MARRY YOUR KILLER
Chapter Seventeen: The First Month
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The first month after the engagement passed like a held breath.
Jay stayed at Keifer's house. Her penthouse was still being swept for bugs, for cameras, for anything her uncle might have left behind. Freya had found three more listening devices. Mica was still looking. The house in Alabang was her uncle's territory now, filled with his guards, his eyes, his silence.
So she stayed. In Keifer's house. In Keifer's guest room. In Keifer's life.
They ate breakfast together at the small table in the kitchen. They sat in the study together, the map on the wall, the names of her uncle's contacts spreading across the whiteboard like a virus. They planned the war. They tracked the money. They built something together, piece by piece, brick by brick.
They didn't touch.
They didn't talk about the contract that sat in Keifer's desk drawer, twenty-three pages, two years, a promise to leave before anything could grow.
They didn't talk about anything that wasn't necessary.
---
Ci N watched them from the corners of the house.
His phone was forgotten in his pocket. His jokes were unspoken. He sat on the stairs sometimes, his chin in his hands, watching his sister move through the rooms like a ghost.
He saw the way she paused outside Keifer's door at night, her hand raised, her knuckles white, before she walked away. He saw the way she watched him across the table, her face calm, her hands still, her eyes saying things her mouth would not.
He saw the way Keifer's hand moved toward her, always, before he pulled it back. The way he brought her coffee in the morning, the way he remembered how she took it, the way he set it down beside her like it was nothing.
"They're going to kill me," Ci N said to Felix.
Felix looked up from his laptop. "Who?"
"Jay and Keifer. They're going to kill me. With the tension. With the longing. With the not-touching. I'm going to die."
Felix looked across the room. Jay was at the window. Keifer was at the desk. They weren't looking at each other. They weren't touching. The air between them was thick enough to cut.
"You're not going to die," Felix said.
"I'm going to die. And Percy is going to give a speech at my funeral. And it's going to be very long. And very loud. And I'm going to be dead, so I won't be able to tell him to stop."
Felix almost smiled. "That's tragic."
"It's the most tragic thing that's ever happened."
---
Percy was no help.
He had moved into Keifer's house too, along with Aries and Yuri. They had claimed the living room, the TV, the kitchen at odd hours. Percy made noise wherever he went. He filled the silence that Jay and Keifer left behind.
But even he was quiet sometimes.
He stood in the doorway of the study one afternoon, watching Jay and Keifer work. The map was covered in pins and strings and photographs. Mica had printed out everything she found, spread it across the table like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
"They're not talking," Percy said.
Aries appeared beside him. "They're talking."
"They're talking about the war. They're not talking about each other."
Aries watched their sister. Her head was bent over the map. Her hair was falling out of its pin. Keifer was beside her, pointing at something, his voice low, his face close to hers.
"She's scared," Aries said.
"She's never scared."
"She's never been in love before."
Percy looked at Aries. Aries's face was calm, but their eyes were soft, watching their sister with something that looked like pain.
"You think she loves him?"
Aries didn't answer. They watched Jay laugh at something Keifer said—a small laugh, surprised, like it had escaped before she could stop it. They watched Keifer's face change, something opening there, something he was trying to close.
"I think she's trying not to," Aries said.
---
Lyra had her own corner now.
It wasn't Keifer's corner. It wasn't Jay's corner. It was hers. She had claimed it the first week, a spot by the window in the living room, where she could see the street and the garden and the front gate. She stood there for hours, silent, watching.
Alex sat in the chair beside her. He was there every morning. Every afternoon. Every night. He brought coffee. He brought pastries. He brought his phone and his laptop and his endless, unstoppable voice.
"You're here again," Lyra said.
"I live here now."
"You don't live here. You have a penthouse."
"I sold it."
"You didn't sell it."
"I'm thinking about selling it."
Lyra looked at him. His hair was messy. His tie was loose. He looked like he had been sleeping on Keifer's sofa for a week, which he had.
"You're an idiot," she said.
"I know."
She turned back to the window. He stayed in the chair. They didn't talk. They didn't need to.
---
Care found Cole in the garden.
He was standing by the fence, looking at the flowers that were trying to grow back after the mud fight. His hands were in his pockets. His face was quiet.
"You're here," she said.
"I live here now."
"You don't live here."
"I'm thinking about it."
Care walked to the fence. She stood beside him. Her shoulder was almost touching his.
"The roses are coming back," she said.
"They're tough. Like you."
She looked at him. His face was calm. His eyes were not.
"I'm not tough," she said.
"You threatened to kill me with a scalpel."
"I was being polite."
He almost smiled. "That was polite?"
"I could have done worse."
He looked at her. His face was close. His eyes were dark.
"I know," he said.
She didn't look away. Neither did he.
---
The weeks passed.
Jay and Keifer built their war room. The map grew. The names multiplied. Mica and Calix found connections that led to Singapore, to Hong Kong, to places Jay had never heard of. The money moved through shell companies and dummy accounts, through banks that didn't ask questions and countries that didn't care.
Her uncle's face was on the wall now, pinned between photographs of warehouses and shipping manifests and men who had died thirty years ago.
"He's been moving money for months," Mica said. "Preparing for something. Something big."
Jay stood in front of the map. Her hands were at her sides. Her face was calm.
"When?"
"Soon. Weeks. Maybe days."
She felt Keifer move behind her. His presence was warm, solid, a weight she had learned to lean against without thinking.
"Then we move first," he said.
She turned. His face was close. His eyes were dark.
"We move together," she said.
He nodded. "Together."
---
The night before the move, Jay couldn't sleep.
She walked through the house, her feet silent on the floor, her hands empty. The rooms were dark. The windows were dark. The city was asleep.
She stopped at Keifer's door.
It was closed. There was no light underneath. He was asleep, or pretending to be. She stood there for a long moment, her hand raised, her knuckles white.
She didn't knock.
She walked to the garden. The air was cool. The sky was clear. The stars were out, faint against the city lights, but there.
She sat on the steps. The mud was dry now. The grass was growing back. The flowers were trying.
She heard footsteps behind her. She didn't turn.
Keifer sat beside her. His shoulder against hers. His hand on the step between them.
"You should sleep," he said.
"So should you."
"I don't sleep much."
"Neither do I."
They sat in silence. The city hummed below them. The stars faded. The sky lightened.
"Tomorrow," she said.
"Tomorrow."
She looked at him. His face was tired. His eyes were dark. He was the most familiar thing in her life now, this man she had been raised to hate, this man she had signed a contract to leave.
"If something happens," she said.
"Nothing is going to happen."
"If something happens—"
He took her hand. His fingers were warm. His grip was steady.
"Nothing is going to happen," he said again. "We're going to find your uncle. We're going to find the truth. We're going to end this. Together."
She looked at their hands. His fingers laced with hers. His thumb moved against her skin.
"Together," she said.
They sat on the steps until the sun rose, their hands together, their shoulders touching, the space between them smaller than it had ever been.
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END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN