fork down and looking at me with that spark in her eyes she only gets when she's truly inspired.
I nodded immediately. That had been on my mind for a very long time, but we'd pushed it away to focus on saving and getting the business off the ground. Now that things were stable, the idea of a permanent home—one that wasn't a rental or a hideout—felt right.
"Sure. What do you have in mind?" I asked her.
She didn't hesitate. She reached into her bag and took out a sketch, unfolding it on the table between us. It was detailed, far beyond a simple doodle; she had clearly been working on this late at night while I was buried in logistics reports.
"I already told you I want our house to feel like a home," Jay said, tracing the lines of the entryway with her finger. "It doesn't have to be big, just enough for us. But... since we finally have the money to build a big house, we could go for that. You know, more space for us."
I looked at the drawing. It was beautiful—modern but warm, with massive windows to let in the light and a layout that felt open and free. It was the exact opposite of the cold, fortress-like mansion she had grown up in.
"Whatever you like, that's what I like," I said, reaching across the table to take her hand. I squeezed it, letting her feel the weight of my promise. "The house is all yours, Jay. I'll handle the permits, the materials, and the logistics. You handle the soul of it."
"Really?" she asked, a bright smile breaking across her face.
"Really. You're the architect. I'm just the guy lucky enough to live in your masterpiece," I teased.
She laughed, folding the sketch back up carefully. "I want a big backyard. And a study for you. And maybe... a room that we don't have a use for yet, but might later."
I knew exactly what she meant, and my heart hammered against my ribs. I thought back to those tiny white shoes I'd joked about years ago. For Watcher and Caretaker a home with extra rooms meant a future I never thought I'd be allowed to have.
"Give me the blueprints," I said, my voice surfacing with a bit of that old possessiveness, but this time it was protective of our happiness. "We'll start looking for the land this weekend."
As we left the restaurant, the cool night air hit us, and for the first time, it didn't feel like the wind was pushing us to run. It felt like it was welcoming us home.
I felt my stomach drop as soon as I saw them standing near the entrance of our apartment block. They were dressed in their usual expensive wool coats, looking completely out of place in our world.
"Jay!" Her mother called out, her voice trembling with a practiced desperation.
I felt Jay's fingers dig into my bicep. She didn't even flinch, didn't even turn her head. She just clutched tighter to my arm and kept her pace steady, her eyes fixed on the lobby doors.
I looked at them as we walked past. Her father looked older, grayer, and for a second, I felt that pang of guilt again. They were her parents, despite everything.
"Jay," I called out softly as we stepped into the lobby, the heavy glass doors closing the Marianos out.
She stopped at the elevator, her back to me. Her shoulders were rigid, vibrating with tension.
"I already told you," she said, her voice like a jagged shard of ice.
"Just—" I tried to start, wanting to say that they looked like they were breaking, that maybe a five-minute conversation wouldn't hurt.
She whirled around, her eyes blazing with a fire that reminded me why she was the only person who could ever command me
"Do you want to sleep on the couch again just like last time?" she threatened, pointing a finger at my chest.
I held up my hands in immediate surrender. The last time we fought over them, I'd spent three days on the sofa, and it was the miserable three days of my life.
"No, baby," I said quickly, stepping forward to wrap my arms around her.
She resisted for a second, then slumped against me, burying her face in my chest. I could feel her heart racing.
"They didn't care about me when I was a 'Princess,' Keifer," she whispered into my shirt, her voice muffled. "They only care now because I'm the one that got away. If I talk to them, I'm giving them a piece of me back. I won't do it."
I kissed the top of her head, feeling like a complete idiot for even suggesting it. I had to remember: to me, they were people to be managed, but to her, they were the people who had almost destroyed her soul.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, rubbing her back. "I'm an idiot. No more talking to them. No more talking about them. From now on, they're ghosts."
"Better be," she huffed, pulling back to look at me, her eyes still a bit watery but firm. "Now, take me upstairs. I want to look at those house plans again and forget they exist."
"Whatever the lady wants," I said, pressing a kiss to her forehead and hitting the button for the penthouse.
I kicked the door shut behind us. As soon as the deadbolt clicked, I hoisted Jay up, her legs automatically hooking around my waist. She felt light, but she was the only thing keeping me grounded.
"Mark Keifer Watson," Jay said, using my full name as she leaned back to look at me, a playful but tired glow returning to her eyes.
"Yes, my Jasper Jean Watson," I said, grinning at the sound of the name we chose together. Three years later and it still sounded like the best thing I'd ever heard.
"Change my clothes. I want to sleep," she commanded, resting her head on my shoulder and letting out a long, exhausted sigh.
"Ma'am, yes ma'am," I said, marching toward the bedroom.
I set her gently on the edge of the bed and made quick work of finding her favorite oversized sleep shirt—the soft, faded one she'd stolen from me back in our first month of marriage. I helped her out of her professional blazer and slacks, moving with a practiced tenderness.
She was half-asleep by the time I pulled the shirt over her head. I tucked her into the covers
As I started to pull away to change myself, she reached out and grabbed my wrist.
"Stay," she murmured, her eyes barely open.
"Always," I whispered.
I stripped down and climbed in beside her, and like clockwork, she navigated toward me until she was draped across my chest, her breathing evening out.