[Keifer's POV]
The air in the university corridor felt heavy, like the static before a massive electrical storm. I walked through the halls with a stride that made people move aside—not out of respect, but out of fear. My jaw was set so tight it ached, and my mind was a chaotic loop of the previous night's events
I had left Jay back at Room 413. It was the hardest decision I'd made all year, but she was still dizzy, her equilibrium shaken by the shock of Hanamitchi's assault. Mica had stepped up, refusing to leave Jay's side, promising me she'd guard the door like a soldier.
Knowing Jay was safe with Mica was the only thing keeping me from burning this entire campus to the ground.
As I rounded the corner toward the Engineering wing, a shadow detached itself from the wall. My hand instinctively balled into a fist, my "fight-or-flight" response already redlining. But it wasn't the redhead.
It was Kiara Chen.
She stood there with her usual icy composure, her arms crossed over her tailored blazer. She didn't look like someone who had watched her partner attempt a physical assault the night before. She looked like she was reviewing a balance sheet.
"Keifer," she said, her voice dropping that clinical tone. "We need to talk about the fallout from last night. Yuri is a liability, I see that now. He's impulsive. Reckless."
"I don't give a damn about Yuri's personality flaws, Kiara," I hissed, stopping a few feet away from her. The anger was radiating off me in waves. "He laid hands on my fiancée. If you're here to apologize for him, save your breath. There is no 'fallout' to discuss—there is only consequences."
Kiara stepped closer, her eyes searching mine with a terrifyingly calm intensity. "I'm not here to apologize for him. I'm here to offer you an alternative. You're stressed, Keifer. Your performance is going to suffer because you're tethered to a variable that breaks under pressure."
"Watch your mouth," I warned, my voice dropping to a dangerous rumble.
"I'm just being logical," she whispered, stepping into my personal space. "You need someone who can stand the heat. Someone who doesn't faint when the math gets hard. Someone like..."
Before I could process her movement, Kiara lunged forward. She didn't attack me—she hugged me.
Her arms wrapped around my waist, her head leaning against my chest in a calculated display of "vulnerability." It wasn't a hug of affection; it was a tactical maneuver. I could smell her perfume—cold, metallic, and sharp—and it made my skin crawl.
I stood there like a statue of granite. My arms stayed frozen at my sides, my hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. I didn't return the embrace. I didn't move an inch toward her. I felt a wave of pure revulsion wash over me.
The contrast was staggering. When Jay touched me, it felt like home, like the missing piece of an equation finally clicking into place. When Kiara touched me, it felt like a structural defect.
I looked down at the top of her black hair, my eyes cold and dead. I could feel the students in the hallway pausing, the whispers starting, the cameras probably clicking. She was trying to create a "scandal," trying to fracture the image of the Watson-Jay constant.
"Get off me," I said, my voice as cold as the deep sea. "Now."