The Shattered Mirror
[Jay's POV]
The third day didn't feel like a day at all. It felt like a fever dream.
I had stopped checking my phone every thirty seconds. Now, I just left it on the mahogany desk, face-up, like a corpse I was waiting for a miracle to revive. The silence from Keifer had moved past "worrying" and into the realm of "soul-crushing."
I hadn't eaten. The thought of food made my stomach churn with a cold, oily dread. I spent the morning in the library, staring at a page of my textbook that had become a blur of meaningless ink. My mind, usually a sharp, logical machine, was failing me. I kept hearing my mother's voice in my head: "A Watson will eventually return to their own kind, Jasper Jean. You are just a temporary diversion."
"No," I whispered to the empty room. "He wouldn't. He made a decree."
But the silence was a powerful counter-argument.
Around 2:00 PM, I couldn't take the stillness of the library anymore. I retreated to the Blue Suite, seeking the comfort of the bed that still held a faint trace of his scent. I picked up my phone, my thumb hovering over the "Global News" app. I just wanted to see if the merger was over. I wanted to see if the jet had at least departed Heathrow.
The app opened. The headline didn't mention textiles. It didn't mention mergers.
It was a blurry, high-fashion photograph of Keifer and a stunning woman in a white lace gown, standing on the steps of a London cathedral.
BREAKING: THE ROYAL WEDDING OF THE TEXTILE EMPIRE? > Reports suggest a secret union between Keifer Watson, heir to the Watson fortune, and Lady Isabella Sterling of the London Sterlings. The move reportedly solidifies the European-Asian trade bridge. Sources say the ceremony was private, held earlier this morning in Central London.
The phone slipped from my fingers, hitting the plush carpet with a dull thud.
The world didn't explode. It didn't scream. It just... went quiet. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, drowning out the sound of the Manila rain. My lungs felt like they had been filled with concrete. I couldn't draw air.
Lady Isabella. A private ceremony. Earlier this morning.
The pieces of the puzzle clicked together with a cruel, mathematical precision. The silence. The "busy" schedule. The refusal to call. It wasn't a merger of companies; it was a merger of bloodlines. And I was just the girl from the bus. The "burdened genius" who had been foolish enough to believe that a prince would choose a girl with a broken family over a lady with a crown.
I fell to my knees by the side of the bed. A sob, raw and jagged, tore out of my throat—a sound so filled with agony I didn't recognize it as my own. I clutched the arcade bear to my chest, my tears soaking into its cheap fur.
"You lied," I gasped, the words catching on the salt in my throat. "Keifer, you lied to me."
The pain was physical. It felt like my heart was being slowly crushed by a cold, iron hand. Every memory—the stairs, the arcade, the "Watson Decree," the pancakes—felt like a poisoned needle. It was all a lie. A beautiful, cruel distraction before he stepped into his real life.
I didn't hear the door open. I didn't hear the soft click of a tray being set down on the nightstand.
"Jay, darling? I brought you some fresh coffee and—
The tray rattled. Mamma (Serina) let out a sharp gasp. I heard her footsteps, fast and frantic, crossing the room.
"Jay! Oh my God, Jay, what happened?"
She was on the floor in an instant, her silk robe trailing behind her. She didn't hesitate. She pulled me into her arms, my face pressed against her shoulder as I shook with violent, hysterical sobs. I couldn't speak. I could only point at the phone lying on the carpet.
Serina reached out, her brow furrowed as she picked up the device. She read the headline. I felt her entire body go stiff. For a terrifying second, I thought she was going to confirm it. I thought she was going to tell me she was sorry.
Then, she let out a sound—not a sob, but a sharp, biting laugh of pure fury.
"That... that vulture," she hissed.
She gripped my shoulders, pulling me back so I had to look at her. Her eyes weren't filled with pity; they were flashing with the legendary Watson fire.
"Jay! Look at me. Breathe, Jasper Jean! Look at me!"
I blinked through the haze of tears, my chest heaving. "He... he married her, Mamma. He's in London... with her..."
"He is NOT in London with her!" Serina shouted, her voice echoing off the walls. She grabbed my face with both hands, her thumbs wiping away the tears with a fierce intensity. "Listen to me, Jay. That news? It's fake. It is a calculated, disgusting piece of black propaganda."
I froze. "Fake?"
"Look at the photo, Jay! Use that brilliant brain of yours!" She shoved the phone back into my hand. "That woman, Isabella? She's a cousin. A distant, third cousin who's been married for five years! And that cathedral? That's St. Paul's in the background, but Keifer was in a boardroom in Canary Wharf all morning. I've been on the phone with the legal team for an hour—your father, Jasper, leaked this to the tabloids to break you. He wants you to think Keifer abandoned you so you'll come crawling back to the Mariano estate!"
The fog in my mind began to clear, replaced by a cold, sharp realization. I looked at the photo again. The "blurry" quality. The way Keifer's face was turned away.
"Your father is playing a game, Jay," Serina whispered, her voice softening as she pulled me back into a hug, stroking my hair. "He knows Keifer is the only thing giving you the strength to stand up to him. He's trying to cut your legs out from under you. But Keifer... my son is currently tearing that boardroom apart because they tried to insult your name. He hasn't.called because the lines were jammed by the legal injunction he's filing against this very article."
I leaned into her, the shaking slowly subsiding. The pain was still there, but the "concrete" in my lungs was starting to crack.
"He's coming home, Jay," Serina promised, her voice a solid, unbreakable vow. "He's coming home, and he's going to burn down whoever did this to you. Now, drink your coffee. We're going to call the legal team together. You're a Watson now, and Watsons don't cry over fake news. We sue the people who print it."
I took a shaky breath, clutching Mamma's hand. The war had just reached a new level of cruelty, but as I looked at Serina's fierce, protective expression, I realized my father had made one fatal mistake.
He thought I was alone. But I had a mother now. And she was a wolf in silk.