[Jay's POV]
The morning light didn't just enter the room; it felt like it was personally attacking my eyelids. I tried to shift beneath the heavy silk duvet, but the moment I attempted to move my legs, my internal diagnostic system sent back a flurry of high-priority error messages.
My thighs felt like they had been recalibrated by a heavy-duty hydraulic press. My core was humming with a dull, persistent ache that reminded me of every single second of Keifer's "intensity" from the night before. And when I tried to let out a small groan of discomfort? Nothing but a raspy, dry friction came out. My throat was raw—a direct consequence of spending hours crying out his name into the quiet of the Watson Wing.
"Analysis..." I tried to croak out, but it sounded more like sandpaper on glass.
"Analysis: You're grounded," a smug, velvet voice rumbled beside me.
I rolled my head to the side. Keifer was already awake, propped up on one elbow, looking infuriatingly refreshed. His hair was messy, his chest was bare, and he had that look in his eyes—the one that said he knew exactly what he'd done to my physical infrastructure.
"Hurts," I managed to rasp, pointing to my throat.
He smirked, leaning over to kiss my forehead. "That's what happens when you decide to scream my name like I'm the only person in the world, Jay. I'll get you some honey-lemon water, but first..." He watched as I tried to swing my legs out of bed.
The moment my feet hit the rug, my knees buckled. I had to grab the bedpost to keep from collapsing. My walking style could only be described as "glitchy." I was waddling, my legs shaking with every step
"Nice gait, Empress," Keifer teased, leaning back against the headboard with a predatory grin. "Is that a new engineering project? The 'Wounded Penguin' walk? It's very... efficient for getting nowhere fast."
"Shut up," I mouthed, throwing a pillow at him with zero force.
The Warm Bath Protocol
I managed to shuffle into the bathroom, where I sank into a tub of near-scalding water infused with Epsom salts and lavender. As the heat soaked into my muscles, I felt my "core" finally start to relax. I closed my eyes, the memory of his hands and the sheer power of our integration washing over me. The "Glow" wasn't just on my skin; it felt like it was radiating from my very marrow.
When I finally emerged, dressed in a soft, cream-colored silk dress that flowed around my bruised but satisfied body, I still couldn't walk straight. Every step was a struggle of muscle memory versus actual muscle failure.
The Descent into Chaos
Keifer met me at the door, now dressed in a crisp black shirt, looking like the ultimate predator. He followed me down the hallway, suppressed laughter shaking his shoulders every time I winced.
"You want a lift, Jay? Or are you enjoying the 'scenic route' down the stairs?"
"I can do it," I rasped, gripping the marble bannister of the grand staircase.
I made it exactly three steps down before my legs gave a final, dramatic protest. I froze, my hand white-knuckled on the railing. At the bottom of the stairs, the entire Watson family was already gathered for breakfast.
Mamma Serina looked up, her sharp eyes scanning me instantly. She saw the way I was clutching the rail, the slight tremble in my knees, and most importantly—the unmistakable, radiant, post-integration "Glow" that made my skin look like polished pearl.
A knowing, triumphant smile spread across her face. She looked at Keifer, who was standing behind me with a look of pure, arrogant satisfaction.
"Keifer Watson!" Mamma Serina's voice rang out through the foyer. "Look at that poor girl. She can barely stand, let alone navigate marble stairs. You were clearly... excessive."
"Mamma!" I rasped, my face turning a shade of red that matched the carpets
"Don't 'Mamma' me, darling. I know that look. I haven't seen a glow like that since Keizer and I came back from our honeymoon in the Maldives," she said, before turning her gaze back to her son. "Keifer, I am ordering you: carry her. Now. She shouldn't have to take another step until she's had at least three cups of tea."
Keifer didn't need to be told twice. He scooped me up in one fluid motion, my legs draping over his arms. I hid my face in his neck, my raspy breathing hitching as he carried me toward the dining table like I was a prize he had just won in battle.
The Dining Table Conflict
As Keifer deposited me gently into my chair—which had been reinforced with extra cushions by a smirking Keigan—I felt a pair of eyes burning into the side of my head.
Bridget was sitting across from us. She wasn't eating. She was staring at my throat, where a faint, dark mark was visible just above the collar of my dress. She saw the way Keifer immediately reached for the honey to fix my tea. She saw the way I sat—delicately, painfully—and the "Lust" in her heart turned into a bitter, acidic poison.
"Honestly," Bridget snapped, slamming her spoon against the porcelain. "It's breakfast, not a maternity ward. Is all this theater really necessary? Some of us are trying to study for actual degrees, not participate in whatever... 'performance' this is."
The table went silent. Pappa Keizer lowered his newspaper, his eyes cold.
"It's not a performance, Bridget," I whispered, my voice still sounding like crushed velvet. "It's just a high-intensity system update. You wouldn't understand the... hardware requirements."
Keifer let out a sharp, dark chuckle, leaning over to press a kiss to my temple right in front of her. "Exactly. And Bridget? If the 'theater' is too loud for you, feel free to take your toast to the West Wing. Jay's comfort is the only priority at this table. If she can't walk, I'll carry her. If she can't speak, I'll be her voice. Deal with it."
Bridget's face twisted in a mask of pure, unadulterated jealousy. "You're making a fool of yourself, Keifer! Carrying her around like she's a doll? It's pathetic! She's just a student!"
"She's the woman who owns me," Keifer retorted, his voice dropping into that dangerous CEO tone. "And if you say one more word to her, you'll be studying from a dorm room five miles away by noon."
Bridget choked on her air, her face turning purple as she looked at Mamma Serina for support. But Serina was busy putting an extra serving of protein on my plate.
"Eat up, Jay," Mamma said with a wink. "You've clearly burned a lot of calories. We need to get that strength back for... well, for whatever Keifer has planned for tonight."
I caught Keifer's eye. He gave me a slow, wicked wink that promised my legs wouldn't be recovering anytime soon. The "Watson-Jay Constant" was at a 100% saturation point, and no amount of Bridget's jealousy could even scratch the surface of our fortress.